This is the short story I wrote a year or so ago that i am using for a base for my National novel writing month story. most of whats in here will probably make it in the novel in some form or another.
The sun was bright through the light fog as it rose over the city on a Tuesday morning. Out side a burned out office building near the north side of town waited a young woman holding a large briefcase. She had her coat pulled tight against the morning chill and was tapping her foot impatiently on the ground. She stood there watching a man in a tattered coat and hat make his way down the street towards her. He too was carrying a large briefcase and just like everything on him, it was tattered and torn. The lady looked at him disapprovingly the whole time we was walking to her and increased the look when he finally stopped in front of her.
“Good morning Ms. Passway, are we ready?” he didn’t seem to notice her looks and continued walking towards the burned out building, not waiting for a reply.
“Yes sir, we have a room on the first floor and all the residents have been informed of your coming.”
“Good good,” he took out a scrap of paper from his coat pocket, looked at it and put it back. “I see we have six today, Should be easy enough.”
“I see you did not read the report last night sir, as of yesterday afternoon we have seven.” The tattered man stopped just short of the door and let his shoulders drop even further then they had been.
“Please please tell me it is because of a miss count or bad record keeping.”
“I’m sorry sir; it appears to be a squatter.” The tattered man let out a sigh. “Do you want me to get him first?”
“No no, let’s get as much done as we can. Hopefully we can wrap this all up by noon.”
They went into the burned out office building and Ms. Passway led the man into a room just off the entrances. When he came in he saw six people sitting in chairs looking nervous, only one of the stood when he entered. It was a young soldier in his dress uniform, and he had snapped to attention but remembering himself he quickly became at ease and began to fumble with his hat in his hands. The tattered man made his way past them to towards a table, and as he passed the solider he took the time to pat him on the shoulder and told him he could be seated. The tattered man took a seat behind the table and pulled a large stack of files from his briefcase. He then looked at the people waiting in the room trying to decide who to start with. Other then the soldier there were two other men and three ladies, all of them seemed to be dress for office work.
“Ms. Passway I think we will start with the ladies today. How about you take these gentlemen with you and see if you can find our guest.”
“But sir...” Ms. Passway started but the tattered man cut her off.
“Good good, I have complete confidence in you.” He turned his attention from Ms. Passway to the woman sitting nearest him. “We can begin with you ma’am, the rest of you can please wait in the hall.” They all got up and shuffled out except for the woman whom the man had indicated. When they were alone he motioned for her to pull her chair up to the desk and asked her name.
“It’s Gloria Right sir, and my I ask your name?”She asked very politely.
“No no, you may not. Sir will do for now. Let’s see here…” he shuffled through his files until he found the one with here name on it, “ah here you are.” He peered over the file for a few moments before addressing her again. “It says here that the only reason you wanted to stay was that this is the only place that felt like home to you. Is that true?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s a pretty poor reason. It says that you have a mother and father who are waiting for you. Don’t you want to go see them?”
I am going to use this Blog to help me make a critical decision for my next Dungeons and Dragons game. I will be Dungeon Mastering a game in just a few weeks and the Main hook of the game has yet to be determined. I will pitch a few Ideas and then let you vote on what I should do.
Classic Dungeon: This would be a classic straight forward adventure. The party would start by entering the dungeon and fight their way through to a boss at the end for some great treasure. It would involve a lot of combat and little NPC (Non Player Character) interaction. The benefits of this kind of adventure lay in the combat; combat is fun and can be set at a fast pace. Combat is also an easy way for a party to work together and feel like a team. The draw backs are that there is little role playing interaction and less time to be creative with your character.
Puzzle Dungeon: Much like the Classic Dungeon much of the action would come from combat but the real challenge of this dungeon would come from the puzzles and traps found throughout it. From the moment the party enters the dungeon they must be on their toes because nothing is as it appears. Trap doors secret passages are only the beginning, there will be runes that need deciphering and riddles needing answered. Clues found on the journey will lead to a greater reward then they could have ever hoped for, if they can find it. The benefits of this kind of adventure are that the party members get to flex their brains for a bit. They will start to rely on their skills and less on their stats (I can explain that if you like). They still get the fun combat as well. The draw backs are that the adventure is taxing on the brain and can take a long time to complete. Problem solving is fun but often times leaves party members out (fighters are not great thinkers).
High Seas: There are recourses to have an adventure aboard a ship sailing the high seas. I have very little knowledge of the rules and mechanics and neither do my party but that is part of the fun. Learning a new system and skill set hard but it makes victories that much sweeter. Maybe a pirate hunt or the party is the pirates could make for a good adventure. The benefits are that the DM and the party get to try something new and find new ways to expand their skill sets and the world they play in. The draw backs are that it take a lot of research and preparation by both the DM and the party to get ready for the game.
Abduction: The party lives in a world of Gods and Demons, creatures of other Plains and unseen worlds, but the idea of Space travel and other planets is not one they have had many dealings with. The adventure starts with the party waking up in an alien space ship. They technology is too far above them and the surroundings are foreign, but still they must defeat their abductors and gain control of the craft before it gets to where it is going. The benefits of this type of adventure are that it is silly. The party is allowed to make jokes and goof off a little bit. The role playing is high and the party gets to flex that part of them that normally is suppressed in a serious game. The drawback is that it is a silly game and the party may loose focus on their objective and waste a lot of time.
So please help me decide what adventure to prepare for by casting your vote now. Also tell your friends, send them to my Blog from yours so that I can get many opinions. Thanks for your help.
I’m not lying about this, my head is freezing. So I cut off all my hair this week. Snip Snip, it all went away.
I have a barber, this Asian guy down at Supercuts; I don’t know his name so whenever I refer to him it’s with a different name. So Mr. Lee was joking with me how he always does, “You want me to take one inch off then I see you again in 3 months?”
“No Mr. Chin, take it off. Take it all off.” He gave me a confused look so I indicated the length at which I wanted it cut. I have never seen Mr. Wong’s face change like that before. He begged and pleaded me angst it, but I was resolute. He held up the number 3 to show me how short it was, but I would not look. Then with a tear in his eye Mr. Long began to chop away my best feature. When it was over I had become this.
I suspect after I paid and left Mr. Chow swept up my hair and his tears, possibly saving both in a box of remembrance.
So did I pull a Sampson, or a Pedro? No Delilah could make me cut my hair, you ought to know that. So I guess it was more like a Pedro. I have to Summer Camp next month and it will be HOT. That much hair is not conducive to not being hot. David, don’t worry, I have 2 ½ months to grow as much as I can before your big day.
But back to the subject of this post; my head is cold all the time now, and so are my ears. I can’t stand it! And last October I lost my cool Fantastic Four beanie. That is all.
Here is the next part to the Neil story. So David if you haven’t read the Neil story yet scroll down and do so now. I don’t know how I feel about this one yet but here it is for you to read. I really like some of Septembers’ parts in this; it really goes to show some of his personality I think.
“It’s ok the house is sealed off, no elf will be able to get in.” the man got up and started walking to the kitchen. “Come on let’s talk over coffee, it’ll help your head.”
