Short Fiction

Paddling In The Sea

2011-07-31T04:35:00.000-07:00

It was curious. At times, especially in the middle of the day, she thought the sea was talking to her. Walking along the beach, the breeze touching her pale face, she heard the waves saying, 'Sara, Sara, we are waiting for you' as they rushed eagerly towards the shore. She would stop walking and stand still. 'Stay, Sara, stay.' She heard again.

She came to the beach at every opportunity. Especially when the children were in school. Usually, she'd end up sitting on the sand, staring outward. She'd watch the boats moving slowly across the horizon, going from Seabury to Eastbourne. Eventually she'd fall back onto the sand as the breeze crept up her thighs.

If she'd known she'd never have married Jim. She'd loved him once but the sheer tiring boredom of life in a small seaside town had killed off her love. Sometimes she found it hard to love her children. She wanted at times to get away. Find some excitement. The sea symbolised her desire for flight, continuing onward seemingly without end. It led she thought to the East, to golden lands beyond Europe.

Nowadays, they hardly made love. He was always tired when he got home after working in Canary Wharf until seven each day. He hardly spoke, but sat in front of the TV devouring the meal she'd cooked him. He rarely even looked at her, exhaustion biting into his face. At the weekend he went off to play golf with his friends.

In this state, neglected, unhappy, she began going off to London one day each month. She'd leave the children with a friendly neighbour, catch the train and in just over an hour be in Waterloo. Once in London, she'd wander around. A few times she got picked up and was taken for a drink or a meal. Once in a while she went back to the man's place and there enjoyed brief lovemaking. It gave her respite from her unforgiving loneliness.

But always she returned to the sea. It seemed, she needed to hear its rumbling, insistent voice calling her. She only truly felt alive when she was near the sea, luxuriating in the repetitious movement of the waves, the salt flung into the clean, cleansing air.

They found her lying there one day. The water had washed over her, settling on her happy form. Her arms were flung wide; salt filled her hair, stiffening her clothes. The sea had filled her lungs. Rigid, she was manoeuvred onto a stretcher and carried up the path to the top of the cliffs. Seagulls darted around incessantly. A terrier barked, hiding behind its owner.

In the half-light, as night descended, occasionally local people, strolling across the beach, thought they saw her. Lit up by a strange inner glow, her hand gently touching the waves as if holding a lover's hand, they thought they saw her release her incorporeal grip and lay back in the sand and sigh. Then, and only then, did her ghost seem at peace.

A Sea Dream.

She noticed the basking shark was wounded,

weeping vaginal blood.

The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed,

and she blushed.

The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red.

She had been there since morning

searching for love,

and found it

from a six-pack merman offering solace

as he rode on the silvery

back of a ray.

As he approached, the sun at his back,

she moaned and threw out her arms

like a supplicant.

Complete at last, the sand grasping at

her shoeless feet, she sank

towards the earth's distant core

using her arms as uncertain ballast.

She awoke with a shiver

brushed away the sand

and headed back home.

The shark had turned belly-up,

scavenged by seagulls.

Another day-dream enjoyed in the

empty hours between lunch and dinner

between her third cup of tea

and fourth cigarette,

her children snoozing in

the back bedroom. Half-slumbering

in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls

where an unencumbered sun

set on a postcard shoreline.

Planning the rows of petunias to be

planted by the hedge,

making shopping lists,

writing novels, never to be published,

staring out of her windows at the sea

she waited for her husband's return,

tedious evenings of T.V.

and coition under the brightly coloured duvet.

The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses,

were her own. The man

in the fedora had made her smile.

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Aaron the Aryan

2011-07-17T09:43:00.000-07:00

Today, the nerves of Aaron the Aryan are strung higher than the laundry on his ever-loving mother's clothesline and, as you likely know, the ever-loving mother of Aaron the Aryan lives in a very tall building indeed. Now, the why to this young man's sudden bout of anxiety is a tad too byzantine to illustrate sans some knowledge of yesteryear. So I figure that the most commonsensical thing to do is to retreat back to before Aaron the Aryan is known as Aryan the Aryan and just called little Aaron Klotsky. This way, you may better understand how he eventually becomes so nervous and such.

No knock to Aaron the Aryan intended, but he grows up without much of a clue in the world, living so charmed and bubbled an existence in a little town by the name of La Jolla. He is born here on one humdrum day, sporting blond hair and royal blue eyes, neither which bear much of a resemblance to the features of his ever-loving parents. The only thing he is sharing with them in fact is a very fair epidermis, which does not remain that way for very long once he starts bathing in the Californian sun (which is not actually a Californian sun, seeing as there is only one sun to my knowledge and it is very international). Soon after, little Aaron Klotsky learns to walk, talk and surf as good as anybody. And eventually it becomes rather difficult to discern between him and any other flip flop-clad La Jollan. Except, little Aaron Klotsky is different, you see. It turns out that he is really very Jewish.

So Jewish in fact is little Aaron Klotsky that it is a challenge to find even a twig of gentile on the deftly researched Klotsky family tree. Mister and Missus Klotsky are of course very pleased to admit this and often crow about it endlessly at parties and galas and potlucks and such. But I wish to say I never find being very Jewish so impressive, personally, because I am never understanding what makes one more or less so, and furthermore, being an atheist, I don't see the attraction to being very religion-oriented anyway.

Well, by and by little Aaron Klotsky becomes not so little and gets to wondering more than somewhat about his Jewish forebears. One day he asks his ever-loving mother, "Where are we from before La Jolla?" Now, Missus Klotsky is happy to tell this not-so-little Aaron Klotsky that once upon a time they spring from a land flowing with dairy products, but she hesitates. Wonders she, "Why tell my not-so-little son, when I can show him?" Indeed, Missus Klotsky becomes so enamored with the idea that she forgets to answer the question of Aaron Klotsky in the first place. Off she runs to convince Mister Klotsky that they must visit the place of -ites and -isms, and he is similarly smitten by the notion. And so it happens that Aaron Klotsky and the Mister and Missus end up on sitting on an aeroplane aimed square for the so-called holy land.

To abridge a few dull as dishwater chapters, let us just say that when Aaron Klotsky sees his so-called homeland for the first time, he gets very daffy indeed. And his ever-loving parents turn out to be quite partial to remaining yonder for some time as well. Personally, I will have to be paid more than somewhat to habitate in such a sandy place, but it apparently conveniences the Klotskies no little, and I might add that scratch is the last thing on the mind when you are as well-heeled as a Klotsky. Anyway, some time passes and Aaron Klotsky turns eighteen years of age. And it is on this birthday that he discovers, much to his La Jollan dismay, that he must serve in the so-called holy land's Israelite military and any minute now at that.

Meanwhile, I happen to be vacating in the so-called holy land myself and am sitting with Uzi Izzy in Phedinkus, a little joint on the south side of Alenby Street one Sunday morning about four o'clock, finishing my drink all quiet like, when who barges in more daffy than a bull seeing red but Aaron Klotsky. Of course, this causes great indignation among the other customers trying to enjoy their hangovers in peace and quiet, but Aaron Klotsky, who is worried stiffer than a bad case of rigamortis, does not seem to notice. He drops into a chair alongside Uzi Izzy, and then orders a kubbe-duo with sliced onions to come along, which is a dish that is considered most invigorating, and immediately Aaron Klotsky begins telling of his woes, although nobody asks him to. So Aaron Klotsky tells us as follows:

Well, (Aaron Klotsky says) according to Hershel the Heckler, all citizens of the so-called holy land must do some sort of military service and one thing and another and this includes myself. Now, at first I consider this earful nothing more than phonus bolonus and furthermore I hold little confidence in the word of a shifty type like Hershel the Heckler. So, I ask Gadi Shimon, who is seldom misinformed, for his two cents worth. But I forget that Gadi Shimon speaks little to no English, and so he starts frowning and raising his eyebrows more than somewhat until I remember. Well, what happens but right at that moment my ever-loving mother is walking by, mittens full of groceries and what not. I figure she might know a thing or two about this military business, so I stop her and say:

"Wait a minute! Do you have any idea what is with this military business?"
"Why," my ever-loving mother says, "do you not hear? Mr. Klotsky receives your conscription form in the mail today!"

Now of course all this is surprising news to me, indeed, (Aaron Klotsky says) and in fact I am quite flabbergasted, and as for understanding it, all I understand is that I'm getting a rotten deal and that frankly I will never come to the so-called holy land in the first place if I know I must serve in the Israelite military.

"Well, Aaron," I say after hearing all this, "it is a very unfortunate story and full of shocks and all this and that, and," I say, "of course I will never be so inconsiderate to call a guy a sap, but," I say, "if it is not naive to move to a country before reading the fine print, then it will do until something naive comes along."

Well, this is not cheering up Aaron Klotsky so much and I figure his case is just about hopeless when Uzi Izzy suddenly perks up. "What makes you so sure you are eligible?" Uzi Izzy asks Aaron Klotsky.
"What do you mean?" Aaron replies.
"Well, unless you are very certainly certified Jewish," says Uzi Izzy, "to my knowledge, you are not forced to serve."
Aaron Klotsky considers this for a second but then continues to sulk. "I'm afraid I am very certainly certified Jewish." he says, "In fact, I believe there are few people as certainly certified Jewish as me."

Upon hearing this, Uzi Izzy is looking very forlorn indeed, and I wish to say I see many a drooping kisser in my life, but I never see one so sad as Uzi Izzy's in that moment. And all three of us are quiet for some time, which is considered customary in such cases. But then, while giving Aaron Klotsky a worried gander, a thought suddenly crosses my mind.

"Why, Aaron," I say, "you don't look so Jewish."

"No?" he asks.

"In fact, if I am never meeting you, I will say you resemble just about anything but Jewish."

"I guess I do!" he exclaims and chances are we both guess right.

Then Uzi Izzy gives Aaron Klotsky a quick once-over too and asks: "How do you become so gentile-like anyway, Aaron?"

"Well, I am born and raised in La Jolla, you see," Aaron Klotsky says, "and if one lives in La Jolla, there is little choice regarding one's genetics."

Now this of course is making no sense but I have not the heart to tell Aaron Klotsky so, and furthermore I don't wish to burst some newly sanguine bubbles regarding Aaron Klotsky's draft-dodging prospects. Anyway Uzi Izzy, Aaron Klotsky and I begin to form a plan so as to convince the Israelite military that Aaron Klotsky is really just as non-Jewish as he resembles. And by and by, this is how Aaron Klotsky gets to being called Aaron the Aryan.

Now if you are never having to partake in something by the name of Tsav Rishon, I wish to say you miss nothing much because what is it but a room full of very testy testosterone at work. There are plenty of almost-military men taking tests from already-military men all on behalf of this military and it is a very sore sight indeed. And it happens to be on this day and spot that Aaron the Aryan finds himself in that prior mentioned state of tremendous anxiety. Today, you see, is his one opportunity to convince the Israelite military that he is not belonging in an Israelite military in the first place and he is sweating plenty of bullets over the matter. Aaron the Aryan sits awhile all on his lonesome, picking his knuckles into a ghastly state as young people are liable to do, when at last a little man bustles in to the room.

He is a pretty wide guy, very heavy set, and slow moving, and with jowls that you can slice shawarma off of, and tired run-down eyes, and he somehow resembles an old basset hound that just happens to be in military uniform. Walking around the desk, he takes a seat across from Aaron the Aryan, glances at him and then starts to chatter-train in his native tongue. Now of course Aaron the Aryan is not in a position to interrupt the wide induction officer, because he figures he is liable to hurt his fair-shake at cajolery and anyway, he does not wish to make this wide induction officer mad as he is apt to strong-arm Aaron the Aryan into an undesirable unit in some awfully sandy place is so he wishes.

So, Aaron the Aryan does not request a translation and just sits there, nodding his head every couple of seconds at the wide induction officer as he twaddles of this and that. Then after plenty of this, the wide induction officer opens his desk drawer and pulls out a piece of paper and a pen and slides it toward Aaron the Aryan matter-of-factly, chatting all awhile. But Aaron the Aryan is not letting a single finger linger on it, being very weary of signing sheets that he does not understand and such. So eventually the wide induction officer notices this and stops to look at Aaron the Aryan curiously. Then he says, "You don't look very Jewish."

Well, Aaron the Aryan is very gratified indeed that the wide induction officer at last stops chattering away, and is about to compliment the man's gentile-radar, when the wide induction officer interrupts: "But your file seems to suggest that you are so."

"My file?" he asks.

"Yes, yes. Everybody has a file, you see. And according to yours, the Klotsky family tree is very well populated with very Jewish figures."

Panicking, Aaron the Aryan starts, "But the thing is, I am not Jewish."

"No?"

"No, not even a smidgen."

Well, the wide induction officer takes a good long meddling gander at Aaron the Aryan for a few moments before turning to stuff his head into a bunch of paperwork. And meanwhile Aaron the Aryan feels more than somewhat uneasy, certain that he is playing all his cards and that the jig is about to be up. And just when he considers coming clean with the honest truth, the wide induction officer pulls his head out of the plentiful folders and papers and what not, and interrupts Aaron the Aryan once again. "It appears you are right!" he says.

Well, naturally Aaron the Aryan is very much surprised at this statement, because he is not right, and he is Jewish as a matter of fact, and if the file claims the contrary then this is a very peculiar circumstance indeed.

"How do you figure?" Aaron the Aryan asks.

"Why," the wide induction officer responds, "Don't you know? You are adopted after turning two years of age and your real family tree is not certainly certified Jewish in the slightest. In fact, there's not even a twig of Jewish in sight!"

Now as it turns out, Aaron the Aryan is in fact an aryan with not a Jewish bone in his bodice and when he confronts his ever-loving parents on the matter, they tell him an astonishing story indeed. Apparently, Mister and Missus Klotsky are always wanting to tell little Aaron Klotsky that he is not an honest Klotsky, but they never get around to it. And furthermore, when they decide to live in the so-called holy land, they figure that by and by Aaron won't mind serving in the Israelite military, being so daffy about the spot and all. But personally, I know this cannot be true, for if there is one thing a non-Jewish La Jollan never yearns for, it is to serve in an Israelite military.

Anyway, Aaron the Aryan resolves to mull over all these revelations and I hear he is taking a flight straight back to La Jolla to meet his real ever-loving parents just the next day. So this is about all there is to the story, except that when Aaron the Aryan decides to return to the so-called holy land and forgive the ever-loving Klotskies for misleading him and keep being Jewish anyway, he ends up volunteering in the Israelite military while he's at it. And last I hear, they are still calling him Aaron the Aryan in there on account of his very La Jollan looks.

"For two weeks I gambled in green pastures. The dice were my cousins and the dolls were agreeable with nice teeth and no last names." -guys & dolls

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A Light In All Darkness

2011-07-17T07:56:00.000-07:00

LOST IN THE DARK

"Why? Why is it so dark?"

"Where am I?"

"Poor girl, she was found in the middle of the road..."

I heard some voices around me, but it was all dark I could not see a thing... "Is someone there?"

"Please answer me! Hello?"

"What happened to me?"

"I opened my eyes, but it's only darkness I see..."

"Who am I?"

"I can't... I don't remember... I DON'T REMEMBER!!!"

"Please calm down, I am a Doctor. You were brought here by someone who saw you at the middle of the road...You were unconscious."

"Doctor? Why is it dark? Do you know my name and where I live or came from?" I asked.

He did not speak for a moment... I felt he was searching for the right words to answer me.