Neil couldn’t think of a reason not to trust the man so he got up and followed him across the house. He entered a small kitchen and to his surprise the man was already pouring from a kettle from the stove. He handed Neil a cup of hot brown liquid, Neil smelt it, and it didn’t smell good.
“Go ahead and drink, it’s like tea only made from beans.” Neil waited for the man to give it a try before sipping at his own. It tasted burnt and muddy. “Sorry I don’t make a good coffee, just a strong one. Maybe this will help.” He reached in his coat and pulled out what Neil recognized as a flask. He held out his cup eagerly and the man poured a little of the unnamed liquor in. he retired his coffee, it was now palatable. “Good old Tennessee Whiskey, it even makes beans good.”
“Tennessee, where’s that, Wales? Are you from Wales?”
“No I’m not from Wales, I’m from New Mexico.” The man waited to see if that meant anything to Neil, when he saw that it didn’t he went on. “It’s in America.”
Neil found that he was surprised at how calm he was; he just sipped his coffee and thought it over. “Ok, America, you’re telling me that you are from across the ocean, and what, you’re the first man to break the seal into England in 200 years?”
“Yup.”
“And you made it all the way across England to the Scottish border without being caught by elves?”
“Yup.”
“ok.” They sat there in silence sipping coffee watching each other.
“You are surprisingly calm.” the man said.
“I would have to agree. Normally I would have stabbed you by now as you are obviously an elf spy. Did you put something in this uh…”
“Coffee.”
“Yes, Coffee?”
“No I don’t think so. I must tell you that I am feeling really calm myself.” They took another moment to sip at their coffees and think about their situations. “I think I know what’s going on. September would you come in here please.” The dark skin man from before entered the kitchen, he too seemed very calm; it was a contrast to his fierce concentration on the door that he had on in the other room. “September did you do something to make it calm?”
“Yes,” he answered, “I was afraid that the Scotsman would try and attack us so I calmed things down a bit.” Neil started to nod in silent agreement. “Is that a problem, I can take the effect away if you want?”
“No no, just lower it some would you. I feel like I’ve been put out to pasture.” September said that he would and then returned to the other room. “That was September, he’s and Indian.”
“He doesn’t look Indian, are you sure he’s not Pakistani?”
“Not that kind of Indian, he’s and American Indian, a Native American.” Neil nodded. “You have Indians and Pakistanis in Scotland?”
“Oh yes, there were many living here at the time the elves came. Each have either own clan now, good people. Is he using magic?”
“Yes and no, is that a problem?”
“Only elves use magic, so it makes you elf spies. I am going to have to kill you.”
“Wait a minute, wait one cotton picking minute, we saved you from the elves. You ain’t going to kill us.”
“Oh I’m not?” Neil could feel some of his calm melt away.
“No not because we use magic, god it’s not even real magic, well not like elf magic, it’s different. Elf magic is spells and enchantment right, it does stuff, stuff you notice. We’ll this magic is different, it’s passive, elf magic is narrow and our magic is broad, you get what I’m saying?” Neil did not. “You see it’s different, it’s different. God September get in here and help me out.”
September came back into the room and this time instead of calm and controlled he seemed a bit more loss as he leaned on the door frame. “This is American magic; in truth it’s not even called magic. It is power granted us by the land because we are one with the land and it is one with us. One with the trees, one with the grass, one with the birds and one with the animals.”
“Druids!”
“Yes like druids, but from America.” September seemed pleased that he was able to make Neil understand. That was until Neil drew one of his knives.
“Druids were fond of human sacrifices.”
September began to chuckle, “well who wasn’t back then, but be assured we don’t do that anymore.” September was glaring at Neil with an eerie smile on his face. It seemed to pull back the corners of his mouth too far and show too much of his teeth. Neil was caught up by it, it seem to pull him in. he didn’t even notice the other man come towards him until he spoke.
“Can we please put the knife away?” he was reaching for the knife and Neil panicked. He swung out with it, but the man was fast and was able to move away. Neil slashed at him twice more driving him back. But on his next attack the man was able to grab his arm and force it up. The knife stuck into the ceiling and Neil lost his grip on it. The man let Neil go and began to scold September instead of Neil. “I thought you were making it calm in here?”
“I am, he stopped didn’t he? He has several more knives on him and a gun he could use any of those.”
Then man looked back at Neil, “let’s try this again, my name is Allen.” He put out his hand. Neil could feel the urge to stab it well up inside of him but never reach the surface. He took the hand in his own instead.
“Neil”
“Well howdy Neil, glad to meet ya. I’m going to take out some papers I want you to look at and then you can tell me what you are going to do next. How’s that sound?” Neil nodded and took the papers when Allen produced them. They were wrapped in oilskin and printed on thick paper. Each one had a gold seal on the top of it stating it was from the desk of the President of the United States of America. They seemed very official and stated that Allen was a dully appointed representative from America to whomever he found living on the isle of Brittan and Ireland. They said that he comes in peace and that he is to offer help to any legitimate ruling body he finds.
“Are these for real?”
“Real as you and I. what do you think, enough to get me into Scotland?” Allen seem to look genuine.
“Those will probably get you arrested and detained at any of the gates leading into Scotland. But if anyone with rank thinks these are real you will be sent to the capital.”
“Well that sounds like a plan.” Neil’s mood was picking up.
“it sounds like something, I don’t know if it’s a plan.” Chimed in September.
“No it’ll be great. We show up at one of these gates with Neil here to introduce us, we can cut through all that red tape.”
“Now wait on second, I am not taking you to a gate. I’m a Pict, I don’t use gates, I go through the wall. I show up at a gate and I can kiss my job away.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We do nothing. I go back through the wall, and I’ll take those papers with me. You will show up in two days at the gate I tell you to. That’s the only way you’re getting into Scotland, I’ll make sure of that.”
“Neil it almost sounds like you don’t want to help us.”Allen said almost mockingly.
“You know good and well that I don’t, but its part of my orders to have you come to a gate, and any other human wanting into Scotland. So just remember I’m doing it for my country not for you. Now listen up there is a gate nearly 32 miles to the west of here be there at sundown in 2 days.” Neil looked at his watch, time was running out. “Now lads I have to be heading back to my wall. I’ll see you in 2 days.” He took the papers and put them in his backpack, then pulled his knife from the ceiling.
“Can’t you stay a little longer Neil? We were just getting to be friends.” This time it was Neil’s turn to glare. Allen just smiled and shrugged. With the calm wearing off and Neil could see that Allen had a strange personality. “We can get you to the wall whenever you want.”
“I use my legs not your dirty magic. 2 days, sundown.” And Neil left.
Allen and September sat quietly for awhile before Allen finally spoke. “God I hate waiting. That’s all we ever did in France.”
“Then you will hate Scotland, Sounds like we will be playing a lot of the militaries favorite game.” Allen gave him a quizative look. “The Hurry Up and Wait game. I guess I’m supposed to follow him and make sure he gets back ok?”