He spoke to me very gently.

"You are here in my Hospital, dear. This is a non-profit hospital. You were found at the middle of the road, and was brought here unconscious. Your eyes were swollen. I was the one who did the surgery for your eyes, but I did my best to save your eye-sights... but it was already too late. You must have hit yourself to some kind of a sharp object and must have wounded yourself. I expected that when you would regain your consciousness, you could tell us what had happened to you... But here you are you do not remember a thing... I can tell for now that you are experiencing a temporary amnesia. There is hope that you will remember everything once you got yourself back to people who may have known you.

"I cried as I heard what he had just said. I don't remember anything about me.. I don't know where I'm going to stay. Would they let me stay here at the hospital until I regain my memories? I guess not. But what should I do? I don't want to be a burden to them. But if they offer help, I guess the wise decision will be- - "

"You can stay here until you regain your memory or until we can find someone who knows you. Will that be alright?" the doctor said.

- - I don't want to take advantage or to be a burden, but I need their help.

He continued while I felt his hand gently holding my left hand on my side, while I rested my right hand on my chest as I was sobbing. I felt cold and I know he felt that I was shivering and worried about my situation. But he was nice to assure me one thing.

"Don't worry, dear, we already have contacted the authority about your case. I am sure you will be found soon..."

I felt my eyes went so heavy...The drug that was injected to me by one of the nurses is now working. She said, her name is Nancy and that the drug will help me to calm down and feel comfy.

I closed my eyes and I prayed in silent, "Dear God, I am totally lost in the dark, help me and guide me. I need your protection..."

I choose to pour out the love I have to shine on everyone that I meet and inspire them with my writings and/or short stories of encouragement and enlightenment. We just only started. Journey with me and experience the joy of adventures of giving love unconditionally and enjoying the life we experience in this universe we live in.
Your love for fun and for keeps...
Tiffanie King

A day in the life of Me...all my travels, adventures and all kinds of writings... You are all welcome. Feel free to follow me here: http://raffleberry.weebly.com/
http://lovebytesonair.blogspot.com/

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David Allen: A Short Story

2011-07-17T06:11:00.000-07:00

"You're driving tonight, Allen. It'll be hilarious," said a mumbled voice that sneaked out from the smokers crowded around Seth Raines' Explorer.

David Allen knew nothing about speakers or 'systems', nor would it have mattered if he did. Seth had recently had a new stereo installed, and Alice in Chains "Down in a Hole" blared from the open tailgate.

"I've been guilty of kicking myself in the teeth," David honed in on Layne Staley's admission, until Becca, a classmate of his since elementary school, shouldered him as she chased Seth around the school parking lot. Becca was getting a head start on her perpetual weekend dramatics.

"That's my CD and you know it, asshole!"

A pack of Merits fell from the front pocket of Becca's uniform blouse. Most of the seniors in David's class were eighteen by this time of year, including Becca. Judging by the brand, it appeared she still chose to steal the cigarettes from her housekeepers purse instead of buying them herself.

"Sounds good," said David. "Let me know."

He recognized most of these relationships as temporary, and knew that, for him, they would end the day after graduation.

David drove a 1979 Oldsmobile Cutlass. Over the past three years, it had become a virtual mascot at Episcopal. Upon arrival each morning, a smoke cloud would escape from under the hood with a desperate force, like someone gasping for air after being held underwater. The smoke would rise so high, David often thought it could serve as a signal to his first period teacher that he would soon be in attendance. Occasionally when he would get ready to head home, a handful of onlookers would applaud if the ignition turned over on the first try.

It was Friday, and Episcopal was in the second round of the high school football playoffs. There was plenty of excitement among his friends, and David felt it as well.

The cool November air agreed with David's car. The air conditioner had bailed long ago, and there wasn't much interest from he or his parents in getting it repaired. The once mighty Olds must have been a pioneer in power windows and locks technology, a feature that was surprisingly reliable. It was humbled, though, by a factory-installed eight track, three blown speakers, and a torn out headliner that David had hastily removed before picking up a date junior year. The once sagging felt was now replaced with profanity written in the underlying foam by his jackass friends.

David lived several miles across town. Most of his prep school friends lived in an upscale neighborhood near Episcopal that David passed to and from school each day. When he was in eighth grade, David's parents applied for and received a scholarship that provided him the opportunity to attend Episcopal.

Town South was the local public high school David would have attended under normal circumstances. TSH had ten times the enrollment of Episcopal, which lead to a daily traffic jam in front of the school. David looked forward to being held up at the signal just beyond the campus. He would see some of his old friends from his public school days, which always gave him a comfortable feeling. There was no way to predict, unfortunately, how uncomfortable things were soon to become.

The sound produced by the horn of a '79 Cutlass is like nothing else ever manufactured. David always hesitated to honk because anything within a two mile radius might feel it the recipient. So when the wretched Cutlass inexplicably wailed like a World War II air strike warning, David instantly regretted his decision to chance the after school gridlock, and soon felt suffocated himself.

The incident may not have been so embarrassing had he not waved in the Honda Civic carrying five cheerleaders attempting to exit the lot. David recognized a couple of them from a party at the Russell's lake house over the summer. They politely waived as David scrambled to find confidence. All was lost as soon as the horn awoke. They must have briefly thought he was just trying to get their attention, but after thirty-seconds of solid blowing, it became uncomfortable for everyone involved.

He watched in agony as the traffic light at the south end of the campus changed for a third time before he was able to break free. David considered shutting down the engine, but that could have potentially lead to a situation far more humiliating. For now, staying mobile was all that mattered.

David Allen took pride in his self-control, but as he approached the light at Highland Avenue, he brought with him language that would make a frat guy blush.

He made a sudden decision to cut through Park Heights, a quiet area usually immune to such a commotion. As the Cutlass serenaded the historic district, David's anxiety went elsewhere. The red brick homes with stately white columns reminded him of the sacrifices his parents made. He remembered life before high school to be less complicated. He could not remember ever doubting himself then. Maybe it was because he never sensed the slightest bit of shame from his parents. So where had this sudden shame in himself come from?

Southern Drive was the main street that lead to David's modest subdivision. His house was about a mile and a half from the intersection of Southern and Porter. As he continued on, he sensed empathy from some of the familiar strangers he passed along the way. He noticed a Caprice Classic in his rear view mirror transporting a plastic swimming pool. Instead of tying it down, each of the four passengers had one arm out of their respective windows holding the pool to the roof. David felt immediate community with them. Several cars joined in on the honking as the Cutlass neared the turn at Pilot, David's street. He noticed Edmond, his next door neighbor, laughing uncontrollably while getting gas at the station on the corner of Pilot and Southern. David was laughing, because he knew Edmond had never surrendered more than five dollars into that gas tank.

The honking finally stopped when he put the car in park. His mom was already home, and David drug himself inside, exhausted and numb from what had just happened.

"Was that you honking?" his mom asked when he opened the door from the garage. He knew she wasn't worried, only curious.

"It did that the whole way home."

"Were you embarrassed?"

"It was pretty embarrassing."

David could not have been more at ease at this point.

"Did it start in the parking lot?" she laughed.

"No, it spared me until the log jam in front of Town South."

The lessons from these adolescent wounds were what kept David's mom from feeling sad. Of course she wished they could offer him more, but she recognized that even as a high school senior, he responded to her reactions. As long as she maintained the humility that was missing from so many, so could he.

She paused, then said, "Oh well, these things are temporary. You have to find ways to celebrate them."

"At least it's Friday," David yawned. He dropped his backpack on a kitchen chair and started for his room.

"Are you going to the game?"

"I told some of the guys I would go."

"Seth and them?"

"Yes, ma'am. We'll probably take my car."

Her eyes closed and her hand went to her mouth as she kept a laugh from escaping.

Written by Paul McCallister author of http://www.nojerseysat30.com/ Mistakes We Make: Social, Professional, Spiritual, Style

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The Mefaked

2011-07-17T04:47:00.000-07:00

They too have souls. They too have mothers and girlfriends and homes to go back to, childhood friends to commiserate with about all the bull they're going through. They too daydream in the desert of a nourishing meal and of more than five minutes to eat it. They sweat, they drink coke, they laugh, check Facebooks, and reminisce on all the drunken debauchery they enjoyed back in high school. Sometimes they see the same mirages of civilization, of proof that there is life outside this army and don't know whether to laugh or cry when the vision inevitably dissolves into dust. And of course, they too once were Tzairim, a partly endearing mostly insulting term used for the army's newcomers. Yes, even the Mefefakdim, the commanders were once Tzairim. Like me.

But right now, that all seems too hard to believe.

"KEEP CRAWLING!" Mefaked Doron bellows, veins pulsing violently out of his neck like weaving flash-floods in the desert. He lets out his most head-splitting shriek yet, "WAKE UP! You garbage, you jokes!!! What do you think this is? Summer camp? A hiking trip? Crawl faster now or I will stick my arm so far up your--"

You get the point. I'm smack dab in the middle of basic training and right now all I want to do is kill my Mefaked. He's a short guy, probably a chain smoker, with a face only a mother could love (with difficulty). His perpetually scrunched, sun-blotched expression dominated by a long crooked crease between his eyebrows makes him very very easy to impersonate. And this we all do with glee. Especially easy to parrot is his trademark, somewhat impossible-to-follow command: "SHUT YOUR FACE!" This he squawks at least 3 or 4 times a day, spittle consistently flying from his mouth, with such venom and velocity that it is remarkably difficult to keep said shut face straight.

In order to stay sane, and not commit homicide (which could be rather easy considering we carry around M-16s and two loaded magazines at all times) we just have to laugh. At him. Usually we wait 'til we're a safe distance away, but I'm not going to do that today. Here in the wilderness, crawling without end under the unforgiving Middle Eastern Sun, getting berated for not bloodying my elbows enough, I sure as hell ain't feeling patient. No, today, I'm feeling brave and invincible to whatever creative hell he's got up hidden up his sleeves. Make me run, crawl, do a couple hundred pushups, whatever you want--I don't give. It's worth any and every punishment just to make you look like a complete idiot for next couple of seconds. Bring it on.

And so I stand up and wait. At first, it takes Mefaked Doron a few seconds to notice; he's busy grabbing Ofek by the collar and dragging him a few meters for crawling too slow. But when he finally finishes and notices me standing there, naturally his reflex is to throw a tantrum.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he roars, "Drop! Get back down and crawl! Don't make me--"

Then before he can finish, before I have a chance to second-guess the possible consequences, I do it. Face scrunched into an ugly scowl, voice lowered to a trembling overdone bravado, finger pointed centimeters away from his nose, I scream with all my might his own favorite line back at him, "SHUT YOUR FACE!"

Silence. His jaw has dropped--quite literally as if about to ingest a massive deli sandwich. All the other soldiers aren't crawling anymore; they're staring in awe at my outstretched arm and posture, an imitation they've all seen and more than half of them done themselves a million times before but behind Mefaked Doron's back. This however is real, uncut 100% chutzpah and, god, are they scared for me. It feels like a whole eternity has passed and still no one's dared to move, stuck in the strangest still-life ever painted. Then finally without warning, something remarkable happens. Mefaked Doron laughs.

I don't know at first if this is really happening. I'm certain I'm dead or hallucinating because there's absolutely no possible way that in this life or any other, my Mefaked could have the capacity to laugh. But he's still at it, shaking his head self-effacingly, giggling as if he were physically tickled, an irresistible grin spread across his face. And suddenly everyone's laughing, and some people are laughing so hard they're crying. The soldiers, still lying where they were, are howling, their hands slapping the sand sending it flying into the air, rolling around as if they've never seen or heard something so hilarious. I'm going along with them, half-shocked half-jubilant and mostly just so immensely relieved that a) he didn't kill me and b) it turns out Mefaked Doron has a sense of humor. For even though his job is to be the biggest schmuck in the world, to turn us Tzairim into real soldiers and to break us in order to do so, Mefaked Doron is only human. And when something's funny, something's funny.

Eventually we all calm down and the Mefaked tells me to come over to the side. I know whatever's coming can't be good, that such a gracious moment can only be short-lived, so I approach him cautiously. He waits for a moment, still half-smiling, and then puts his arm on my shoulder.

"You know" he says, "We Mefakdim make fun of you guys too." I nod, partly surprised, trying to imagine him imitating us, though this is still too big a stretch. He continues, "Now, I have to punish you, of course. This is clear. But I wanted to remind you that I was once in the exact same spot you are now. Don't worry, Basic Training will end eventually and when it does we can laugh together again." He gives me one last grin, a real sincere one and I'm struck by how wrong I had him. He's really not that ugly after all. And y'know, he seems like a pretty decent guy in real life. Maybe if I just think of him as Doron, remind myself that he's not always a Mefaked, then I'll be able to get through Basic Training just fine. I don't think I even want to kill him anymore.

A few minutes later, I take that back.

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Faith, Hope, Love, And Luck

2011-07-17T02:56:00.000-07:00

Celso was the first one up every morning. Despite the fact that he and his two younger brothers started school at the same time, the twins always seemed to run late. Celso, like many 16-year-old boys at his high school and at other schools in San Francisco, shaved his head every morning. Celso and his friends called it the "clean-cut look;" yet it was more economical than fashionable, especially in a city known for its cold, damp fog that lingered throughout the year. Celso was rubbing baby oil on his smooth and perfectly round head when he heard one of his brothers pound the door and say, "Dude, hurry up!" Celso opened the worn, squeaky oak door and saw his brother Marcos looking down at him. Without saying anything else, Marcos pushed his way in, and Celso quickly walked back to their room.

He sat on his bed where he tied his Adidas and watched his brother Miguel still asleep on the lower bunk across from him. Celso was only a year older than the twins, yet ever since their mom ran away with Celso's godfather, the Garcia men had grown apart and learned to fend for themselves. Celso heard the top lock on the main door rattle and boots walk over the wooden floor. Without any concern for his sleeping brother, he yelled, "Hey, Dad." He walked into the living room as he adjusted the beanie around his pierced ears.

His tall and stocky father wore navy-blue pants and a pastel-blue shirt with the museum's logo embroidered on the right side of his chest. He walked toward Celso without saying a word, patted him on the shoulder, and dragged his tired limbs toward the second bedroom. Dropping keys and a set of handcuffs on the coffee table, he faded into the dark room.

Celso walked out of his apartment complex, down Laguna Street to catch the 5 Fulton line. The city seemed drowsy despite the occasional car zipping by. Celso sought cover under the MUNI shelter from the misty breeze. He felt his pocket vibrate and pulled out his pager. The message read "143," and he knew it was Sophia paging him. He glared at the numbers on the tiny screen and smiled coyly. As he waited for the bus, he noticed a patch of green peering out from between the broken cement. He squinted his brown eyes and shifted his body toward a green leafy object that stood out from the isolated grassy patch. He realized it was a clover and, without any hesitation, began to count its leaves. Celso shook his head a few times, thinking he'd miscounted the four leaves on the clover. He saw the power lines flash above him and cocked his head, noticing the bus approaching. Before he could think of his next move, he saw the doors burst open. The white-haired Asian woman clutching the steering wheel asked, "You comin'?" Celso rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, the four-leaf clover now looking back at him. Uncertain, he boarded the bus to school.

That afternoon Celso and Sophia sat on a forest-green metal bench as they waited for the bell to ring. Celso wrapped his arms around Sophia as he snuck a kiss on her neck. "Quit, fool; it's too early for all that," said Sophia as she pulled away.