“I’d appreciate it. It wouldn’t bode well if our papers were found by the elves. And when you get back can you do something about this knife hole in the ceiling. Don’t want anyone to know we were here.”
If you want to know how Sptember made it so calm I know how in detail, it just never seemed to work it's way into the story.
This is another longish story, over a thousand words. It is also part of the story I came up with when David first asked me to write a video game. Once again it ends abruptly, something I have begun to enjoy. I like how it makes the reader mad, I don’t know if pissing off your readers is an accepted writing practice, but I really don’t care. This story introduces the stories true hero, Neil. He is an interesting fellow with many faults he will have to overcome before he is ready to meet his destiny, this story introduces a few of them. Is he proud or is it his prejudices? Does he have good sense but bad sensibility? Let’s find out.
Neil laid flat across the back seat of a BMW. He couldn’t tell you what BMW stood for, all he knew is that it was one of many automobiles that made up New Hadrian’s Wall, and that he could crawl through this one. He looked at his watch, two minutes to go. Neil was a soldier in the Army of New Scotland, and a member of the Picts. The Picts are a special group of soldiers whose sole job was to go over the wall and raid the Old Kingdom. He had been with the Picts for a year and this would be his eighth time over the wall. Neil’s two minutes were up; it was time for him to go.
Neil opened the car door and peered out into the night. This section of the wall had no lights so Neil could see the stars. Neil could hear others coming out of their cars on other parts of the wall as he pulled himself out. He crouched next to the wall until all the unseen movement had stopped. He took a moment to pull on the straps of his pack making sure that they were snug. Then came the vibration alarm on his watch, just a silent shaking on his wrist was all the Picts needed. At the same moment 12 men darted out from the wall and ran across the field before them. They had ten minutes now to make it the one mile to the original wall which marked the boundary of the Old Kingdom. The area they were running across now was a no man’s land, to dangerous for the Scotts to live in and too hard for the elves to cross.
Neil was happy because everything was going according to plan, which is good for a Pict because their plans only go up to reaching the original wall. They never knew what they would find when they got there, it could be a patrol waiting for them or a just an abandoned stretch of Wall road. Wall road is the path that runs the length of the original wall. It’s less like a road and more like a horse path because the elves rarely us vehicles of any kind. They found the road and the wall empty.
It took twenty minutes from the time they left the new wall before Neil found Charlie hiding in a stand of trees. Charlie was Neil’s partner on this mission, they had the next six hours to go as far into the Old Kingdom as they dared, mapping it and causing trouble. From the moment they found each other and began their excursion they were to consider themselves weapons free. Neil removed the safety strap on his holster, even though firing guns at elves wasn’t a killing move but it helped slow them down. If he did have to kill one it would be with one of the six knives he had on his person. After the first two hours they had easily covered five miles. They had been working their way through a plowed field when it suddenly ended showing them a sight neither had ever expected to see. It was a village, but not an elfin one, the homes were built out of wood not shaped out of trees, also there was a cart track, not usually found in elfin villages. This was a human village.
Neil had heard that the elves didn’t kill all the humans in England when they invaded. There were also rumors that they were allowed to work in elfin households as servants, but never had they heard of a human settlement in England. Charlie nudged Neil back into the field where they could talk in cover.
“This is weird,” Said Charlie. “This isn’t right. Those are houses built by men down there.”
“I know,” Neil replied, “someone’s got to go down there and check it out.” Neil was getting excited because he knew Charlie didn’t like doing this sort of thing.
“No one’s going anywhere, it’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous, those are our people down there, we could save them, bring them back to Scotland with us.”
“Don’t be crazy, those people know nothing of Scotland, they live here, with elves. Think Neil, it’s been almost 200 years, they seem to be doing fine, nice homes, these are good crops, they are probably happy and there is no reason to cause these people alarm by letting them know were here. They would probably just hand us over to the elves anyways.”
“But to live under elves…”
“Is something you know nothing about? Can’t you just be happy for these people? We thought that all humans left in England were servants, those don’t look like servants houses. What’s the worst those people could be, living on some rich elf’s land and working his fields? How is that different then doing the same thing for a Laird in Scotland?”
“Because then they would be working for a human and not a bloody elf.” Charlie looked at Neil disapprovingly. He was older and mellower then Neil, and many of their conversations went the same direction, the one they were headed to now.
“Those prejudices are unfounded Neil, I’ve told you before. You hate elves, and how many times have you seen one, 5, 6? And have you ever talked to one? No. But you won’t be satisfied until you know those people aren’t horribly repressed by evil elves and need saving. This is what were going to do, we’re both going down there, spend no longer than half an hour, map the place and see what info you can gather of their lives. Don’t go in any houses and Don’t talk to anyone. If it turns out that these people need saving it won’t be by us, it will be another mission on another day. Got that?” Charlie was skipping to the end of their argument; he didn’t seem to want to waste time on this today. Neil nodded his head and Charlie began to explain the routs they would take through the village. “Neil when we get done, comes right back here, if I’m late don’t come looking for me, just head back. Don’t stop until you’re over the wall. Anyway you look at it, this information needs to get back.”
Neil agreed and they began to make their way to the village. They split up and each went a different way around the outside. The plan was to go around the village and come up the middle, that way they were already heading the right direction. Neil found nothing remarkable on his journey around the outside of the village, mostly just the normal back of house stuff, gardens, goats and laundry. He had his map book out and was trying his best to sketch while not disturbing any goats. When he got to the end of town he stopped to make corrections to his map in a patch of light that came through window of a nearby home.
There were few lights on in the village; Neil estimated it was around 2AM, too late for Farmers, just right for Drunks. Neil didn’t think that this village had a Pub that would stay open that late so the only thing he needed to worry about was elf patrols. He looked down a street and started to plan his rout when a crashing sound came from the back of one of the houses he had just been behind. Neil leapt under a tree and crouched close to its trunk holding his breath and hoping he was hard to see in the shadows. He heard a door being opened and then the unmistakable sound of a startled cat being tossed from a house. He had heard that sound a lot growing up and it relived him to know that some things are the same where ever you are. He tried to imagine one of these townsmen sneaking to the kitchen to get a snake while his wife was asleep. He could see the look on his face as he stepped on the cat’s tail, or found it on the counter instead of the last slice of pie. He almost laughed out loud, but his training kept it from coming out.
Neil stayed beneath his tree for a few more minutes making sure the cats adventures were done for tonight. When he felt that the village had become still again he began to creep out towards the street again. He approached the end of a hedge and peeked out, then pain.
Neil woke up quickly and with a massive pain in his head. Other then the pain, the only other things he was aware of was the hand over his mouth and that he was now inside of one of the houses. He followed the hand to find it belonged to a dark skinned man with long black hair. The man was very still and was looking very intently at the door on the other side of the room. What Neil found strange was that he did not feel threatened by this man, in fact he felt safer in side with him then he had outside with Charlie. Suddenly the door opened and revealed a man, the dark skin man did not seem to react to him, in fact he didn’t move at all until the door was closed and the second man joined them at the back of the room.
The second man sat in a chair and began to speak to the dark skinned man. Neil was surprised to hear them speak English, although it was with a strange accent. “The other one made it out of town; I think he spotted the patrol coming. Looks like our friend here wasn’t that lucky.” He looked at Neil for the first time and his easy going expression he had worn since he arrived changed to surprise. “he looks horrible, what did you do to him?” the Dark skinned man held up his other hand and for the first time Neil could see it held a cast Iron Frying pan. “Damn it September, would you stop doing that.”
I love this comic strip by Kate Beaton. She is cleaver and well educated, wich makes for some of the best jokes ever. she also is constently developing her art, which gives folks like me hope that someday lots of people will like what I do.
I wrote this a few years ago and it's still great.
There once was a blank. And this blank was empty. He had nothing in side of him. Not even space. If he were filled with space then he would have been a space. If he were filled with words then he would have been a sentence. But he was blank. And he remained blank for some time. Then on day he was handed out and something marvelous happened, some one wrote upon him. At first he was afraid because he didn’t understand what was going on, but after a few moments he realized that he was being filled in. when it was all over he took a look at what was written upon him. It was the word “Oklahoma”. Oklahoma, what did that mean? Then he took a look at what came before him and understood. He was not just a word. Now he was much more, he was an answer.
Unfortunately he was the wrong answer but hey, who cares.
I started to write this passage to describe some of my more creative fears, but in the process i rediscovered my paranoiaagainst Lisa Frank. I also wanted to have something to submit to Grown Up Story Time this month. GUST is a monthly gathering at Rudyard's bar in which people read stories written by others. I went last month with Johann to hear them read my story Bobin of Big House. it was a ton of fun and I can't wait to go back again. I don't really need a story in this one but it makes it more fun for me.
I have been frightened of many things in my life, the dark, purple snow, even the future, but nothing has ever given me the Hebe gee bees like Lisa Frank. The thinks that that woman will print onto school supplies scares the crap out of me. Unicorns and bears in rainbow colors, dolphins in pastels wearing sunglasses, really it’s just too much to take. It’s not just school supplies either, I recently found out that since the mid 80’s Lisa Frank has been supplying girls with enough fake jewelry to collapse world markets. Stickers, pins, pens and lip gloss are not out of the question either.
I have a theory about all of this, that one day Lisa Frank herself, founder and CEO of Lisa Frank Inc. will announce her intentions to rule the world. She is in the ultimate position to raise an army of women to help her. She has been supplying them with curtness and self confidence through cheep glamour jewelry and lip gloss since they were 8. Those are the two things they value most in their dark hearts, curtness and self confidence. Now that the first generation of Lisa’s followers are grown and gaining positions of power she can start to exert her will upon the world. She will slowly add pastels and rainbows into all forms of marketing. At first we won’t notice, but by the time those of us that are aware of her plans can convince others it will be too late. The world will have already begun to accept that everything should be shinny and pink. Glitter will be sold out of vending machines, and people will put it on everything because it’s “better” that way. And on that day when the last Goth chick either dies or falls to peer pressure, Lisa will claim Victory. She will ride her rainbow Pegasus across the sky turning it purple. Then she lands in Pairs where her unicorn and rainbow spotted Dalmatians are waiting. There at the base of the Eiffel tower she will declare herself ruler of everything beneath her violet sky.
Oh well try and fight back, many of us with gather around the banner of G I Joe, giving our selves cool code names (I call Snake Eyes) and referring to Lisa Frank only as Cobra, but it will do little good. We will win very fell battles because our parents taught us not to hit girls, and we know it’s bad form to kill puppies, dolphins, and ponies. Mostly we’ll hide in our bases building overly complicated vehicles and weapons, making plans we will never use. We will have to raise a whole new generation of young men who don’t mind socking girls, but that’s just a step backwards isn’t it. No one wants a world where we raise kids to hit girls. It’s going to be a dark time in our planets history, a dictator who has used passive means to convince half the world to follow her, and the other half wanting to overthrow her but without the gumption to pull the trigger. I don’t want to have to raise my kid to be a girl hitter but I will if I have to. Please, if you don’t want your boy to have to hit girls to save the world, just say no to Lisa Frank. Please do it for the children.
The first five people to respond to this post will get something made by me!
I saw a similar post on Sister Clutter's blog and I thought, "hey, this could be fun." So I decided to do it! I get a homemade gift from Leslie, and I get the chance to make some gifts for friends.
This offer does have some restrictions and limitations: 1. I make no guarantees that you will like what I make! 2. It'll be done this year. Hopefully sooner than later. 3. You have no clue what it's going to be. It may be sewn, scrapbooky, baked, or it may be something totally random that I come up with on a whim. Who knows? Not you - until you receive your gift! 4. I reserve the right to do something extremely strange.
The catch? The catch is that you must repost this on your blog and offer the same to the first 5 people who do the same on your blog. Let's get those homemade gifts going! So, the first 5 people to leave a comment telling me they are doing it also, will receive a gift - made with my two hands! (Although you may be taking your chances with that...)Be sure to post pictures of what you won when you recieve it!
I wrote this one with nothing really in mind but the ending. i knew how i wanted the story to end but that was it so i kind of wrote it backwards.
Billy was going to punch Greg right in the face and there was very little anyone could do to stop it. He ran out into the street, down 1st avenue and then crossed 5th. When he got to Oak Lane he went straight inside of the Bouncing Dumpling, the restaurant where Greg hung out. There in the back was Greg with his friends. They were all two years older than Billy, and all about a foot taller. Billy ran straight up to Greg but stopped to catch his breath.
“What’s up?” Greg asked.
“Greg…” Billy was breathing too hard.
“What is it, is everything all right?”
“Greg… I…I”
“Billy what’s wrong, is someone hurt?” Billy felt bad because Greg and his friends were really nice guys but this had to be done.
“Greg I’m sorry.” And then he punched him. He threw all the strength he could muster into that one punch and landed it right on the jaw. Greg was stunned, but only for a moment, which is what Billy needed to start running again. Right before he made it to the door he heard Greg’s voice ordering his friends to action.
“Get him!” Billy turned left outside the door and sprinted at top speed then down the closet alleyway hoping they hadn’t seen him. But just in case he took the Ally to the end and came out on 7th. Unfortunately Greg and his gang had gone right and were coming out on 7th a block away at the same time. It was an instant before they were after him, and they were fresh, Billy had run all the way to the restaurant and was getting tiered all ready. He took off north hoping to make it to the park and loose them in a crowd. The park however was almost empty due to some construction near the entrance, so Billy had to keep to the streets, the whole time Greg and his gang hot on his heels. He tried throwing trashcans in their way and sneaking around corners when he thought they couldn’t see him, he tried every trick he knew, but they just kept coming.
Then he saw his way out, there was a line outside of the movie theatre. He headed straight for it and began to weave his way in and out of the line. Bumping a person here shoving another there, causing as much person movement and commotion as possible. He could hear Greg and his friends working through the crowd behind him, but with all the people he had already pushed and shoved the crowd was making hard for them to get through. He had to take a chance and he darted from the line towards the building. He crouched down in a corner hidden from the street by the crowd. If he was lucky Greg and his friends would work their way through the crowd and continue chasing down the street. Billy couldn’t even watch, he pushed his head between his legs and covered it with his arms. He waited there for a whole 5 minutes before peeking out. He was alone, still shielded from the streets by the line at the movies, but no one had found him.