Celso smirked before answering, "I'm just responding to your 'I love you' message from this morning."

Sophia looked straight into his eyes as she brushed aside a strand of her honey brown curls and said, "You can just rub my feet later."

They both laughed and Celso asked, "Have you ever seen a four-leaf clover?"

Celso saw Sophia's brows flair with confusion before she asked, "Is that what the Mission kids are smoking that's got them all wild 'n' out?"

Exposing his dimples, Celso shrugged and told Sophia he had spotted a four-leaf clover on Laguna and that he was planning on going back to get it after school.

Sophia smacked his shoulder and rolled her golden eyes at him. She then said, "You ain't going to my game then, huh?"

Celso reminded her that he had to work and that once he got a car, he would go to all her basketball games. In disbelief, she sighed as the bell rang and headed toward the girl's locker room. Disheartened, Celso grabbed his backpack and walked toward the bus to go back home.

Celso pulled the plastic rope a few times to alert the driver he needed to get off. An old man sitting to his right scuffed, "You only need to pull once." Celso ignored him and sped out the bus. He looked all around and saw the little patch of green had been removed. He saw another small section of grass and clovers behind the bus stop and leaned down to look through it. All the clovers he found were missing the fourth leaf. He rubbed his hands to remove the dirt from his fingers. Feeling as if a vending machine had stolen his change, he went back home to dress for work.

During his entire shift, all Celso could think about was the four-leaf clover. Every time he chopped mushrooms or spinach for his pizzas, he pondered whether or not that clover could have somehow changed his life. He smiled as he packed the pizzas into boxes, remembering when his whole family would head to Market Street to watch the St. Patrick's parade. He recalled the last time his mom drew four-leaf clovers on all the boys' hands. Tiredly, Celso switched the fluorescent pizzeria sign off, collected his share of the tips, and dreaded his commute back home. When he reached Laguna, he began to look around to see if he could spot any charm. He walked and scanned every space visible with the glow of streetlights. His fingers dug into bushes and grass, finding the occasional three-leaf clover. His pager began to beep; dusting off his hands, he reached into his pocket and went home to call his girlfriend.

Belo Cipriani writes both creative non-fiction and short fiction across several genres with the help of adaptive technology. To read and edit, he uses a talking computer that runs a screen reader called JAWS and a talking dictionary device called Franklin.

Belo holds a Masters Degree in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing from Notre Dame de Namur University, where he studied under award winning poet Jacqueline Berger and fiction writer Kerry Dolan.

He is heavily involved with the San Francisco literary community and is a member of Litquake, The California Writers Club, and a contributing writer for Bay Area publications. Belo and his guide dog Madge live in San Francisco. Learn more at http://blindamemoir.com/.

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Behind Close Doors: Pilate and Herod on The Day of Jesus' Judgment

2011-07-08T14:02:00.000-07:00

"I curse these people and Caesar," Pilate said.

"You can say whatever you about these blasted people," Julian said. "But, remember Caesar has friends with in your company."

"Julian don't threaten me," Pilate shot back. He could have continued with we all know that he is your uncle, but he kept his mouth shut beside tonight presented other problems. The Jews wanted him dispose of one of their problems, someone name Jesus of Nazareth.

Pilate wiped the sweat from his face with his robe, as he walked over to the table. He lifted up a bronze pitcher and poured its ruby red contents into a gold cup. He lifted it and poured the contents into his mouth. After doing so, he filled the cup again, and continues in a somber mood. "You don't have to remind that you are Cesar's nephew." He paused and continued, "I was their when he made you my aid, and your aid has been most valuable.

Julian bowed, and let the issue go because he still knew whatever Pilate says he could use against him at his own choosing. His Uncle Caesar and himself despised Pilate. Caesar had sent him not to aid Pilate, but destroy him. Caesar sent Pilate and himself to this wretched place and people in hope to goad Pilate into scorning him, so that he had enough just cause to finally do away with Pilate.

Julian walked over to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. "I also want to curse these people because the have been nothing trouble since we arrive." As Julian spoke, Pilate gazed at him for a moment and estimated his age to about, twenty-five. "Remember when we almost had an insurrection when we put Caesar's mantle in their temple." He paused to let Pilate ponder his words then continued, "But, under duress Rome relented and removed the mantel from the temple."

Just as Pilate rose to respond the doors flew open and a Centurion Officer named, Octavius stood in the doorway and raise his hand and brought it hard to his chest as he looked toward Pilate. "Governor, I just got word from Herod's palace," the officer said."Herod is sending Jesus back to you. He says only you have the authority to kill Jesus not him. Herod wants know why you sent this Jesus to him?'"

Pilate just slumped back into the chair in looked at the floor. The Gods have sealed his fate.

While back at Herod's place, words of anger echoed off the walls. The Head Priest Caiaphas stood glaring at Herod. You had to wonder if his white beard made his face that bright red, or his bright red face made his beard a bright white. His body shook with rage as he open his mouth to speak.

"Herod you are no better than your father," Caiaphas measure his words. "You are no better than your spineless father. It took one seductive dance for him to finally to kill that nuisance, John." Herod's father did not kill John until his wife's Herodias' daughter performed a seductive dance for him. Being please with the dance, he granted her request. Listening to her mother, she asked for the head of John on a platter.

Herod open his mouth to respond and Caiaphas continued his tirade. There would be no stopping the years of anger toward Herod from being release.

"You are no Jewish King," he said. "You have nothing do with your with your Jewish people or Priests, but your Hellenist companions who feed you their Hellenist ways. They have told you this garbage to lead you away from your own Jewish roots. You know Herod that there. His anger subsided.

Herod stood up and responded. "Caiaphas, your foolish choice of words could make me order your death." To which he replied, " But you won't because only Pilate has that authority." After that Caiaphas turned and walked out of the room while Herod shouted curses at him.

Just as the guards led Jesus out of the room to be scourge according to Pilate's orders, Julian and Octavius enter. Julian stirs at Jesus, and shakes his head.

Once Jesus has been removed. Pilate begins to speak. "I have had men plead for my mercy as the guards had to drag them from presence. Many of these men were the so called Zealots that while they were free, boldly claimed that they would make me die slowly." Pilate turned to look at window at the city. "They said those very word outside on that street below." He turned toward back to the two men with his right stretched back towards the window.

He looked this Julian and Octavius with a solemn face and spoke with measured words. "This man Jesus, just looks me with dark eyes and says very few words. It is almost as He has accepted death.

"Piate, what, this ha man unnerved because he does not plead for your mercy?" Octavius question.

"Perhaps our dear Governor has grown soft in his old age." Julian responded, mockingly.

"No dear Julian have not grown soft." He said glaring back toward Julian. "To tell you the the truth I would like crucify Caiaphus and his Priests along with Jesus. They have caused me nothing trouble since I came. You have figured that since they have one God their Religion would be..."

"We are not here to hear about how much trouble Caiaphas and Jews cause you," Octavius cut Pilate off. "As you have said Caiaphas will be dealt with it later. We have a this present matter about Jesus. I don't care how He how looks at you. He is a threat to Rome's interest. Has more followers than John. He also talks about some kingdom that we can't see."

"He also said that He is the Son of God," Julian added. "This makes Him into a God-man, and only Cesar can be a God-man. He is not equal to Cesar from the stories that I have heard that His father was a pour carpenter. He can not make any claim to royalty because He has no Royal blood."

"My man have reported that He has raised a man from the dead." Octavius said. "Do you think that He is some kind of God? Is that what frightens you? We Romans seen all kinds of so called Religious trickery from Brittany to here. I for myself do not believe in such nonsense."

"The guards have brought back a very bloody Jesus for sentencing who sits with a table with a basin next to him. "Jesus the King of the Jews will be Crucified as your Priest wish. The crowd's cheered and jeered, as Pilate walked behind the table. His lifted his hands to silence the crowds, and lowered them into the basin. "I wash my hands of this man's blood."

Julian and Octavius both looked each other. Julian whispered in Octavius hear, "Did you he see. He just sentence a man to death while not taking responsibility for it."

Pilot walked up to Octavius. "You will lead the Crucifixion Detail." He turned toward Julian. "Make sure that your uncle knows that I have defended his honor."

He then looked at the both of them. "I just thought the man was insane. I have had those appear before me with the same delusions of grandeur, and I dealt with them by scourging and being sent to the salt mines to disappear. So if it had been my way Jesus would have just disappear. That is how you deal with problems. You just make them disappear without a mess."

"Why not just kill them?" Julian asked.

"Because they just don't die, they live in the minds of their followers." Pilate responded.

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Checkmate - Chapter VIII

2011-07-08T13:00:00.000-07:00

Kayn's father spent his last years in a continuous care facility; sitting at a window waiting for Alyssa.

Harry and Phillip, Kayn's older brothers found their father underneath his carpenter bench, unresponsive, suffering frost bite and dehydration. While hospitalized the Doctors believed that he had suffered several small strokes and after further testing he was diagnosed in the early stages of Dementia. Harry had sent Kayn notice of all the Hospital reports, but received no response so he and Phillip represented the only two family members willing to provide the hospital with directions for their fathers care. They tried returning him to the ranch, with an army of caregivers, but he refused help and in due course he was returned to the emergency room suffering from a blood infection. Together Harry, Phillip and the Hospital Administrator's signed a joint order placing him in perpetual care. When he was coherent and logical Harry and Phillip took turns bringing him back to his beloved ranch home where he would rest on the porch until it was time to return to the Care Unit.

Like a million other prescribers to the daily News, Kayn read of his father's passing, in the morning publication; a small family service would be held at the Ranch with his father's ashes spread over the property. Within a week he received notice of the date, time and place for the reading of the Will, which of course he ignored. Shortly thereafter he received notice of the estate assignment, which did not differ from what he had been told by his father as a young boy; 90% of the land was divided between Harry and Phillip; 10% going to Kayn, with a conservation easement in favor or the Federal Conservatory Reserve, blanketing the land to evermore remain in its natural state. Kayn had no intention of disputing the land assignment; he immediately sent the paperwork onto the in-house Solicitors giving them instructions to gift the lands to his oldest son, Robert.

______________________

Over the years, Harry became a brilliant investor and philanthropist. Known as the Prophet of the Prairies, he believed that a stock which cannot be held for 10 years should not even be owned; now with a portfolio valued in excess of Ten Billion Dollars his audience watched each and every move Harry made towards investments. When sitting on the board of trustees for Duke University; he met Robert, Kayn's oldest son. Having no children of his own he enjoyed getting to know and becoming good friends with him.

It became quite common for Robert not to return home between school semesters; since leaving home he had become quit distant from his father and found it easier to communicate through his mother, who would travel to North Carolina to spend time with Robert. He found his growing friendship with his Uncle so worthwhile; beginning to understand and respect his diverse heritage. He had also been introduced to his Uncle Phillip and his grandmother, Alyssa, who he found to be so sincere and genuine. He had finished up all pending registrations over the first few weeks of summer and was planning to go down to South Carolina where he had found a job. Packing the last of his bags, the phone rang; it was Harry advising him that Alyssa was on her way down and bringing a guest. Robert anxious to see Alyssa again confirmed that he was leaving then and would arrive later that afternoon.

Harry had talked to Robert about his relationship with his mother becoming estranged after she left his father; but over time he respected her decision and knew it had not been a generous life for her on the ranch. She was living a life now that was very beneficial to her growth and happiness. Both Harry and Phillip were happy for their mother.

Entering the door at the arrivals terminal, Harry saw Alyssa standing with a man, who he thought he recognized, but did not know from where.He walked over and was quickly introduced to Dr. Albert Morton; immediately Harry knew of this renowned man worthy of his regard. Harry quickly raising his hand to greet Dr. Morton.

"Well, sir this is a pleasure. When Mom said she was travelling with a friend, I certainly did not expect it to be such a luminary persona. I have followed your work for years. It is truly a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you. I as well am thrilled to meet you, having followed your career for years. Perhaps we can both benefit from some career council ling during our visit."

"I look forward to it."

Robert arrived at the house later that afternoon. He was honored to meet Dr. Morton and admired the ease and contentment that surrounded he and Alyssa. The house vibrated with laughter that day.

Alyssa was thrilled to be able to spend more time with Robert; the gathering proved to be the beginning of a long-time alliance between a very diverse troupe that by chance had congregated and quickly formed a comradeship that would carry forth knowing no limits. At Roberts request it was agreed that his father not be told.In the months that followed, Harry advised Robert of the illegal implications surrounding Albert. He knew he must be with his extended family and friends giving support so he travelled home with Harry. For months, it seemed that the devastation surrounding Albert and Alyssa would not cease until Albert stood to public surrender.

All along Alyssa had kept her news from Albert, not wanting to burden him further; she had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and given only a short while to get her affairs in order. She had quietly spoken with Harry, Phillip and Robert, leaving them in complete ruin when hearing the news; but respecting her request to not tell Albert. The day of Albert's sentencing, he turned and looked at Alyssa before being lead away by the guards; she stood strong, not giving any indication of her own destiny, only whispering her love. Her solitude and isolation over Albert quickened her demise and with her family at her side she found peace. Harry was appointed as executor for her estate; which held no monetary value only his vow to his mother they would find out what, or who, was responsible for Albert's demise.Harry had such admiration for Robert; he reminded him very much of himself at this age; dedicated to his studies; achieving his Masters in Medicine and then carried on his studies in neurobiology; now residing in Brazil under the Duke Alumni in their studies in Social Justice and Sustainable Developments. Robert calls South Carolina home, visiting his Uncle when opportunity arises. He has also formed a special bond with his Uncle Phillip who he has promised to visit on the ranch that his grandfather started. He hears from his father, a few times a year and only returned home when hearing the news of his mother's illness.

_____________________________

If it were not for his genuine regard he had for his relationship, Kayn would have ended his friendship with Irene months ago. His children, her children, they all offered nothing more than distasteful judgment. It had become an embarrassment to even attempt to entertain them within the same room.

For the Christmas holidays, Kayn had made plans for he and Irene to travel down to Miami, where he had a beach front estate. When he mentioned their plans to his daughter she become outraged with the thought so Kayn then volunteered that perhaps she and her family also travel down with them. She of course accepted the suggestion and by the end of the day had convinced two of her siblings to also come. Irene, after hearing the revised travel plans, thought it best that she not go, but Kayn would not hear of it and further volunteered that she see if any of her children wished to come as well.

The day the Towne Car meet Kayn and Irene in the lobby of their building en route to the Airport, they were embarking on a trip that now included both her children and Kayn's. She had come down with a troublesome cold and flu that did not want to go away, even with the antibiotics that her Doctor had prescribed. As she sat in the backseat of the car her thoughts were only that she should be staying home.

Over the next forty-eight hours children and grandchildren continued to arrive; and Irene wanting to greet and tend to everyone's needs, ignored the Doctors orders to rest.

Looking down on the courtyard; to the right were his children, all but Robert, and to the left were Irene's; he had seen similar standoffs on the 49th floor board room. Since his mothers passing Robert had become very distant always too busy to come home. Kayn, thought that was a winning attribute for his eldest son to have, success first, family thereafter. He turned from the balcony, poured himself another drink and walked into the study to return to his work. He would let Irene worry about harmonizing the troops.