Billy began to work his way back to his house. Dashing from crowd to building or whatever would give him cover. He avoided places he thought Greg would go, and peeked around every corner. When he was a block away he sprinted again right down the side walk, up the stairs, through the living room and to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him breathing hard. Kent, Jon, and Charlie were there waiting for him.
“Did you do it?” Kent asked. Billy nodded still trying to catch his breath. They all gathered round as Billy told them the story. When he was done they all congratulated him.
“Alright it’s my turn now, Charlie Truth or Dare?”
Allen sat at the end of the bar in the French tavern. He had kept his slicker on when he entered and it had dripped a little puddle of water on the floor beneath his stool. His hat was on the bar in front of him, next to his drink, what the French call whiskey; Tasted like paint thinner. It was raining outside; it seemed to rain a lot here. The owner of the tavern was shifting around from table to table checking on his guests; Allen kept tabs on him by using the mirror behind the bar. The owner’s wife minded the bar and flirted with most of the men who came in. she had tried to flirt with Allen, he wasn’t interested. Above the bar was a television reporting the news. As day became night more people arrived at the tavern. No one seemed to notice when September came in. he took the seat next to Allen and ordered some wine using perfect French.
“We can buy the boat but without the Navy’s permission we can’t sail to England.”
“Then Parliament needs to hurry up and give us approval. We have about two days left.” Allen felt the trouble before he saw the man come running into the tavern. He was screaming historically and his right arm was covered in blood. The Tavern owner rushed forward with a few of the men and tried to calm him down. The only French words Allen recognized were the bad ones. The owner and his friends seemed to calm the man down and began to clean the wounds on his arm. Allen looked at September questioningly.
“He was attacked by dogs.” September replied. “Probably wild dogs, maybe even wolves.”
“Wolf is your brother isn’t he? Why are there wolves all over the world but not coyotes?”
“Wolf is more ambitious then I am. He traveled the world leaving children everywhere he went. He likes a good legacy.”
“Do the wolves listen to you?”
“Sometimes, but if wolves did this, I doubt they are listeners.”
Allen noticed that the owner’s wife behind the bar was growing increasingly nervous. She was clutching a bar towel and twisting it between her hands. Allen asked September to talk to here. September called out to her for another drink, when she approached he quietly asked her what was wrong. She began an explanation, quietly at first but as she continued her voice became louder and faster. All of a sudden her husband was there scolding her, and sent her to the other end of the bar. “I am sorry for my wife sirs,” he spoke in his best English, “living this close to the channel has caused many people to become superstitious, especially the women. Many people have claimed strange instances lately but the stories become greater and more fantastic every time one wife tells another.”
“What happened to your friend?” Allen asked.
“He is not my friend sir, he is the town drunk, and my best customer you could say. He probably fell into some ones yard and got attacked by their dog. It has happened before. Please do not worry about him he will be fine.” The owner shifted off again, this time to help carry the wounded man into a back room. Once he was gone Allen asked September what the wife had been trying to tell them.
“She was saying that there had been quite a few dog attacks in this park of the country lately. It is said that there is a large pack of dogs or possibly wolves roaming Northern France. There are strange stories told where ever they are sited. She is afraid of lycanthropes.”
“What are lycanthropes?”
“Werewolves of course.”
“What are werewolves?” September looked at Allen disappointingly.
“What do you mean what are werewolves? Everyone knows what werewolves are.”
“Is there an Indian word for it; is it like a skin walker?”
“No, there is no Indian word for it. It’s a werewolf. Didn’t you ever watch any movies growing up?” that’s when September remembered who he was talking to. “Oh yea, you spent all your time outdoors with your cows. Well I’m not going to tell you what it is, because if it turns out to be one I don’t want to ruin it for you.” That put Allen in a bad mood. He had too much to think about as it was without trying to find out what a werewolf is, much less how to stop one. He was so busy brooding that he almost didn’t notice when the three police officers came through the tavern straight to the back room.
Not long after that Allen got a very bad feeling. Something bad was going to happen in that back room. Allen had developed a Trouble sense through his training with September; he always seemed to know when bad news was coming or when things would go from bad to worse. This made him annoyed more than anything else; it was quite a mood killer. “Let’s take that table over there and get some dinner.” Allen indicated a table in the corner a few feet away from the door the police had entered. They moved and September ordered something off the menu that Allen couldn’t read. “Is it ok to shoot a werewolf?” asked Allen one the Owners wife had left to get their food.
“It’s a universally excepted habit, shooting werewolves.”
“Good.” Replied Allen and he unbuttoned his coat for the first time that night and let his hand fall to the gun he wore on his belt. He only had a minute before the trouble he felt would be upon them. That pissed him off. Almost exactly a minute later there came a commotion from the back room. At first it sounded like they were moving the furniture around, but then the screaming began, and then the roar. A few of the patrons at the Tavern got up and began to run towards the door, but Allen stepped in their way. He threw back his coat and drew his gun sending the patrons a few steps back, but the gun was not for them. Allen turned quickly and dashed into the back room before anyone could follow him. There were three gunshots, a crash, a scream, and then Allen came flying back threw the doorway crashing into a table. He pulled himself just in time to see the werewolf come through the door. This half man half wolf monster hit harder then Allen wanted to admit, and bullets didn’t seem to have done much to improve the beast’s mood.
The werewolf leapt at Allen, giving him just enough time to curse and throw his arms up to block the blow. The monster caught Allen’s left arm in its jaws as it landed on top of him bringing him back down to the floor. Allen kicked at the beast from beneath it, landing what he thought were some really good blows but the werewolf seemed unaffected. All of a sudden the owner’s wife threw a pair of candle sticks at the monster from behind the bar, Allen who appreciated the effort was sure that the woman had just sealed her doom, but to his surprise the candles stick knocked the beast off of Allen and they really seemed to hurt him. The werewolf looked confused for a moment but then took off for the front door and as fast as it had come it was gone.
Allen once again pulled himself up from the floor and began to dust himself off. He then walked back to the back room to retrieve his gun, giving September a dirty look as he passed. When he came out it was with the tavern owner and the three policemen. They had all been torn up badly and were in need of some serious medical attention. September informed him that an ambulance had already been called for. “Did that thing bite you?” he asked curiously looking at the blood coming from Allen’s left arm.
“Yea.” Allen answered angrily; he had that feeling that bad news was coming.
“You see,” September started out, “that’s how the curse is transmitted, I’m pretty sure you have it now, and so do they.” He indicated the wounded men Allen had dragged out of the back room.
“You gonna tell me how to get rid of this dang curse them?” Allen spat out.
“Oh you’ll like this; you have to kill the one that bit you.” Allen did like that. He picked up one of the candle sticks and held it up for September to see. “It’s the silver not the candlestick itself.”
“Good, I’m going up to my room to put on a shirt without a hole in the sleeve and get my rifle, when I get back I want something I can use.” Allen slammed the candlestick on the table in front of September and went upstairs. When he came back down there were 5 silver bullets and a small silver knife, but no candlestick. One of the perks of traveling with a god Allen thought, even if he was a mischievous lazy one.
“Allen,” September called out as he headed for the door, “I’m pretty sure you only have about 3 hours before you… you know.” Allen nodded his head as he went out the door. He was back in two with the body of the town drunk. He was covered in mud and blood and had ruined another shirt.
Allen stood in front of September with his arms held out to the sides. “Well, am I curse free? Did it work?” September said that it had. “Did anything else happen while I was out?” September held up an envelope and Allen took it. Inside was a declaration from the parliament allowing Allen to cross the Channel. “Grab our stuff out of the room we’re going.”
“Don’t you want to rest up and change?”
“I can change on the boat; I really want to get out of here.”
For those of you Who know who Wally is I have good news. I am putting the final bit on chapter 1.5 which will soon become known as chapter 2. I am also about half way through Chapter 3 which will become known as chapter 4. also I have almost s complete story line for the next chapter and am almost done thinking up the chapter after that. If i can buckle down and get it all written out I hope to have the first 6 chapters done by May.
For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about I give you a taste.
This is a Corsair, my favorite plane, and the one I have always used in my mind as a base for Wally's plane.
Well isn’t this just the stupidest thing you’ve ever gotten us into. Wally was lying on his stomach looking over the crest of a sand dune. “Did you forget about hosting that 96 hour telethon?” He was looking at a camp located at the entrance of a small canyon about 300 yards away. No I didn’t. I thought it taught you to ask more questions before you took a job but… At first glance it looked like any other camp that might be crossing the desert. They had four three axle caravan trucks for holding people and supplies, two 4x4 jeeps, and three low altitude fliers for herding flocks. Only problem was there were no flocks. The grouping of tents was filled with movement and Wally didn’t even want to try to count the men that might be down there. “Look what we have here.” Wally said to himself as his eyes came across an 18 wheeled truck. It was a flat bed with a very distinctive shaped tarp thrown over it. Looks like trouble. Came the answer in his head. “Why are you always so negative?” he began crawling backwards from the top of the dune so not to be seen. When he felt he was safe he got up and began the long walk back to his plane.
My database is Deadlocked. What that means is that untill it is fixed i can not do much work. out of all the things my database has been before (down, busted, under repair, and locked down) Dedlocked is the coolest.
There is this guy who everyday during his lunch break draws lunch bags for his kids. I have been aware of him for a few months and his website. he recently lost his job and is using his Internet fame to look for a new one. what I love about the Internet is that all the cartoonist who he has honored by drawling their characters on his lunch bags are helping him. today when i checked some of my favorite comic strips they were all asking their readers to pass along job listings to him. I love it.
This story is part of another greater story that I came up with when David asked me about if i would ever write a video game. I took the picture that hangs in my room of the wind horse for inspiration. Also the name Allen Ring is straight up stolen from a Louis L'Amour short story call Four Card Draw. the Allen from that story was and is a favorite character of mine. mostly for the character he showed.
“You know you’re awful white for an Indian.”
“That’s because I’m a cowboy” Allen Ring replied.
The senator did not look amused; to Allen he looked like a snake. “You are one third Indian. You were raised by your grandfather, one of the last practicing shamans in the world. I believe he taught you a great deal about his beliefs and manner of worship and communion”
“Communion?” Allen repeated, “If you mean his rituals and traditions then I do know a little. Most of it is just sitting and meditating with nature.”
“And the dances, did he teach you those?”
“Sir all children who grew up on the reservation know the dances. May I ask what this is all about?”
“It’s about the Wind Horse. You’ve heard of it right?”
“It’s the fastest horse who ever lived, Friend to all Indians and said to never be seen in this world again. Is that the Wind Horse you’re talking about?”
“The very one. I want you to get it for me.”
Allen had to really think about what the senator was asking him before he answered. “So you want me to find the path that is always changing, and follow it to the Indian hunting ground, the one where everyone is whole and never comes back from, find the fastest and truest horse there and bring him back for you?”
“Doesn’t sound too hard to me, you already know how to get there it sounds like.”
“Except that the only way to reach the path that always changes is to die, and once you reach the hunting grounds you can never come back. So how do you suppose I do it?”
The senator just smiled, “well I certainly don’t know, but unless you try you will never work on this ranch again.” The senator almost seemed to laugh at this, like he found it to be some twisted joke. “I guarantee you that unless you try to retrieve the wind horse you will never be allowed on a ranch or reservation again.After all, you’re only 1/3 Indian.” At this it seemed that the senator was moments away from uncontrollable laughter. Now he looked less like a snake and more like a coyote. “All I ask is for you to take a month and honestly try to retrieve it for me. If you do I promise that you will be handsomely rewarded.”
“And if I can't?”
“Well we’ll see. It really depends on how hard you try.” The senator pressed a button on his desk and another man came into the office. He was a full blood Indian, Allen could tell. He didn’t seem to have any expression on his face at all and looked more like the old Indian statues that people put up outside of stores than a real person. “This is … I can’t say his name but I was told it translates to September Worker. He had been studying with your grandfather when he died and has volunteered to help you. “Allen looked over the Indian and then looked at the senator again.
“I don’t really have a choice in this do I?” Allen let out a long sigh and thought it over some more. “One month of trying is the absolute most I am willing to give. After that I’m sending you’re Indian back to you with or without a wind horse. Winter is coming on and I have a lot of strays to catch before the first frost comes.”
“Good good,” said the senator as he got up and went to the side door where September Worker had come in from, “as you will see here we have brought everything we think you will need to get the job done.” Allen followed him into the next room which was filled with all sorts of Native American artifacts. There were all sorts of drums, and headdresses, along with bows, arrows, spears and shields. On one table Allen found bottles of face paint and incenses, along with a black jar with a medical label on it.
“What’s this?” he asked holding up the jar.
“Peyote.” Replied the senator. Allen put it back down. “You might be interested in what’s over here. It’s what we could get from your grandfathers place on the reservation.”Allen walked over to where the senator indicated and found a pile of familiar items. There was a blanket, and bowls along with some baskets and an old drum. Allen put the drum and the bowls on the blanket and rolled it up.
“This is what we will need. Anything else will be provided by the spirits if they truly want this to happen. Make sure those baskets are still here when I get back and you won’t have to pay me. Come on September, we need to find you a horse and get on our way.” Allen left the ranch house with September in tow and headed out to the stables.
He lit out about an hour later heading towards the mountains at the far end of the ranch. The senator sat in a rocking chair on the porch with the foreman and they watched him go. “You know,” said the foreman, “we were all surprised 8 years ago when he showed up here. Most young men don’t leave the reservations, or when they do they go to the city. You know he’s the only hand we have working the southern plains, just him and his dog. We call him the last Cowboy. The man lives in the 1890’s not the 2440’s like the rest of us. We made him take a vacation about a year ago and sent him to Santa Fe. He got in three fights and caused a traffic accident in five days. Cowboys just aren’t made for our modern cities I guess.”