Reviewing the security updates he was surprised to see that Martin Graham had agreed to go back to Australia; Kayn remembered, with a smile, the last time he swore never to return. Martin and the ASIA agent, Stephen Forbes were on Bar Cove Island when three of the AOC agents were taken into custody; charged with possession of the illegal fire arms and narcotics for the purpose of trafficking. Martin had returned to Brisbane, where the paper trail for Chanarong Montri and Kim Chan So ended; at the time of his report he was still attempting to access the surveillance tapes from the air terminal. Martin's closing comments for the attention of the local police department was that in searching the Island all guests were accounted for except for Mr. & Mrs. Bao and asked that a search commence for this couple.

The second report came from the International Financial Task Force giving some indication of the cash resurfacing in accounts in the Caymans and Switzerland; looking at the balance of accounts, Kayn recognized that it was minuscule to that which was reported as missing.

Irene got through the holidays still not feeling better and only wished to get home. Kayn on the other hand had made arrangements for them to carry on to a ten day trip through the Bahamas. For the entire trip Irene remained in their cabin.

After arriving home Irene made an appointment to see her Doctor where he after seeing her extreme drop in vitals since their last visit, put her immediately into the hospital.

Kayn found this somewhat disturbing having to go to the hospital to visit her and having to arrange for his own supper, which, over the weeks, became a double whiskey.

What started out to be a ten day visit turned into months, with no improvement being seen. All the tests and scans had been taken showing nothing to assist the Doctors in Irene's care, but each day she was becoming weaker and weaker.

After talking with her Doctor, her children returned to be at her bedside; Kayn visiting when he could, offering little in support. His lack of respect for their mother incited the group to eventually refuse him access into their mother's room.

At 2:30 a.m. with her children at her bedside Irene suffered a massive brain aneurysm and passed away.
Her children left it to the hospital staff to notify Kayn.

He took the call from his office the following day, extending his gratitude for the news that Irene was out of pain and now the family can start healing. After thanking the Nurse for her call he replaced the receiver and continued to get ready for his lunch with Shirley; a lovely lady, who had recently lost her husband. He, of course recognized that it would be most inappropriate for them to dine alone, so he had arranged for his daughter and Shirley's niece to also be present.

Living at the gateway of the majestic Rockies or while rising above the skyline in the urban maze, Wendi enjoys being a trendsetter. Challenging herself throughout her career in public relations and community development she accepted each challenge as a leader and adventurer. Her voyage continues, documenting her passionate interests in the wilds of nature, to the downtown streets of the City; recognizing the wealth of knowledge within each subject that she partners with.
Wendi's short stories and poems can be found at:
http://smile-practicalknowledge.blogspot.com/

Contact Wendi at rgm@davincibb.net

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Short Story - Eduard DeVere Bullington

2011-07-08T11:48:00.000-07:00

Eduard deVere Bullington studied the printed flyer which had just been handed to him by Mycroft, his salesperson. "Awful!" he exclaimed. "Just so...tacky." He walked over to the massive front window of his store and looked out and across the street. "Yes, flyer printing like this is something I might expect from a dreadful place like 'Bob and Linda's Furniture Discounter'. All they emphasize is their 'good deals' and their 'fifty percents off' and their 'lowest prices in town'. It's so incredibly vulgar. You'll never see me distributing something as utterly banal as that." He handed the flyer to Mycroft, pinching it on the corner as though her were holding a dead rat by the tail.

"No, Mr. Bullington," said Mycroft. "This is a classy place you're opening. The finest antiques and high-end furniture in the state."

"When do they open, Mycroft?"

"Today, Mr. Bullington," said Mycroft. "Same as us. By the way, what is our marketing plan? I certainly would like to have some customers in here real soon, since I'm on commission."

Bullington smiled. "Follow me." He led Mycroft out to the front of his new store, reached for a rope, and pulled the long covering off his sign.

The sign read simply, BULLINGTON'S.

Mycroft stared at it. "That's your marketing plan?"

"My name, Mycroft, is my marketing plan. Do you know what that name means? The Bullingtons are a pillar of the community. My great-grandfather was a well-known businessman and my grandfather was the county judge for many years. This sign says 'prestige' and 'respectability.'"

Mycroft nodded as he balled up the flyer and stuffed it in his pocket. "We don't need no stinkin' flyer printing!."

"Don't be vulgar, Mycroft," said his boss. "Well, we're officially open for business. We'll see who's left standing at the end of the day - the tacky, flyer-printing Bob and Linda or the symbol of good taste and respectability, Bullington's."

The first customer came through the door twenty minutes later. Mycroft greeted him. "May I help you, sir?"

"I'd like to speak to the owner."

"I'll handle this one, Mycroft. Just watch...and learn." He offered his hand. "I'm Eduard Bullington."

"Fantastic," said the man. "I'm Bill Tandy, from the Volunteer Firefighters' Association. We always ask for a donation from new businesses to support the local firehouse." He looked around. "Look at all this old wood. What a fire hazard! If this ever goes up, you'll want us, no doubt about it. Now I'm sure a Bullington can afford to stroke a mighty generous check." He stood and waited.

Bullington forced a smile as he went into his office. When he returned, he handed it to Tandy. "I'm sure you'll be getting a visit from the Police Officers' Benevolent Society later today as well," said the firefighter.

Mycroft showed him out the door and looked across the street. "Wow. Look at all the cars at Bob and Linda's."

"Fear not, Mycroft. The most discerning of them will spend a little time there and will realize that what they need cannot be found there. Ah, you see. There's a charming couple coming in here right now."

A moment later the well-dressed couple entered the showroom. "How may I be of service?" asked Mycroft.

"Are you the owner?"

"Uh, no. That would be Mr. Bullington."

"Eduard Bullington. How may I help you?"

"Hi there. I'm Bob and this is my wife Linda. We own the store across the street. Listen, I was wondering whether you would allow us to borrow some of your parking spaces for any overflow customers. We're expecting a big opening day today -"

"We put out over ten thousand printed flyers," exclaimed Linda with evident pride.

"We'll be happy to pay you," added Bob, pulling his checkbook out of his pocket. "How about ten dollars per space per day? It would be well worth it to me. I certainly don't want to send any customers away because they can't find a place to park. Now when do you plan to open?"

"Very soon," said Bullington with pursed lips as he accepted the check which covered thirty spaces - just enough to offset the payment to the firefighters.

An hour later all of the rented spaces were filled, and customers were parking illegally on the side of the road just to get into Bob and Linda's. Bullington and Mycroft stood for long periods of time, staring at their otherwise empty parking lot. Just before noon, a crowd of people left Bob and Linda's and crossed the street en masse.

"Finally," said Bullington. "People are starting to hear about the high-end alternative. It always takes time, Mycroft."

Two minutes later a crowd of women stood in the showroom. "We're terribly sorry, sir," said one. "But apparently they're having plumbing problems at Bob and Linda's. May we use your restroom? Bob said you were so nice and he told me to tell you he'll send over another check at the end of the day for all your help."

By the end of the day there had been no sales; there was one expression of interest in having some restoration work done. Bullington and Mycroft sat silently, watching pick-up truck after pick-up truck carry goods away from Bob and Linda's.

Towards the end of the day, an old, beaten-down, bearded man came in the door. He shuffled into the showroom.

"Would you like to see the owner?" asked Mycroft.

"What's wrong with you? Can't you sell?"

Mycroft perked up. "Why, I'd be delighted."

The man tapped a French Empire sofa with his hand, and studied it. At that moment a woman walked in. She was dressed almost as shabbily as her husband.

"What do you think, Elmira?" he asked. "You think this will fit in the double-wide?"

Bullington interjected himself into the sale. "Sir, I'm not sure you saw the price tag. This piece costs fifteen thousand dollars."

The old man looked at the price tag. "So it does."

"In fact, I don't think there's a sofa in here that costs less than five thousand, if that's what you're looking for."

"Well, me and Elmira, we was actually looking for two sofas and a dining room table and some cabinets and a few other things."

"I hate to send customers away, but you may want to try Bob and Linda's," said Bullington. "They may be more in your price range."

The old man looked at him. "Bullington. Yeah, I remember your grandfather, the judge. I got hauled into court once and I didn't even have time to tell my side of the story. He just looked at me and said, 'Well, from the looks of you, you're probably guilty'. I got thirty days."

"How unfortunate."

"And you're probably looking at me and going, that man is way too poor to afford my fine furniture. But what you don't know, Mr. Bullington, is that I won the multi-state lottery last night. I can buy everything in your store two hundred times over. At full price. And not even make a dent."

Bullington stood stone still as his mistake sank in.

"But you know what, Mr. Bullington. I don't pay full price for anything. I'm going to go and check out Bob and Linda's. See, I got this flyer they sent out, and I just love to get something at a discount. Come on, Elmira. Let's go."

Mycroft followed them out the door.

"Where are you going, Mycroft?"

"To Bob and Linda's. I'm applying for a job. I need to make some money."

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A Safe Place

2011-07-08T10:10:00.000-07:00

Life as it is, falling through a tunnel of the complete and everything, I lay adrift in mid-air; as to rest in the abyss of nothing, red and black spiraling. I've come from nowhere and travel downward endlessly, an infinite journey to a deep dark nothingness. Yet, without this dark light would be inexistent, and therefore I commend the dark on what has come but a bright light flashes as if the sun hung centimeters from the earth, if I'd still even been there.

As the light dimmed a hallow of darkness followed and I know now that this is my final destination in journey of-well the journey, of what I thought to be an endless decent, now has me left out in what is dark and cold; a lonesome place nobody has dared to enter until this very moment. A moment in which I've decided to breach into the core of this hallow, just to lie here without a hint of ever needing one of my senses again. I loath just to be free of this place, it gives me nothing but a desire for more, lost in my own selfish mind, I feel as though I can rely on a single soul to lend a moment of their time to reach their arm into what they fear, in hopes of pulling me out of this, but now that I'm here the hands I once thought would reach through and save me from myself have all vanished and I'm left to call for help from a more fluent person in who's hands I would be safe, although without speaking nobody would know I've fallen into such a place that I know it is up to me to scream for help. So I let out the highest pitch burst of song I can, the walls of the hallow shattering like glass, onward I fall faster than before.

Light speed pays no competition to the rate at which I'm falling. I want to slow down, now diving through what seems to be nothing but clear blue sky, yet there are no breaks in the middle of the air so I continue to fall, then... My break comes, painfully I fell into a giant plant seemingly composed of nothing more of thorns slicing deep into my flesh. Looking around I'm surrounded as though the plant has swallowed me, the only way out would be to climb up from where I came, and so I push onward, standing up I felt the thorns tear my skin open, my blood dripping down, I grab on to the vines heading upward and out; letting the thorns dig deeply into my hands each step of the way. As I look up to the clearing I notice it starting to close, and so I push on even harder, I would have never left the hallow if I'd known this were to be my fate. Nearing the top now the thorns dig deeply into my body, stabbing into my chest and back, I drag myself up if only to free my self from them tearing across my skin like a razor blade; finally at the top I free myself from the plant as the opening shrinks to nothing. All I stand on now is a bed of thorns, that know my flesh well, and I fall down on my back looking upwards, and I smile, knowing: only I could have saved myself.

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Checkmate - Chapter VII

2011-07-03T04:47:00.000-07:00

Martin Graham sat in the center of the airplane; a row offering him complete privacy. The agency received unlimited sanctions allowing access to the passenger listings for all departing flights; from those logs he was able to follow the flight of Chanarong Montri and Veronica Bartola to Vancouver and from there they boarded a connecting flight to Brisbane. Kim and Shai were still unaccountable; the passenger listings did not reveal their names and the video surveillance from the terminal would not be available for another 24 hours. He spoke with the Federal Security Agent and it was decided to follow the known trail of Chanarong. He wasted no time arranging his travel plans to Brisbane. Before departing he left several messages for Kayn but had not heard back. Working with Kayn for over ten years, he had great regard for the man; yet there was a side of him that disturbed Martin; on several occasion when Kayn though that he was not in the focus of others he became uneasy and troubled. All security scans had been done on Kayn returning only an impeccable history, yet Martin could not help but think that Kayn had many stones unturned.

Not at all interested in the movie, Martin looked through the window of the plane at the beauty of the sunset now engulfing the sky. He had not been in Australia for years and did not look forward to returning. His last assignment involved a lot of bush walking away from the groomed tourist venues; he encountered snakes and spiders in sizes that should have stayed locked away in his nightmares. The only request made to assistant in preparing his bag was to ensure that his hiking boots were packed. Looking out the window he thought how kind it would be if this trail was contained to the wonderful beaches and tourist huts.

___________________

Chanarong lay in the hammock waiting for the sunset and listening only to the serene rolling tide. Veronica was not expected back until the following day, she had taken a boat back to the mainland to do some shopping. Since arriving on the Island he had spent most of his time walking along the beaches meeting the other guests and staff, with still no sign of Kim. The beaches surrounding the Island were open except for the western coast line. Chanarong swam past the barriers and then turned back towards the beach. As soon as he arrived on the secluded beach uniformed guards were waiting for him; very kind but having no interest in Chanarong's questions, only ordering him to return to the other side of the barricades. He would return to the west beaches, but travelling across the interior.

The silence of the evening was defining; he had not heard Kim coming from behind the Hut towards the hammock.

"Hello Chanarong, I was wondering how long it would take you to find me."

Chanarong rose from the hammock and reached out to greet Kim.

"Hello Kim, it is so good to see you. How did you know I was on the Island?"

"Your swim today caught the attention of security and when I asked the guard to describe the swimmer, their description was so accurate, it could have only been you."

"Kim, I am here for your family. They have not heard from you and are very worried."

"I think it is safer that they not know where I am; I have been given several names of those looking for me and I don't want them harmed in any way."

"Kim, they are safe. We have moved them out of the Province; they are in a secured location. Did you know that you have been accused of taking One Hundred & Fifty Million Yuan from the Country. I'm sure you saw the AOC Agents sitting outside your apartment building. You certainly cannot think that you can hide from them."

"Chanarong, I can explain everything. I only took money that belonged to my family. I did not steal anything belonging to the State. All I want to do is return to my family."

"Well Kim for now that is not a possibility. I am sure your picture remains posted across International Security Agencies, I know that the UK, Canada, the US and Germany have opened files trying to trace the money through laundering filters. If you want to clear your family from this you cannot run from me any further, you have to tell me all the facts; you cannot hold back anything."

"Okay Chanarong, you have my word."

"How long will you and - sorry what is your friend's name?"

"Shai."

"How long will you and Shai be staying on the Island?"

"We are registered for another four days, but I am getting nervous, so I think we will start packing tomorrow and move on."

"Good, I was talking with Mr. Garrison, the Manager at our Hotel and he has told me that he overheard a conversation with the Federal Agents and their Supervisor, who is now on his way to Brisbane; so I agree, this is a very good time to be leaving."

"I have a boat docked in Fremantle. Meet me there tomorrow. This time of year it is full of locals and tourists travelling from Perth, we can stay on the boat. Do you remember Veronica Bartola? She is travelling with me; she will be very happy to hear that we have spoken. Now go back to your hut and try and relax; we will start to work on this tomorrow."

Exchanging a brief embrace Kim turned and walked behind the hut into the dense vegetation.
Chanarong quickly dressed, packed up all their bags and walked to the landing harbor where he would wait until morning; wanting to make sure that Kim did not have any further ideas of running and was still there in the morning.