“Well he’s going out there a cowboy but I hope he comes back something else.”
Allen and September rode out to Allen’s camp near the base of the mountains. The next morning Allen gathered up supplies and led them up into the mountains. They traveled in silence and it was almost noon before Allen realizes that he had yet to hear September speak. “So September you knew my grandfather?” September just nodded. “Studying shamanism was it?” another nod. “Can you talk at all?” he nodded once again. “So how do you think we should go about this?’
There was a pause as September considered the question before answering in a heavily accented voice. “Well sir, I am at a loss. I probably would have taken the peyote.”
“I’m starting to think you are right.” Allen let out a long sigh as he leaned back in his saddle and looked up at the sky. “We will have to start with a cleansing ceremony, it will get any bad spirits lingering about and help us get our minds right. Both of us should do that one. Then I think I will start a fast, but just me. If any of this works I may be sending my spirit far away and I need you to look after my body.” Allen looked over at September just in time to see him nod. “Did my grandfather teach you how to call on animal spirits for guidance and assistance?” another nod. “Good because I haven’t done it since I was 17. We are going to call on all of the spirits we can think of, and we might make up a few. Now if after about a week we don’t seem to be getting anywhere I’m going to stop sleeping. That always gets some sort of results. Now how does all this sound to you?”
“I think we need the peyote.”
“You’re a funny guy September, you know that?”
They spent the next two days on the mountain cleansing them selves. They did every type of cleaning ceremony they could think of, bathing in rivers, steam huts, and lots of incense. And at night they would sing. Allen would beat his grandfather’s drum and the two of them sung the tunes of their forefathers. September had a marvelous singing voice and all the songs came very natural to him. Allen on the other hand was struggling to remember the songs and often stopped entirely just to listen to September.
With the songs and the stars and their fire up on the mountain Allen returned to the days of his youth. He watched the fire and saw the shapes the flames made; the shapes of the mustang, of the buffalo, and the hawk. He followed the hawk up into the smoke and found the stars of the sky.It was the same sky of his ancestors; he found the familiar constellations and remembered the stories. Allen felt for the first time that it might be possible to find the wind horse.
The next morning September cooked breakfast, the last meal Allen would eat for at lest a week. “Are you going to begin you’re meditation now?” asked September.
“Yes September, I am.” Allen unrolled his grandfather’s blanket and sat upon it.
“Your grandfather taught me a few methods for beginning meditation, would you want me to talk you through on of them?”
“Thank you September that would be great.” September took a position behind Allen and told him to breathe as he breathed. For several minutes Allen cleared his mind and followed September’s breathing. It was very rhythmic and helped to calm him.
“Is you’re mind clearing and are you calm in body and spirit?” September asked.
“Yes, I believe I am.”
“Good,” commented September. Then he bashed Allen in the head with the frying pan. Then he tossed the pan to the ground and mumbled to himself about how peyote was faster.
Allen didn’t wake up or gain consciousness, but became aware. First he became aware of darkness, and then of standing on solid ground. His thought process began to come back to him and he became aware of his thinking. He decided that he was somewhere and it wasn’t where he was before. Then he became aware of a presence. It was far but coming near. Light and color were coming into his awareness and he decided that he was defiantly somewhere he had never been before. He became aware that he wanted to find out if anyone else was here too.
“hello.” He called out, but to no reply. “Hello” he shouted again.
“You have come far traveler.” Boomed a large voice from behind him. Allen turned to face a giant man dressed in full Tradition Indian dress with a Coyote mask covering his face. “You have come seeking the Wind Horse. But know this, the journey that you seek to….. You know what? I can’t do this anymore.”
Allen was stunned. Here was what he was pretty sure was a god and he was acting and talking just as he had always imagined, but now he was sounding more like the senator.
“I’m going to come over there, do you mind?” Allen shook his head to show that he didn’t and this god seemed to come closer and shrink down to man size. Then when he was standing right in front of Allen he took off his mask and reveled himself to be September.
“September, what are you doing.” Allen was furious. “Why the hell are you pretending to be a god, and did you hit me on the head with a frying pan?”
“Yea I’m sorry about that Allen but you were just taking so long to get ready. I tried to tell you the Peyote was faster but you didn’t listen. Oh and I’m not pretending to be a god, I am a god.”
Allen let out a laugh, “you a god? That’s a good one. But seriously what is it that you and that senator have going on. I got a lot of work to do and if I don’t have to spend a month screwing around with you two then I better get back to my cows.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this but I am a God, and the senator is working for me. We have a very important job that only you can do and we have very little time to get you ready for it.”
“Wait what are you saying?”
“Ok Allen I didn’t want to do this but you leave me no choice. I am a god now watch. I’m big now I’m small. I am an animal now I’m invisible. Thunder, lightning, and all that.” And just as he said all of those things happened.
“Who are you?”
“I am Coyote. And I was chosen out of all the gods in this land to find a person to take a journey. Out of all the people in this land, only you can take this journey.”
“Why me?”
“Because Allen you are a cowboy and you are also an Indian. The journey is dangerous and long and you will need both parts of you to see it to its end. The only thing holding you back is that you deny your Indian self. You must learn to embrace it. Become an Indian and a Shaman of your people. Only then will you be able to see the unseen and walk undisturbed in the land of your enemy. Also become a cowboy, the last cowboy. Only then can you stand steely eyed in front of the unknown and conquer every challenge. You will be an Icon of this land, both of the old and the new, both of the spirit and the body.” Allen stood there taking it all in. “you don’t really get it do you?” asked Coyote. Allen shook his head no. “That’s ok we have a whole month to get your head wrapped around it. By the way you were right, there is no way to get the Wind Horse. It was all just a ruse to get you out there. Sorry again about the head.”
I'm working on a new story idea. Really it's two stories that cross over with about a 75 year gap in-between. The first is a radio drama about two famous explorers in the 20s -30s. The next is the adventures of one of the explorers’ descendants when the events of the first story bleed through into the present. I have done quite a few treatments for this and tossed it around a lot before coming up with this format. This is an article written by a reporter who witnessed a large part of the present story. What the story would look like to an outsider. You may not have noticed but a lot of what I write is told from the prospective of a character or an all knowing narrator so this was kind of hard for me.
Long Field Ill. This reporter saw it all; weeks of snakes flooding into this small town, a deadly snake woman from the African Jungles come to get revenge on the grandson of the man who imprisoned her long ago, the jewel know as the Heart of the Jungle that held the power to shape one’s dreams, and the bravery of a group of kids to save the community they grew up in.
It has been no secret that for the last few months the snake population of the Riverside County in Illinois has skyrocketed. It’s what first drew this reporter to the small hamlet of Long Field. All types of snakes have been reported here but it wasn’t until rare tropical species from Africa showed up that the authorities became concerned. At first they suspected that a snake collector had gotten tiered of his exotic pets and had released them, often the case when wildcats are found roaming in neighborhoods. But as time passed the number of exotic snake found was far greater than any collector could have had, and the other fact was that all the snakes seemed to be converging on a single point within the county, Long Field.