He was resting at the pool side bar when he noticed the lights from an oncoming charter docking at the harbor. Chanarong stood and walked over to the canopy covered inlet so he could remain in the shadows. Staff from the resort waited on the deck for the party to arrive. The party consisted of four individuals; as they walked up the dock, their faces remained muted in the darkness with the only conversation coming from the staff. Their physical stature indicated that they were all male and Chanarong sensed that this was not a family reunion. They were given directions to their huts, at the north end of the Island and asked to wait until the beach-bug arrived which would drive them. Only when the lights from the beach-bug shone onto the deck did Chanarong see that the party was indeed AOC Agents, who he recognized from the Street outside Kim's apartment. They all took their seats on the beach-bug and Chanarong waited until the vehicle had turned and was travelling down the beach before he headed out towards the west side of the Island.

Kim & Shai were packing when Chanarong got to their hut. Somewhat startled Shai stood behind Kim when Chanarong entered.

"You must be Shai, Kim has been so very kind speaking of you."

"Kim was just telling me of your meeting; I must say that I am happy that you are here."

"Yes so am I. Kim, your instincts for moving on have triggered none too soon. I just saw the AOC Agents arrive at the harbor. They have a hut on the north end of the Island and I don't think they are here to relax. Let's get everything packed and we will wait at the docking harbor. I have spoken with Veronica and she is making arrangements to charter a helicopter from Brisbane in the morning to pick us up. She has already made our flight arrangements to Perth; we are travelling under her stage name of Altola."
The helicopter was on time and they left the Island for Brisbane at 5:30 a.m. Their flight to Perth left on time at 9:00 a.m.; just as the Quantas Flight from Vancouver was arriving carrying Agent Martin Graham.

___________________

Martin cleared customs and was met by Stephen Forbes of the Australian Secret Intelligence Agency. An arrangement to transfer all pertinent security information to ASIA was done by the home office. They went to a security station within the terminal where they reviewed tapes for the past 72 hours. Martin identified Chanarong and his travel companion, Veronica. Stephen Forbes pointed out the arrival yesterday of the AOC Agents; their travel itinerary was laid out that they carried onto Bar Cove, an Island just off the western shore. Martin again failed to identify Kim and his partner Shai. They agreed that they would charter a helicopter at the adjacent terminal and go over to Bar Cove.

Martin and Stephen arrived on the Island, and without an invitation, did not get a cordial welcome. They were told to wait at the bar for the Owners to return from the mainland.

Martin looked around at the dense vegetation and preferred to wait along the dock; where within 15 minutes he was soaking wet with perspiration. The Owners did not return to the Island for another two hours. Introductions were made, security shields were volunteered, but without a court order no records of their guests would be released. Stephen immediately contacted his office to get the necessary orders delivered to the Island.

Martin remembered the noble dressing-down he and his Agents received from Mr. Garrison, and thought these people might be related, or at the least, they attended the same Hotel Management classes.

Martin took the opportunity of changing his cloths and putting on his hiking boots. When he came out from the cabana, sitting at one of the beach front tables were the familiar faces of the AOC Agents. He quickly found his hat and sunglasses, stowed his bag behind the bar counter, took a seat under the umbrella and grabbed a magazine off the counter. He watched the arrival of their breakfast and for the time being their attention was only on their food.

Two uniformed security guards for the resort had gathered at the other end of the bar; it seemed that the arrival of the four overnight guests had caught everyone's attention. They scanned the area noticing Martin, who appeared immersed in his magazine so they carried on their conversation asking if the other knew of the departure of two of their guest early this morning. Both unclear whether this was a checkout or a day trip they would wait for instructions from the office.

After they finished their breakfast the AOC Agents booked a tour boat which would travel around the Island; Martin in turn reserved the beach-bug for his travel. The tour around the Island lasted about one hour; as Martin watched from the beach-bug, the group seemed most interested in the secluded shores along the western shore. When he returned to the main dock, Stephen was waving him over; the court order had arrived.

Looking through the reservations confirmed, as expected, that Chanarong Montri and Veronica Bartola were guests on the Island, but none of the other guests registered gave clues to the whereabouts of Kim and Shai. Martin was interested in finding out about the guests registered on the private beach at the west end, a Juan & Ky Bao from Malaysia. The only records show this was their second trip to the Island, arranging for their own supplies and remain secluded during their stay; generous with the staff and only pay in cash.

Indications are that this is a couple who can afford to maintain their privacy and enjoy the Island; so why are the AOC Agents interested with that end of the Island.

From behind them the security officers called out reporting that the silent alarms to the western beach huts were going off so they were on their way over there. Martin requested that he and Stephen be allowed to accompany the officers, not in their official capacity, but only as back up support if necessary. They had never had a security problem on the Island so the Owners were grateful for their assistance.

Martin could only express his extreme appreciation, as they travelling in the land rover, over the unmarked trails. Arriving along the western beach all appeared quiet, except for the motor boat floating in the tide off the shore. The security guards did not know anything about the boat. Martin and Stephen lingered behind as the two officers walked up to the Hut. The door had been removed from the hinges, which would have triggered the alarms; as they entered all the furniture was turned over, cushions tossed about, drawers pulled out. All the remaining supplies in the Hut were left for garbage on the floor; they called Martin and Stephen up to the Hut. Stephen stayed behind; he remained on the phone with his office arranging for the main Island shore patrol to impound the motor boat.

Martin looked around the Hut. It was completely abandoned of personal articles; nothing giving evidence that Juan & Ky Bao were in the Hut.

Martin asked the officers who were the guests that left the Island this morning. Neither of them had been on duty at the time, but the log confirmed that the booking for the helicopter flight plan was in the name of Chanarong Motri.

Martin asked Stephen to arrange for his team to travel to the Island to see if they could lift any prints.

"In the mean time, may I suggest that the office start looking for their guests."

Martin and Stephen returned to the beach where they watched the shore patrol towing the motor boat away.

__________________________

Neither Kim nor Shai ever imagined that when Chanarong said he had a boat, that it would be a 200 foot motorized yacht.
A good friend from the United States had always bequeathed his toys to Chanarong. Travelling to Australia earlier this year, he had carried onto South America, where he would be for another few months, so the boat and staff was left for Chanarong's pleasure.

"The ship is equipped with satellite, but under the circumstances I have instructed the Captain to disengage the connection, no sense going to this trouble of finding this seclusion and then being located from satellite signals."

Walking along the lower corridor Kim and Shai were like children opening all the doors to the bedrooms, finally selecting the bedroom closest to the stairs.

Chanarong and Veronica randomly selected the bedroom across the walkway.
"Kim I am going to instruct the Captain to leave the harbor and travel along the coastline up to Broome. I think it best if we just stay away from docking at any of the harbors for the next little while."

"Sounds good to me."

"That will give us time to work on this problem of yours."

Kim returned to the cabin and found that Shai was asleep on the bed.

______________________________

Living at the gateway of the majestic Rockies or while rising above the skyline in the urban maze, Wendi enjoys being a trendsetter. Challenging herself throughout her career in public relations and community development she accepted each challenge as a leader and adventurer. Her voyage continues, documenting her passionate interests in the wilds of nature, to the downtown streets of the City; recognizing the wealth of knowledge within each subject that she partners with. Wendi's short stories and poems can be found at: http://smile-practicalknowledge.blogspot.com/

Contact Wendi at rgm@davincibb.net

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He Said "Nice Car Dude" - Thanks I Bought It Online From a Very Helpful Avatar Sales Babe

2011-07-03T03:43:00.001-07:00

"Have you seen the new 2022 Camaro? What an awesome car, I want one!"

"Well, I'm not sure how to tell you about this, but I'd like to show you something in my garage."

"Oh my God, you bought one, let's go for a ride, what an awesome car," as his mouth waters he says; "nice car dude" and rubs his hand over the perfect finishing and looks in the window.

"Thanks man, I bought it online from a very helpful avatar sales babe named Glenda!" "No need to go to a dealership anymore, you can make the transaction online. In fact, I used my iPhone app to take a 360° picture of myself by putting my iPhone digital camera on rapidfire, and turning myself around. The driver's seat is 100% customized to fit me."

"No way, are you serious, I heard something about that, but I didn't think it was real."

"Not only is it real, but you can do the same thing, as my passenger, you can use the same iPhone app and send it in to the Government Motor's website, and it stores the information in your iPhone. In then whenever you want to go for a ride, you can simply sync your phone with the passenger seat, and not just my car, but any GM vehicle you drive in"

"Radical! Now that is cool technology, okay, open the hood I want to see the motor," "hey, who stole your motor dude?"

"Oh, didn't you hear this car has a fuel-cell, and its all-electric power system delivers torque to all four wheels at the same time, 0 to 60 in 2.2 seconds, in full-on mode, but my Avatar warned me not to take it to full acceleration, unless you are snug in your seat and you have your five points seatbelt on. Because it really sets you back in your seat like launching off an aircraft carrier in an F-35 IV Stealth Fighter Jet, and most other cars on the road aren't expecting you to be able to accelerate that fast, so you really have to watch out."

"Awesome, let's go for a ride man, I gotta see this, this is incredible. Do you think Glenda, your avatar babe, can hook me up with a killer deal too?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact if you "friend her" on Google +5, you can pick out all the exact features you want on your car, and not just the color, but everything. Fully customized, and they deliver the car to your house. I'd so much like to go for a ride right now, but I have to wait until the Gecko website is back up because it got hacked down, but they assured me it should be up within the hour, so I can get my insurance locked in first."

"Okay dude, let's go get a pizza, I'm buying, and then when you get back you can get on your iPad 19 and get your insurance taken care of, I want to see what this car can do."

Lance Winslow is a retired Founder of a Nationwide Franchise Chain, and now runs the Online Think Tank. Lance Winslow believes writing 23,850 articles by July 4, 2011 is going to be difficult because all the letters on his keyboard are now worn off now..

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Forest Nightmare (Story)

2011-07-01T17:44:00.000-07:00

Angrily, I stormed out of my car and smacked the bonet. I had broken down about five minutes ago. In front of me, was a car coming up the road. I put my hand out but they didn't stop to see if I was okay. How rude people are these days. I saw a path and decided to walk down it.

Slowly, I walked down the path which soon led me into a deep dark forest. The owls twooted in the dark night. Above me, was the shinning light of the bright full moon. I was all alone in the forset because I couldn't see anybody around. I desperately needed somewhere to stay. The wind, which was just calm, had suddenly turned into a thunderous storm. Lighting crashed and thunder boomed. Cautiously, I started slowing down and I suddenly tripped over a stone. I rushed back up off the ground with out hesitation. Running as fast as I could, I got to a nearby log and stopped. Hesitantly, I sat down and looked up at the black, bare sky. Was I ever going to find a place to stay? The rain started picking up so I started walking again.

All around me, fog started to fill up the air. In my bag was nothing but my hairbrush, bottle of water, purse, crisps and my mobile. . . . . Yes I found my phone. Speedily, I fished out my phone from my bag and looked at my signal bar. Damn it there is no signal in the middle of the forest. Without thinking I darted down the path and found an old, crooked house.

The house, which looked abandoned, had horrible looking vines hanging from it. Do you think anyone lives here? Above my head, bats flapped about. Carefully and quietly, the door swung open and it fell off of it's broken hinges. I walked into the house and walked into a room. The rooms door banged as the wind had made it close. Suddenly the light switched off and I screamed my head off. Sadly, I fell to the ground and let my tears stream down my eyes. Moving across the floor, I touched something hard and horrible. Ewww what was that smell. Flickering on and off, the light finally came on and in front of my eyes was something I never seen before. A skeleton with a blood stain on the floor. I screamed Help me. Was I going to get out of this forest nightmare?

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Kari the Elephant

2011-07-01T16:52:00.000-07:00

Kari the elephant was five months old when he was given to me to be taken care of. I was nine years old then. We grew together. That is probably why I never found out how tall he was. Kari needed forty pounds of twigs a day to chew and play with.

Every day I used to take him into the river in the morning for his bath. He would ride on the sandbank while I rubbed him with the clean sands of the river for an hour. After that he would lie in the water. He would squeal with pleasure as I rubbed water down his back. Then I would take him by the ear because that is the easiest way to lead an elephant. Thus I left him in the fringe of the jungle, while I went into the forest to get some twigs for his food. It was not an easy job to get twigs and saplings for Kari.

One day I was gathering some twigs and I heard Kari calling me. I thought somebody was hurting him, so I come down from the tree and ran fast to the edge of the forest. I could not see Kari. When I went near the edge of the water I saw something black struggling on the surface. When it rose higher I saw it was Kari. I thought he was drowning! But I soon saw his back rise above the water and he began to struggle up to the shore. He then pushed me into the water and as I fell into the stream, I saw a boy lying flat at the bottom of the river. When I came to the surface of the water to take a breath, Kari was standing on the bank, his trunk stretched out like a hand waiting. I went down again and pulled the body of the surface. Kari helped me to pull him onto the shore.

Suddenly I slipped and sank back to the bottom of the river. As I struggled up again with my eyes tightly shut, I felt something like a rope around my neck. This frightened me. I thought it was a water snake. But the trumpeting sound I heard, told me it was Kari. The boy lay stretched on the ground and I recognized him as a boy from my village. He had gone to bathe in the river and had swum too far out.

I put his face down on the sand and Kari put his trunk around his waist and lifted it gently up and down. After Kari did this three or four times, water began to come out of the boy's mouth. I rubbed his hands and feet. The boy slowly started breathing again. Kari was the best friend I ever had.

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The Fairy Crane

2011-07-01T15:53:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there lived an old man and his wife all alone in a small village. They had no children. One day the old man was walking along the road when he heard the sound of wings. Following the sound he found a beautiful white crane caught in a snare.

"Oh, you poor thing!" he said. "I will help you out." He set the crane free and it flew into sky. That night there was a knock on their door. When the old lady opened the door, a young voice said, "May I come in?" It was a girl of twelve. The girl said, "I have lost my way. Please let me stay in your house tonight."

The old people were very happy to have a young girl in their midst. When the girl told them that she did not have parents, the old couple wanted to adopt her. The girl agreed. So the little girl happily stayed with them.

Every day, the old man wove some cloth and it at the market and the old lady helped him. The girl saw how hard the old people worked, to live. So she said to her new parents, "If you will promise not to look at me even once while I work, I'll weave some cloth in the weaving room." After that, they only heard the sound of the loom during the day and in the night the girl gave them the most beautiful piece of cloth they had ever seen. Everyone wanted to see and purchase the fine and beautiful cloth. Soon, the old man and his wife started to live more comfortably.

The old woman was curious and wanted to see her daughter make the cloth. So one day she peeped through the window of the weaving room and saw a arrange sight. There, sitting on the loom was not her daughter but a beautiful white crane, using its own white feather to weave cloth.

That night when they were sitting together for dinner the crane-girl said, "I am the crane you saved long ago. I have been weaving cloth to repay your kindness, but now that you know my secret I cannot stay here any longer."

The old people were very sad and their eyes filled with tears. They understood the crane, and knew they had to let go of their crane-daughter. "Goodbye and good luck," said the girl and changed into a beautiful white crane. The old couple sadly watched her flying away.

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The Unlucky Face

2011-07-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

There lived in Delhi a merchant called Hirachand. It was said that anyone who saw his face would go without food for a day. When Akbar heard about Hirachand, he was asked to see him. He wanted to know whether the stories about him were true.

The next day, Akbar was on his way to the dining-room when Hirachand was brought to him. At the same time, a courtier came to say that the Queen was ill. After meeting him, Akbar left Hirachand and spent the whole morning with his sick wife. By the time he returned to the dining-room, his meal was cold. He ordered a fresh meal. It took so long to get the meal ready that Akbar began to feel ill.

The doctor was called. He told Akbar to rest and not to eat anything for a day. That way, he said, the cramps would go away.

"But I haven't eaten anything yet," said Akbar.

"Bad luck," said the doctor. "Whose face did you see this morning?"

Akbar told the doctor about Hirachand. "I shall have him executed," he said, "because he has made me suffer."

Hirachand was shocked. He fell at the Emperor's feet and begged for mercy. "What will my wife and children do without me?" he pleaded. But Akbar would not listen to a word he said. The guard was summoned and Hirachand was immediately dragged off to be executed.

Poor Hirachand wailed aloud and begged the guard to find a way to set him free. "I cannot think of anything I can do," said the guard who felt very sorry for Hirachand. "If the Emperor finds out that I have disobeyed his, I shall be executed too."

Suddenly he had an idea. "Let us call Birbal," he said. "He is the only one who will know how to help you."

When Hirachand told Birbal what had happened, Birbal consoled him saying, "Do what? I tell you and you will be saved."

When it was time for Hirachand to go to the block, the executioner asked if he wanted anything.

"I would like to see the Emperor," said Hirachand.

When Akbar came, Hirachand said, "Your Majesty, is it true that you saw my face and did not eat anything for a day?"

"Yes," said Akbar.

"Your Majesty," said Hirachand. "Consider my fate which is worse than yours. I saw your face and I have to be executed."

"Someone has taught you to say this," said Akbar guessing at once who it was.

"Impossible," said Hirachand, "I do not know anyone here".

"Perhaps not. But you did not think of this plan yourself," replied Akbar. "You must have met Birbal."

Hirachand confessed that he had.

"Birbal has saved me from executing an innocent man," said Akbar and sent Hirachand away with gifts.

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Memoirs of a Vampire: The Masquerade Ball

2011-07-01T13:27:00.001-07:00

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes still in a sapphire fury. He had the same chagrined and sorrowful glare in his eyes that he had the day we were on the beach. Something dreadful was going to happen. I knew it was crazy, but it was true. He took a deep breath and closed the door behind him.

I walked toward the fire and looked closely at the painting, still in a daze. She didn't wear my necklace, but she had a rare diamond around her neck. I looked for the date on the painting and there was no date, but I could tell the painting was at least three hundred years old, maybe older. I sat back on the bench looking at the ivory keys, stupefied, when I heard hushed voices just in the other room. I walked to the door, but it was locked. I eavesdropped.

Martin. I recognized his voice, but I was more concerned about what he was saying.

"You killed her father, and then you kept her prisoner for ten years because you didn't have the guts to kill her."

Oliver? His voice was furious but hushed.

"How many times do you have to watch her die?" he continued. "You loved Marie with all your soul. Shouldn't you be fighting to be with her rather than trying to kill her?"

"I had no choice," Martin said in a hushed voice. "I love her. That-"

"That's why you want her dead," Oliver cut him off. "No, Martin, I love her, and I had to stand by and watch you with her. What would Marie do if she knew the truth about you? If she knew that you killed her!"
"You love her?" He seemed surprised. "Annabeth?"

Annabeth? Wait-what? I was speechless and in agony. Who was Marie? Martin was in love with two different women. My knees wobbled. I strained my ears, but they had fallen silent. I couldn't picture Martin being a player. Had I made up the strong attraction between us? No, it couldn't be. Why three women? I felt my head swim with confusion, and a great overwhelming despair swept over me.

Suddenly, an ominous silence fell upon the house. There was no sound or movement from the great hall. I was wondering whether everyone had left the party already, or if I was trapped in one of my vivid dreams again. Pauline wouldn't leave without me, and Martin wouldn't leave me here without warning me that the party was over. So why did I feel alone? A dreadful chill and a sick feeling grew inside of me, and my breath became an icy fog. The hair on my back and arms stood, and I felt a ghastly chill run from my head to toes. They were coming for me, and someone was going to die.

I couldn't get out of my mind the conversation Martin and Annabeth had in the boutique. She called him honey. How stupid I had been. It was a big scheme. I couldn't get it out of my mind, but I had to. There was too much to think about. They were coming for me, and I had to run.

Suddenly, there was thick smoke coming from under the door, and I found myself coughing. The smoke began to fill up the piano room quickly, clouding the whole room.

I ran for the door. It was locked. My head was throbbing with fear, and I began to panic as I heard a massive noise, like a huge crack of thunder, and the music room shook violently as if it were tumbling down and then just as violently righted itself. The wood floor shuddered.

"Help!" I cried, pushing the door with all my inhuman strength. The door didn't budge. "Help me! Martin! Oliver! Pauline! Oh God, help!"

The dark wood floor was slowly splitting in half, making an unbearable windmill noise. An invisible force yanked me away from the door and over to the piano, narrowly missing the edge of it with my head, and I felt nearly out of my mind with horror. I scrambled to my feet, breathing hard, and ran to the other side of the room, airborne, so I didn't fall in the void. Everything was locked. The house was creaking and groaning as if ready to collapse on my body.

I pushed the door with all my strength until I became weak and feeble. I panicked with the weight of the terror I felt churning inside my gut. The way out was closed. The smoke had saturated the room quickly, and my lungs were filled with it. I was coughing, and my eyes were watering. The smell of smoke was strong; it was almost impossible not to breathe. There was an explosion. The ground was opening even wider. I could see nothing but darkness in the hole where the earth opened. I flung myself against the wall as the floor under my feet began to slide, and the wood floor tumbled into the chasm. I held on tightly to the wall as hard as I could, moving my feet backward so I didn't fall down.

I needed to escape or die. I shrank back, and for a moment, I stood trembling against the wall, feeling doomed. I suddenly felt faint from the terror surrounding me, and I was drenched in smoke. Suddenly, the door flung open as a pair of white dragon wings emerged from the hole, and the abyss closed all at once, but the smoke didn't vanish.

"Fleur!" Oliver said, running toward me. He grabbed my hand. "This way! Keep awake, Fleur."

We ran out as fast as we could toward the exit. Smoke had spread everywhere inside the house. The great hall was empty. Everyone had fled.

"Martin-where is he?" I said. "And Pauline?"

"Don't you get it, Fleur?" he said. "We need to go."

Once we were standing in the doorway, I looked for Pauline and Martin through the anxious crowd, but they were nowhere to be found.

"I have to go find Martin and Pauline," I said, pulling my hand free from his grip.

"No!" Oliver said, holding my shoulders. "That's what he wants. He was trying to kill you, Fleur."

"Lies," I said, pushing him out of my way, and I ran inside.

Inside, the house was extremely hot and wholly dark, but I managed to find my way by squinting through the chaotic darkness. I looked first for Pauline. I couldn't see anything more than a foot ahead. Suddenly, I heard coughing. It was Pauline.

"Pauline?"

"Fleur," she coughed. She was half-conscious on the floor next to the long table.

I carried her outside and ran back inside to look for Martin. Walls of smoke barred my way, and I felt as if a trap was closing about me, but I did not lose heart. Sweating and burning and yet chilled, I looked harder and everywhere for Martin. I was beginning to fear for my life more than his; nonetheless, I was determined to find him or die.

"Martin! Martin!" I called.

Quailing terribly, I looked around wildly for Martin, opening every single door and searching every room on the lower floor. My skin was seething. I had to find Martin before I collapsed and turned to ash. I saw nothing but thick dark smoke when I reached a long wide passage. There really was a blaze when I got into the kitchen, and I could see flames everywhere. I couldn't go on anymore, and I was beginning to lose courage. Maybe Martin was already outside, and maybe I should go back where it was safe. But at the thought that Martin might be somewhere inside the blazing house and suffocating smoke, I steeled my nerves.

I opened a door to a large empty room and tried to reach the door at the other end of the room but then stopped; a chill that had nothing to do with the fire was gripping my heart. I closed my eyes, staving off my terror, and then forced myself to reach for the door. At that moment, I began to shiver at the thought of dying alone in the monstrous darkness.

"Martin!" I called one last time before collapsing on the floor.

As my doom arrived, I saw a bright light cutting through the thick curtain of smoke moving slowly toward me, and I felt a little safer. The way the light outshone the smoke, it almost looked like a pair of illuminated golden dragonfly wings. I was on the verge of bursting into flame when the dazzling light scooped me off the floor. He held me tightly in his arms and carried me out of the room. I fastened my arms around his neck, like a survivor of a plane crash on a desolate island. The scent of cinnamon, lilac, and sandalwood overwhelmed his body like burning fragrance oil inside a closed room. It made me think abruptly of Martin. My arms circled the stranger's waist so tightly I could feel his pulse, and my heart was beating too.

"Martin," I murmured. "Find Martin."

I fainted.

You can read the buy this book on Amazon, Barnes and nobles Nook, Lulu.com, and Xlibris. Author Name is Sarah Farmer.

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Wayne Douglas - The Job (First Day) (Short Story)

2011-06-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

The move to California wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The new condo was fifty miles north of Los Angeles in a nice neighborhood. Work was two miles away with very little traffic. The only time I would have to go into the city would be when running errands for the new boss.

Monday morning I went to the school and got my son registered for the special education class. We had a prior meeting with the teacher and a tour of the class, so my son was not completely stressed out when I left him. I have to admit I am sick to my stomach about all this change at once. It is bad enough starting a new job but up rooting my kid too was enough to push me over the edge.

Wayne lives in a gated community so I checked in with the security guard before I could go in. I pulled into the driveway of this Mediterranean style house with a tile roof. A large fountain took center stage in the rounded driveway, with a large black truck off to the right. This truck was massive dual cab with a long bed all jacked up on big black wheels. Men and their toys.

Wayne answered the door in his underwear, apparently the look on my face said it all because all he did was smile and say get used to it I'm not shy. Amused with himself he told me to make myself at home while he ran upstairs to put some clothes on.

When he came back he had a hire package with him. Standard stuff health insurance, w-2, 401k etc. While filling the paperwork out his cell phone rang, he handed it to me and said tell my mother that he was on the other line. I chatted with her for about five minutes, introducing myself and other pleasantries.

He received a text message a couple minutes later that said "I like her." I had passed the test, at least his mom's test anyway. Wayne said that he talks to his mom about everything so it's no wonder that she called.

He faxed my hire packet to the management company and showed me to my office. A previous assistant put together a daily schedule so I at least had a place to start. Wayne said to figure out what I could and then ask questions. OK, I was on my own. I took a deep breath and dug in.

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Dreams, Will Power And Success

2011-06-30T22:45:00.000-07:00

The monsoon in the hilly area and plush green surroundings was exhibiting a unique scenic beauty. It made a profound impact on young Richard. He was untiringly working hard to get sufficient funds to look after his ailing mother. He was feeling energetic and enthusiastic as he was aiming of fulfilling his dream of becoming an able and perfect human being. He wishes to become an icon; a beacon to the younger generation. He remembered his mother's advice, "Acquire knowledge, and be honest and kind, especially to needy and deserving people." She also emphasised that in the event of difficulties and troubles, always face them with confidence and fervour. His mother's will power was affecting them in a constructive fashion. She always expressed a satisfactory look on her face, concealing her agony and pain to herself. Her dream of seeing her children go through the university and get a degree was the sole aim in her life.

Richard was barely ten years old when his father passed away. His younger sister was eight years old. He failed to realise the family without a father. He could only see his mother as a source of inspiration and guidance. At times he felt a vacuum in his life. He felt that something was missing, and he needed a shoulder to cry. It was his tender age and young shoulder to bear the burden of a family. On the other hand, he was feeling a transformation of personality. He was progressively becoming a matured person and responsible young lad.

Ms. Jennifer Oswald has become a widow at a very young age. She was survived by two children; a son and a daughter. She realised her responsibilities and reconciled to the facts of life. These children have inculcated values and harmony of passage of life, through her teachings. She always narrated inspirational stories and encouraged them to be bold and extrovert. She guided them towards a rightful path and taught them to respect human values. She knew her terminal ailment and meagre income to sustain it. She was making their roots strong and powerful, to withstand the harsh realities of life.

After few years, her health deteriorated further, but she determined with a desire to live until she accomplished her dream. It was the sheer determination and will power to fight all the odds. Richard was continually facing an array of uncertainties. Jennifer could read his face and understood what was bothering him. She asked Richard to accompany her along with his younger sister Jasmine to a park on the Sunday morning. They finished their breakfast and went to the church. After the mass, they all went to the park. The lively environment, beautiful partly cloudy day and soft green carpet of grass were really refreshing their mind and heart. They all sat down on the grass, and she asked them to pay attention to what she was going to talk to them. She started with a broad smile and made them comfortable.

She asked jasmine, 'How do you feel being lonely and what you expect in life?'

Little Jasmine was, initially, dumb founded, and she replied that she will be like her mother and smiling all the time. She also said that she would be a good human being.

Both Jennifer and Richard laughed and appreciated Jasmine's excellent answer. She then asked Henry, 'What you expected to do and achieve in life?'

Richard replied with confidence and with an authority. He said that he would accomplish her dream and prove he is worthy of salt.

Jennifer then asked Richard to listen to her carefully. Jasmine suddenly felt unsecured as her mother's tone became a bit serious. Jasmine hugged her and looked puzzle. Jennifer smiled and asked the children to remember her advice and remained attached to each other. She told the children that she is suffering from terminal disease, and doctors have numbered her days. In the event of her death, she wanted her children to remain calm and resolute. She asked Richard to complete his education and look after the young Jasmine. She emphasised that they should refrain from getting nervous and disheartened. She quoted a famous proverb." God helps those who help themselves." She finally hugged the children and asked young Jasmine to be calm and patient. She expressed her desire to see Richard and Jasmine to go through the university and complete their degree. Richard looked upward and said solemnly; oh God! Let my mother's wish come through. They all hugged each other and returned home for yet another task and a dream to be fulfilled.

Jennifer went to the hospital for a routine checkup. The doctor gave another extension of few more months of her life. Each visit to the doctor gave her a fresh lease of life and her strength and willpower leaps and bond forward. The hide and seek between life and death continued for a decade, and Richard was moving forward towards his destination. The hardship was progressively mounting pressure on the Jennifer and her family. They have individually and collectively weathered all the odds and face the realities with a smile. Finally, Richard completed his undergraduate degree and took her mother along with him for the convocation ceremony. It was the most precious occasion for the entire family. After the ceremony, they all returned home and had dinner together. After the dinner, Jennifer asked Richard and Jasmine to wait in the living room. She went to her bedroom and returned with two small boxes wrapped in a gift wrapper and gave one each to both the children. They opened the boxes and amazed to see an awesome piece of crystal and a beautiful set of a pen and a pencil. They thanked their mother and retired to their respective bedrooms.

The following morning the children noticed that their mother was still asleep. They went in her bedroom to see if she needed any help. They noticed that she has passed away holding couple of envelopes in her hand. Richard and Jasmine have opened the envelopes addressed to them and read her last communication.

Dear Richard,

It appears that God has been very kind and magnanimous to listen to our prayers. You have successfully completed your university degree in spite of all the hardship and great inconvenience. Probably, I may not be there to witness your further progress; however, you must continue to reach the dizzy height of success and fame. Please remember God and thank Him for His kindness and magnanimity. Always be kind to people and help the needy. You must keep the honour and dignity and fear nobody. The fear will make you weak and failure. You must look after your sister and always be a shadow to her.