Nothing made sense to this reporter until a little research found that since this whole phenomenon had started there had only been one snake related death; an elderly gentleman named Jonah Parks had been bitten in his house and died of the venom. Jonah Parks had been a locale celebrity in town, having spent most of his life traveling the world; he spent a lot of time telling the local children all about his adventures and showing off his souvenirs. That’s what he appeared as on the surface anyways, but with a little research this reporter discovered that he was really Jonah Parks, founder of the famed Adventures Club that meets at crossroads hall in London. He had been traveling companion to Professor Henry J. Humphries, famed explorer and discoverer of over 200 new species. Also Mr. Parks was over 100 years old, but from what I understand most people thought he was in his 70’s. Jonah Parks first appeared in newspapers back in the 1920s when he helped professor Humphries with the “Great Snake Infestation of the Congo”.
This was almost too much for this reporter to handle. The reports of the Congo snake infestation were hauntingly similar to that of the one this small Illinois town was facing. I was able to arrange some time to talk to Parks only living relatives, his son in law, Robert Jackson, and his son Johnny. Robert told me that he was aware that his father in law had been a famous explorer but was unaware of any snake infestation in the Congo. He did offer to have his son take me to his father in-law’s home to see if I could find anything there to help me.
That’s when I met Johnny Jackson, the boy with the walking stick.
I got tagged by one of my sisters to do this. Just to let you know I have been doing a lot of writing just nothing I’m ready to show here yet.
I sing in my car all the time. As long as no one is in there with me I really belt it out, but don’t expect to ever hear me because I button up as soon as some one gets in with me.
On my mission I used to have this reoccurring dream that I could fly. I had it so often that some times I forgot that I couldn’t and would think to myself, “I don’t want to ride a bike, I should just fly there.” Then I would remember that I can’t really fly and feel stupid.
When I worked in a machine shop I specifically did not learn how to do one or two really basic steps in the machine set up process. This kept me from being completely independent in the shop and from being considered a real machinist. It was never my intention to stay at the shop and by not learning those skills (even though I picked up on them and could probably manage I never let anyone know) I never really became more then a chore boy.
The national Championship Air races are held every September in Reno and I always forget about them. I am really interested in Air racing but never seem to find events to go to. And for the last 3 years I remember Reno the week after it happens. So sad.
I once participated in a fantasy bowling league online. I knew nothing about pro bowling or the players which made it a lot of fun. Would I do it again? Yes! PS my team came in 956 out of about 3000!
I would like to own a store one day. Have my own place in a little shopping center. I don’t even care what it sells but as long as it’s mine.
I wrote this one because Jen told me to use the word “Betray”. It’s really kind of creepy and it disturbs even me, but I still like most of it. I tried to keep it under a 1000 words so it might seem to end a bit suddenly, that’s how it seems to me anyways.
Bobbin worked his way through the walls of the Big House with the skill and ease that any mouse posses; he was holding back. Bobbin was better then any other mouse in the Big House. He went places none of the others either could or would go. He found food none of the others even knew existed, and he saw things none of the others had ever seen. Their leader, Rx, had ordered Bobbin to teach two of the young mice how to do what he does. He had told Bobbin that the more mice that could make it to the high pantries or the Master Bedroom like Bobbin could, the more food they could bring back for everyone else. Bobbin had tried to explain that it was too hard to bring food back from those places, he had pleaded with Rx not to make him share his secrets, but Rx would not budge. Now he was stuck with two kids following him around slowing him down and asking stupid questions all the time.
“Hey Bob,” called out Tack, “where we going?” Tack was the older of the two kids Bobbin had been assigned. He wasn’t too bad at keeping up but mentally he wasn’t too sharp.
“I told you, we are going to the Master Bedroom. I also told you not to call me Bob. Where is Dust?”
“I’m here sir,” came the small voice of Dust. He was a small mouse covered in a coat of mixed color hair that made him look like a clomp of dust. Bobbin thought that it was his redeeming quality; if the people or the cat couldn’t see him then they couldn’t catch him. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to because Bobbin kept loosing sight of him himself.
“Ah, yes there you are.” Bobbin was only slightly sure he had seen Dust poking out from behind Tack but he had heard him and that was good enough. He continued to lead them through the maze of dry wall and nails until they came to an impassable stud. Bobbin showed them how to stretch their bodies between walls and shimmy up to a knothole where they could get through. Both of them had to try it twice before they got up to the knot hole. They continued on to the Master Bedroom with Tack and Dust chattering the whole way about how cool it was to get up the knot hole. When Bobbin had had enough of their talk he stopped them and began his lecture.
“Ok boys we are in the walls of the master bedroom now so you’re going to have to be quiet. Our goal is to get up on the bed side table. Every night the Master brings a plate of snacks to bed with him and he only ever eats half before he falls asleep. Now the Master is a pretty light sleeper so just grab some food and run back to the wall. But be careful because he puts traps out. I’ll go first and make sure it’s ok. You two wait inside the wall.” They walked a bit more until they came to a hole that Bobbin had made.
Bobbin’s hole was underneath a dresser in the Master Bedroom witch gave Bobbin lots of cover. He looked out of every side to make sure the cat was not around. When he was sure he was safe he crept along the wall until he was just about to the corner. He stopped when he smelt cheese which told him that the Master had put a trap in the corner again. He bypassed the corned and the trap and made his way along the next wall until he reached the nightstand. He used the same trick as earlier to make his way up between the nightstand and the wall. When he reached the top there was a plate of cookies waiting for him, he broke off a piece and made his way back to the dresser along the walls.
When he got back Tack and Dust were very excited. The prospect of cookies was almost too much for them plus the added excitement of being in the master bedroom. Bobbin took Dust out with him and showed him how to check out of all the corners and told him all about the trap and how to get up to the night stand. Dust when off and a few minutes later he returned with a big piece of cookie in his mouth. He sent Dust back into the wall and had Tack come out and join him. He showed Tack how to look out from under the dresser and told him all about the trap. “Now when you get to the night stand go past it until you get to the bed. You can climb right up the sheets until you get to the top and there are the cookies.”
“Really, right up the sheets?”
“That’s right, but remember to be as quiet as you can, the first time I came I woke up the Master and almost didn’t make it out alive. Ok, on your way.” Bobbin watched as Tack disappeared into the darkness along the wall. After a few minutes there was aloud scuffle out in the room followed by a series of stomping noises. Dust poked his head out of the hole but Bobbin told him to get back in and hide. There was one finale stomp rather close to the dresser before the lights came on. Bobbin went back in the hole and waited for an hour with Dust. The lights went back off and the world was silent again.
“Come on Dust that’s all we can do for tonight. We better get back to Rx and tell him what happened. This will give you time to practice that new trick I taught you. You’ll need it for tomorrow when we got to the high pantry.”
whole list of Samurai movies I want. 