I am ending my letter, and I sincerely apologize to you that I provided meagre worldly comforts. My poor health and limited resources restricted my desires. God blesses you for your success and well being (Amen).

Love,

Jennifer

Jasmine has opened her letter and read it with heavy heart. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. This letter was the last communication from Jennifer to Jasmine.

Dear Jasmine,

I know you are my most darling child and such a pretty little princess. You are a much matured and very well behaved girl in that county. The school and college teaching staff and students vouch for it. I am advising you to be bold and brave. You must develop a habit of listening attentively to every single person you come in contact in your daily life. Always think twice prior to speaking. Once you have spoken then you will become a slave to the spoken words. Remember to appreciate the smallest gesture extended to you by an individual or a group. You must be generous and give towards charity even you have meagre and insufficient funds.

Please convey my love and regard to the hospital staff and the doctor, besides all the neighbours. Now, I will sleep and I love you my child. God blesses you for your success and well being (Amen).

Love,

Jennifer

The funeral was attended by all the residents of the community, children's college teaching staff and their colleagues. Her doctor and few nurses were also present for the burial ceremony. The priest decided to read the letters written by Jennifer to her children. When he finished reading the letters; tears were in the eyes of every individual. Richard and Jasmine thanked and promised to fulfil their mother's unfinished task. Both have continued their journey in the direction of dream destination.

A gentle breeze was blowing and ruffling of tree leaves were making a melodious musical node. It was soothing to the ears of both the children. They looked into each other's eyes and nodded in unison. Jennifer's sweet voice yet powerful in its entity, was reverberating in their ears. The famous few couplet of Longfellow she used to recite frequently:

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream! -

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

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An Excerpt of Amaranth: Book One of The Resistance Trilogy

2011-06-30T21:49:00.000-07:00

Excerpt- CHAPTER 6: La Bise

I felt the car slowing, then he glanced into the rearview mirror and gently steered the car off to the side of the road, putting it in to park. The only sound now was of crickets outside.

I shifted my body in my seat and looked around, confused. All I could see around us was the field and some trees, along with a breathtaking number of stars above us. The moon was full against the dark sky. The humidity began to suffocate me, but the silence that now filled the car demanded my attention.

"What's wrong?" I practically whispered.

He sat casually in the driver's seat and placed one arm on the armrest, then turned to look at me. "Do you always have to know what I'm thinking? I thought you were so good with silence." He flashed his signature killer smile. "Please do explain."

"It's different. I don't know. Your silence makes me uncomfortable. But in a good way. I mean, I want to know what you're thinking. All the time. I don't feel that way around other people. And you don't exactly wear your emotions on your sleeve."

"I don't?"

"No." I paused. "But you reveal a lot when you're thinking."

He didn't break his stare, just motioned with his hands for me to continue.

I shrugged. "I mean, your silence says a lot. I can see you processing your thousands of thoughts... see you analyzing them. But I can't see the thoughts themselves. It makes me curious. Makes it harder to be quiet with you. I constantly want to hear you." I realized I was rambling, so I waited for him to respond.

"That sounds like it's frustrating for you," he said. "Especially since I told you that your thoughts are transparent to me."

"To say the least." I laughed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I only meant I can see you're genuine. It's proof that you act and think exactly as you feel. And I like that." He reached out in the darkness, and I felt him take my hand.

"Okay, but... why did you stop again?"

"You're relentless."

"You're dodging."

"Well if you really must know, seeing you get all worked up about that song made me think about how crazy I am about you, that's all." He leaned toward me across the armrest, lifted his head slightly to peer at me, his faint smile making an inexcusable assault on my lungs. "And just think, it's only a twenty-first-century rock band. What would you say if we listened to Mozart or Beethoven? I don't know if I could handle an outburst of that proportion."

"You wouldn't have to." I swallowed nervously, suddenly aware of his intention. "Beethoven? That expression of love can't be verbalized."

I knew it was coming, but his face being this close to mine was something I hadn't had time to get used to. Each time his skin had touched mine before now, in even the minutest of ways, I became faint. Now the proximity of his mouth was making my heart pound straight out of my chest. I had never felt this way about anyone. It terrified me.

"You're right," he declared, nodding. "It's only felt." He leaned in farther, placed his hand on the side of my face, pulling me toward him. I didn't flinch, as I so often did when Andrew touched me. Instead, I welcomed him. I was fiercely aware that the instant his mouth touched mine, I was no longer my own. He would love me or break me, the choice was his.

He slid his hand underneath my hair around the back of my neck. His fingertips glided over my skin, giving me goose bumps. Nope, definitely not the same chills Andrew gave me.

"Breathe, Camille," he whispered. "I won't bite." He chuckled softly. "But I would like to kiss you."

I let a small breath escape my unreliable lungs as I nodded. The soft collision of his lips on mine shocked me with a jolt of pure electricity. My thought of a moment before had been correct. There would be no more war permitted in my mind's battlefield, for I had surrendered to being made his immortal captive.
Our lips parted and I lifted my hand to graze my fingers across the scar on his forehead. Looking into his eyes, my fresh existence inhaled, desperate for its first breath of air.

"Camille? You all right?" He sounded winded. No words yet. "Camille. Talk to me. Are you all right love?" He looked concerned now.

Still nothing.

"Camille?" He grasped the sides of my face.

Finally, an alien on a new planet, I made my attempt at communication with the beautiful creature in front of me. "What are you?" I gasped, my eyes locked on his.

"Uh... excuse me? What?" His look of concern turned to confusion.

"No human being can possibly have this effect on someone," I repeated, still fascinated with my new discovery. "What are you?"

He backed away slowly, leaned back in the driver's seat. "Camille, I didn't know kissing you would..." He hesitated at my smile, took a deep breath. "I mean, I didn't know a human being could have that effect either." He leaned back toward me, relaxed again. "You have no idea how good this feels."

I laughed, more comfortable now with my foreign acquaintance. "Believe me, you couldn't possibly be more surprised than me right now."

Residing in Orlando, Florida, Rachael Wade is the author of Amaranth, the first installment of the paranormal fantasy romance series, The Resistance Trilogy. She is a member of the FF&P (Futuristic, Fantasy, and Paranormal) Special Interest Chapter of the Romance Writers of America, and her work recently appeared in The Storyteller magazine. Visit http://www.rachaelwade.com/ for more information.

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Erwin Van Buren's Son (A Real Love Story)

2011-06-30T20:41:00.000-07:00

Sherwood Van Buren the son of Erwin Van Buren a drunk and loafer whom everyone said Sherwood would someday end up being just like-meaning, ending up on skid road, that stigma was branded on young Sherwood like the "A" that was worn by Hester Prynne, in Nathanial Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter" as if imprinted in the flesh, surely in the mind. I say had been, it no longer was-he had become a man of means.

The more he thought of Mary Peters, the more persistently he built so confidently his dream of a life to be spent with her. There he stood by the river looking at the silent moving water. She was fair, that is to say, she was not beautiful, to look at, but one that definitely told him he wanted her for his wife. His dreams were not full of making love to her, having her arms around his body and them kissing each others lips; oh no, instead his nightly dream world, his daydreaming life, with a fulsome heart, simply wanted a life lived with her. He wanted her to walk beside him, down the streets of the city, to show up suddenly at his office door, to sit outside by the water fountain-as he gazed into her eyes-and have her inquiry on his day, his convictions, his hopes and goals and values. And in the evening after dinner he would like her to sit by a hearth, feel the warmth of the fire, waiting for him to join her. Knowing as he sat down by her, by the flickering lights in the fireplace and listening to the crackling sounds of the longs burning, all the charm that surrounded him; until now, until this very moment, was but a depraved way of life to be lived, until this very moment-whereupon began life more fully and completely. To get to this moment, he had stopped excessive drinking, walking the streets, and no longer seeking old company.

He knew he loved her, from his hotel room looking out the window he'd look down upon the Mississippi River, watching he boats afar, with their lights, thinking of her. He imagined her in the room, behind him, her hands combing through his hair, all the quiet ways of a woman, yet she had strength, and was smart, perhaps from her good living, this he admired too.

He forgot the illuminating moment during which he had decided he would ask her to marry him, but it was a silent moment between them, when he had this predetermined certainty that she belong to him-that she was by definition, a part of him. Oh yes, his mind was flooded with screeching thoughts at that moment, but something in her had taken hold of him, perhaps both being curious of each others curiosity about one another, they seemed to want to be led the way onto the road they both wanted to travel.

And now he had fallen to sleep at the St. Paul Hotel, and Mary Peters, came to visit him in his dreams. It was a nightmare, he saw her suffering face. How could this be, he asked himself, sitting up on his bedside, wiping sweat off his brow! He seemingly had built so self-assuredly, with poise a dream schema for him and her, each and every night, looming as if it was a soap opera.

He had found out that very day, she had gone to Europe with her family, and so he kept his mind on his business, not allowing himself to be absorbed in thoughts of her. She did not know of the ardent desire he had for her, but his reasoning was, 'How could she not know of his feeling for her," although neither one said a word on the matter to one another. He wrote her several letters, tore them up, and she did likewise. In one letter he wrote, "In all this big whole world, someone once wrote there are only three persons who will match up perfectly for any one person, if indeed you can find that one out of three, to marry, before she gets caught up or entangled into the masses: thus, you are doing great, as for the rest, it's potluck."

Well, maybe there was some truth to it, or half-truth he thought. In any case, he said "This must be the one." He had had many an affair, and now he met one of those three, out of billions and billions of people. This miracle of miracles, he told himself would have reawakened anyone to old hidden desires, one he thought he had for another girl long ago while in High School.

He left his hotel office and walked down by the Robert Street Bridge, looking over and down upon the Mississippi River, how calm it looked, this afternoon. Then he walked over to Rice Park watching the children of the city play.

"Mr. Van Buren, Sherwood Van Buren!" Yelled a voice across the street, he had been sitting on a bench. The spring breeze and the lightly wet grass, was comforting. He tried to look up to get a better look, and lo and behold, there was an old friend-figurative speaking-familiar face that is, "By gosh," he said to the person inside of him "that's Miss Sybil Ramsey," a most shapely and beautiful girl he had known at High School, whom both attended the University of Minnesota at the same time, and had many a conversation over a sandwich between classes, during those long college days. She was dressed to kill, but then she was always dressed to kill. He tried to pay her no attention, but her insistent calling, made him stand up and wave. And she joined him. It had been five years since they had both graduated, although he had seen her from a distance on a few occasions at the Emporium and Golden Rule shopping with her parents. Her family was in politics, and he himself, now was of a high office position at Swift & Company, out in the stockyards in South St. Paul, the second largest stockyards in the nation next to Chicago.

"We might have that talk we never had while at the University," she said. He had liked her very much at one time; they had been engaged for one whole week, and when they broke up, they had set a date to talk about it, neither one had showed up at the appointed destination; her because she didn't know where he'd end up in life, and him because he was fearful he could never support her standard, or style of living. She was more likened to a princess with high maintenance, but a kind and noble princess. Matter-of-fact, at times he felt she was far above him, too far above him to ever reach, this kind of thinking was no longer in his subconscious, he had come a long way in life, he had come from the dark side of the city also, she, from the more lit and glamorous side. She smiled at him, as they sat down, her cheeks rosy.

"I have been thinking of you," she commented "I've heard good things that you are going places, that you're an executive with great ideas." And as much as he wanted to get away from her, he wanted to stay by her: a serious look coming into her eyes.

"After all this time, what have we got to say to each other?" said Sherwood, blunter than ever, no longer giving her that air of superiority over him. Sybil watched him steadily. "I have a lot of things to tell you, to say to you," she announced. He never did forget Mary Peters, for that few months they seemed to have followed one another like two quails chasing the wind.

The certain light he had for her was now a tinge dimmer. But isn't it so true, 97% of people are married to the wrong people. And men are so attractive to the physical. They married Sybil and Sherwood, and Mary lived a long and lonely life, with an intense waiting look on her face, for Sybil to die, so she could marry Sherwood. She stayed with that idea throughout her life, it had seemed to her she had arrived at some kind of zenith, some end for her, and perhaps a starting point for Sherwood, who's to say. Had you asked Sherwood, he would have said, "I found two of the three women soul mates, the perfect companions for me on this earth, made for me, and married one, both rich, both smart, both having given me vague shadowy uncertainties at first, and I do have reflective moments of Mary, I cannot brush them away, but what assurance do you have with anybody?"

Henceforward, he found some enormous realization out of all of this, and followed a moment of fear perhaps. How little he really knew of her, of Mary-sometimes we put horns on people to justify our next intended move, I can't say he did that, but I'm pretty sure he felt he didn't know her way of thought. And as for Sybil, he knew her inside and out, he knew her even in Junior High School, he knew her strong serious little face, her mild curiosity, her vast mind, he did not have to build an instant idea of her, and he knew her, and she knew him.

Years later, Sybil had said to Sherwood one evening sitting by the hearth, feeling the warmth of the heat, looking into the flickering flames, a glass of chilled wine in her hand, she said to Sherwood laying her head on his shoulder, "I had been thinking we might marry someday, I was hoping you'd prove to be a good businessman, you and I, after I read in the society section, that you were courting Miss Mary Peters, I figured you and I, could get things done. And when I read Mary went to Europe for an extended period, I figured she went to think things out, and this would be my last opportunity. I knew you liked making money, and I knew you like me."

Said Sherwood, in response to this statement: "Why should you have been thinking anything of the sort?" "Because I knew you were one of the few men on earth I could marry," and they both began to laugh, one not knowing why the other one was laughing, perhaps for the same reason. Sherwood faced her. "That's absurd!" "Before I liked you Sherwood," she remarked with deep sincerity, "I loved you, now I have both. I did not expect things to workout this way, you know me, but somehow I always knew I'd marry you in the end."

No: 794 (4-12-2011) SA

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Being Angela Gheorghiu's Lover

2011-06-30T20:11:00.000-07:00

There is something about being the lover of a passionate woman like Angela Gheorghiu that makes all forms of sexuality as natural as starting a conversation. It being sort of like when one is not well acquainted with someone, one might have initial problems in starting a conversation yet once the ice has been broken then all one need do is commence talking when one wishes to say something. This situation replicated when being the lover of some one whose mere image or fragrance strikes one's desires as to make all seem like part of a dream in which words are not required to engage in all that be of the flesh.

All seeming as if part of a story which has already been written yet we are merely playing out with the desire of those who seek to know that which awaits them. This being how it takes shape when I see Angela bending her body that her dress might elevate to allow my sight to taste her stockings of silk while hands remove satin of inconvenience to my root finding the paradise it seeks in her rose. All in an act of such nearness to nature as the rain which the sky releases or the rising of the yellow ball of fire in the mornings to descend when her time has passed to provide light to other parts of our world.

Thus does it feel when Angela and I commence making love in ways that never repeat but find originality on every occasion or such does it seem as we in but seconds transcend from merely being in each other's society to where our bodies cling on to the other. This as if life itself were in risk if thus was not the case. Angela also encountering ways to equal mine in number and originality as to how to bring about surprise in to our acts. Angela's face being as angel in innocence as she without notice or warning suddenly promotes her foot to make strokes upon my root when we but find ourselves sitting across one another at a table or when with her bottom she does like wise. This in cases that Angela be but walking past me with my thoughts holding that she be about me in haste.

Days and nights be aware of none else than adventure in mystery as Angela and I create them as such with activities which with our bodies we carry to hold ever greater emotions. A playful glance transforms in to a seduction while a light touch holds never innocence yet delight on to the senses that may come to reawaken with our lusts. As such be my life as Angela Gheorghiu's lover.

My name is Gianni Truvianni, author of many an article to be found on the internet along with the book "New York's Opera Society". My works also include the books "What Should Not Matter", "Love Your Sister" and several others which still remain unpublished though I am presently looking to change this.

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Checkmate - Chapter IV

2011-06-30T18:59:00.000-07:00

CHANARONG MONTRI HAD BEEN CONTACTED AND AGREED TO MEET THE FOLLOWING DAY WITH NO MORE THAN TWO AGENTS. Without exception, he agreed to meet in the Hotel dining room.

A security team was immediately dispatched to the Hotel to look at locations that surveillance equipment might be installed. The Hotel was vast with European elegance throughout; there were several surveillance spots in the dining room that could conceal recording equipment, but to proceed they would require permission from the Hotel. Mr. Garrison, General Manger was called and requested to return to the Hotel immediately. The team waited in the lobby until his arrival. He walked in, not at all happy for this imposition, regardless of the preeminence of the order. After listening to the request of the Agents his response was only "NO". He would agree only to allowing, after authentication of their identification, to view all existing Hotel security videos; further the videos would not be released in their custody, they would be given an appropriate room at the Hotel to conduct their investigation. Martin Graham of Intelligence reminded Mr. Garrison there were no restrictions in the Federal Security Act on where they may collect security intelligence or information relating to possible threats to the security of the Country; and it has been determined that a guest in his Hotel is considered to be a possible threat.

Mr. Garrison stood against the wall of Agents and addressed Martin Graham - "Sir, I am not denying you performance of your duty; I am denying you, at this stage to charge in here, in the middle of the night and demolish this dining room so that you may install your spy cameras. You can indeed ignore my suggestion and address this issue in front of a Judge, but that will be no sooner than tomorrow morning and then all my suggestions are off the table to you and your team and from that point on this Hotel will only operate under appropriate Court orders."

Martin Graham found Mr. Garrison humorous and in some ways respected his position. He agreed that Security Intelligence would be grateful for access to the Hotels video surveillance and would return in the morning; of course after he had provided Mr. Garrison with a list of the Officers names. "Good Evening Mr. Garrison."
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Chanarong Montri was sitting in the dining room with the same lady he attended the ballet with the previous evening; their attire unmistakably European. Recognizing the Agents he rose and motioned to an empty table across the room. He crossed behind his table taking the arm of his companion, helping her to her feet. She gathered her handbag and gloves and exchanged a gentle touch to each of his checks whispering "L'Amour" then turning and left the dining room.

"Good Morning Gentlemen, my name is Chanarong Montri. I remain a little confused as to the necessity of this meeting, but while in your Country, I do wish to cooperate with the Authorities, but I do hope that our time will be brief."

Kane was watching this interaction from the main security room in the basement of the Hotel.

The Agents knew they must secure the cooperation of this man. He is travelling in the Country legally and they have no grounds to hold him for any reason. The most that the collective Agencies were hoping to achieve today is to ascertain the reasons why he was here.

"Gentlemen, I trust my reputation precedes me. I am a man who does not like to waste my time or anyone else's. I can only assume that my actions are under surveillance and this conversation is being recorded. I must admit that I had an opportunity of being in the Hotel lobby last evening when a few of your representative were, shall we say, staking out the room. I assure you Gentlemen, this is not at all necessary. I am here, like you to locate and hopefully convince Kim to return to his family."

As evidence of his good will he reached inside his jacket and brought out an envelope containing sovereign papers, under the signature and seal of the Chan So family, delegating him full and unrestricted guardianship of Kim Chan So.

Martin Graham spoke - "Mr. Montri please accept our appreciation for your time this morning and to understand that we, I believe, are all here for the same reason. The Agencies have been following Kim Chan So for almost a year now as he keeps crossing the International Boarder for the past few months. I believe this is the longest he has stayed in the Country and it is now causing some security concerns for us all."

"I am in total agreement. As you are aware Mr. Graham, yesterday I spend a brief amount of time at the Banking Tower near the apartment building where I believe Kim is staying. Kim's family has not heard from him in over six months. I am impressed with the street surveillance that you have in place. It is of great concern, but of no surprise, that the AOC is so glaringly present on your streets. They of course are pursuing the currency that Kim allegedly fled the State with."

Martin Graham again spoke - "Is it true Sir, did he leave the State with over 22 Million Dollars?"

"The authorities are estimating currency of $150,000.000. Yuan, which I believe once converted would equal some 22 million, but in answering your question it would appear that he did take the money. I still question if that money belongs to the State or the So family; but of course that is not why we are here today. "

"Are you sure he is inside the apartment?"

"Surveillance shows them arriving on Monday. No evidence of them leaving the apartment since then."

"Is he not jogging?"

"We thought the same, but we have had surveillance on the pathways and at the recreational center, but nothing. We made attempts to enter the apartment building yesterday, but when the front desk called up to their apartment no one answered. The vehicle plates were run, with everything coming back in the name of his companion; and she is only a visitor to the Country."

"I promise you, if he is not jogging, he is not in that apartment."

They exchanged contact information, shook hands and turned to depart; when Chanarong Montri turned and asked where Mr. Kayn was at this time.

Martin Graham shrugged his shoulders indicating that he had no idea of either the name or activity of Mr. Kayn.

"Very well then; but do please send my regards... Gentlemen, until later."
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Kayn remembered the days long ago that he assisted his clients in discreetly moving money overseas; but now the laws prohibit such involvement and for many years he has grown accustomed to his life style and would not enjoy a stay, even at a white color, minimum security facility for such action. Kayn returned to his files prepared by the International Financial Action Task Force where they had traced the funds to a numbered Grand Cayman account; then within hours of their deposit, it was like watching fireworks; starting as a single cylinder and igniting into thousands of filaments throughout space, and the money was gone. Investigators had traced some funds going to Switzerland, Jerzy, The Isle of Man, Panama, the Philippines and Burma, but then disappearing from those accounts as well. Since returning to the Country neither Kim nor his companion had created a paper trail, everything was in cash, airline tickets, the purchase of the apartment, the car; all utilities remained in the name of the past owners.

Kayn was convinced that the cash was disbursed and safely secured inside multiple safety deposit boxes throughout the world.

Over the last 11 months Kim Chan So had travelled to Japan, Italy, England, United States, Mexico, Switzerland, Philippines, and Canada. His companion was tracked through the United States, Mexico, Switzerland, and Panama, and Canada. The two never visiting the same country at the same time, except for the United States; which was only over 24 hours and then they boarded a flight to Canada.
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If they had wished for better luck it came fast and unexpected; the fire truck sirens echoed through the streets of downtown. From the 12th floor they stood not believing what they were witnessing on the street below, an all-call evacuation had been ordered by Emergency Services for the recreational center and the adjacent apartment building. An explosion at the center had occurred when a contractor mistakenly released chemicals into the ventilation system; the fumes had gone through the air and had now been drawn into the roof top fresh air vents of the apartment building. Everywhere, people were walking, running, some being assisted by medical attendants, but there was a mass exodus onto the streets from the center and the apartment building. Security Agents so anxious to get to the site did not wait for the elevators; they took the stairs, descending 3 at a time. The police had sectioned off a vacant parking lot, adjacent to the evacuated sites for the pedestrian traffic to congregate. As the Agents mingled through the crowds, now in excess of 2,000, not one was reporting visual sightings of their party. They stood at all barricade lines, they mingled, assisting the emergency medical teams where needed, but no sighting of Kim Chan So. After 2 hours the fire department called in an all-clear for the apartment building and the crowds headed towards the entrance of the building. Four Agents had volunteered to hold the four doors open allowing them to take a close up visual scan of each person passing by. It was not until the final ten residents came trickling by did an Agent recognize, not Kim Chan So, but his companion. She was wearing an oversized hat with monstrous sunglasses; as she passed her head remained lowered. With all the confusion no one noticed the Agent follow her into the building, passing the concierge desk without question. He was grateful that the hallways were overflowing with people so he remained undetected as he continued down the hall making sure he remained a good distance from her. The elevators were kept on lock down as the Fire Department had not yet finished the roof top inspections so access to the upper floors was only via the stairwell. At a distance he saw her disappear inside the stairwell and he quickly followed. He passed all others that had decided to ascend the stairs, but he did not see her. He kept climbing, stopping on each floor to check to see if she had stopped, but still no sight of her. He climbed to the 12th, still no site of her. To be safe he continued his climb until he passed the Firemen descending down the stairs. He questioned if anyone had passed them and they confirmed no.

He turned and travelled down to the parking lot, searching for her vehicle, a white 2005 Toyota Matrix. Nothing, it was not there. He notified the other Agents still outside the building. Martin Graham relayed that he wanted the Agent to return to the 12 floor and knock on the apartment door; if asked he was building security or emergency services. The Agent again charged the stairs to the 12th floor, finding the apartment and repeatedly knocked on the door, but no answer. A neighbor came forth and volunteered that the couple in that apartment were so nice, getting her groceries when she was ill and picking up her paper in the lobby each day. The Agent asked if she had spoken with them recently. The lady confirmed that it had always been the woman that spoke, explaining that her husband did not speak English. He continued to knock, but still no answer. The neighbor could not understand where they had gotten to; she just saw them outside the building. She then unknowingly answered everyone's question confirming that, due to allergies her neighbor used the stairwell each day to run in. She was always so amazed that he was able to run up and down the stairs several times a day, without disturbing anyone in the building. Her parting comment, before her apartment door closed was "What wonderful neighbors they are, I hope they don't plan on leaving."

The Agent reported back to Martin Graham and returned to the street.
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Wendi's short stories and poems can be found at: http://smile-practicalknowledge.blogspot.com/

Contact Wendi at rgm@davincibb.net

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A Heartbreaking Story Of Loss By Substance

2011-06-30T16:59:00.000-07:00

Married eight years, on one hand we knew something like this could happen, on the other, we never in the slightest, thought anything remotely like this, would ever happen to us!

The baby just turned five, wow, how time flies. I looked at him and thanked God again, just as I did every day, what would I do without him? We had been close like this since he was born, I didn't even have to work the long hours other dads did. We just played, laughed, ran and created, enjoyed the small things of life, together. We were real buds!

We had spent time that summer out on the golf course, he loved to play golf. I guess you would say I had taken some other things for granted, but not him! He was my right hand!

Looking back, I guess I'd have to admit, I didn't only take other things for granted, I took the fact that we spent everyday together, for granted, always thinking tomorrow would be the same until he grew up. I just didn't look into the future that far. I wouldn't be able to handle that, at that time in my life.

Living the good life, wife, family, kids, comfortable lifestyle, super car, you know, the whole, "Life is good," thing, sort of lulled me into forgetting that things could change! I wanted a few things to change, you know, who doesn't? But what took place next is beyond the imagination!

Couple buddies and I had hung out on Saturday, taking the boys to the course, strolling along having a few beers, you know, burning them off in the sun as we hiked through the heat! I didn't drink much, always kept it cool!

On this Saturday, however, my cool got blown away! We were done at the course, heading back to the house to throw a couple burgers on the grill, I was in the rider's seat, one of my buddies was at the wheel. I looked up when I felt the car jolt and everything became a blur.

The next thing I knew I was standing on the road, a bicycle laying at my feet, a boy not too much older than my baby, was lying there, the victim.

The rest is a blur pretty much, too sordid to relate! But I can tell you, when the judge said, "Guilty to the charges," I began a life that I would never choose for anyone to have to suffer through!

It wasn't just about me, it was about all of my family, the lives of my buddies, but mostly it was about the little boy's family! Did his Daddy miss him, like I missed my boy? I would one day be released to see my boy again, that Daddy would not!

What I had done in my ignorance, I would have to live with, for the rest of my life and search as deeply inside as I could, to find forgiveness for myself. I had been a party to robbing that man of his boy.

I was the cause for robbing my boy of the ten years we had missed playing, holding hands, holding him tight to my chest hammering love holds, on his back! I had missed all those years, sitting in a cell, an accomplice to manslaughter!

I had never considered the consequences that could come from my seemingly, small choices, as being real. I knew on one hand, but on the other, I had no idea!

I would be getting out soon, walking into a life my wife had continued without my presence for ten years. How would it go? Too many questions, I didn't have answers for, but questions I would face as, while putting my life back together,I tried to find ways to forgive myself!

My boy is now 15 and the years of holding him on my lap have been given away, I will still be able to wrap my arms around him and hammer love on his back, as I thank God that I have a second chance.

Today, the small choice I could have made, to live without being under any influence of any mind altering substance, seems so much greater than it did ten years ago. If only I could go back!

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A Fragile Gift

2011-06-30T16:13:00.000-07:00

Your eyelids were laden with surprises as you stepped on his fluffy carpet. Various spectacular objects poised gracefully at edifying positions within his room. Your eyes wandered from one to another, until it fell on the spectacles. There it was: couching like a lovely cat at the edge of his table. That was the reason why you came. You giggled.

That was how you giggled when he first appeared in your village. He was heavily dressed in a khaki uniform that had the color of water-melon. Everything about him was big: big stature, big belt, big boots, and a big traveling bag. Except for a small transparent object, that leaned beautifully on his nose.

Mothers and children gazed at him with excitement. They called him a soldier. You also wanted to, but the crystal-clear lens that floated above his eyes made you doubt. Moreover, his look was harmless and friendly.

Your guess became true when the village scribe introduced him as a National Youth Corps member. People said he was full of wisdom, because he had come from the city, and had spent many years in the citadel of knowledge; acquiring the white-man's knowledge. 'He is a civilized man,' your heart gave a leap that afternoon when the scribe made that remark.

He made your heart leap every time you met him by the village river. He had become your dear friend. He told you about big people, big places, and big events. He even spoke big vocabularies; enough to confound your thirteen-year-old primitive mind. Remember when he bantered with you, and you both laughed noisily, he sometimes nudged you below your armpit, or caressed your thighs. Your peers were jealous. They wondered what could have ignited friendship between a civilized adult and a village teenager. They did not know you were enthralled by the precious lens with a sparkling silver frame.

And when you asked him what it was, on another usual evening by the river, he removed it and said, 'you mean my spectacles?' The name made you chuckle. And you almost twisted your tongue while trying to pronounce it. You were extremely delighted when he placed it on your face tenderly. You shuddered with excitement, as the dusty village was molded inside a spherical glass.

But you were unaware of his queer look, when he inquired if you wanted the spectacles. You had affirmed, thoughtlessly. It was all you had ever wanted. Your mind wandered through a vista of unimaginable experiences that awaited you, when he told you to collect the rare spectacles at his home, the following evening. That night, you hardly slept.

You were still giggling when his door clank shut. He stood sentinel against the door, grinning mischievously. Confused: A sordid miasma enveloped your thoughts. You were still staring at him blankly, when he pulled you into a rough embrace. You wriggled free, but he gave you a shove and you staggered backwards, falling on his mattress. Swiftly, he came over you and gagged your mouth. You could remember he lost a little control when you wrestled and kicked him back. His arm had flailed backwards, and hit your precious spectacles. Your eyes widened as your gem toppled over his table, and broke!

You never knew the precious spectacles could be so fragile.

It was the same with you.

Ayo Oyeku is an expert Nigerian writer, who dwells on African narratives. Some of his poems and short stories have appeared in foreign journals. You can read more of his works on http://www.onegist.com/.

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