There was always this tiny voice in the back of Arthur's head when it felt that he was doing something he shouldn't. It was usually reserved for social interactions that he hated immensely. When Arthur heard the voice, it was generally quiet and non-intrusive. Right now, it was neither. Every sense Arthur possessed was tingling, his inner voice screaming at him to leave NOW!!!!
Arthur hadn't made the reputation that he had by walking away from a situation. As well as he should have, considering the number of times it ended in either the hospital or jail. Arthur didn't feel as if this situation was going to end in either place. His sense of foreboding left Arthur with the unmistakable feeling that this was going to end with someone going to the morgue.
With this sense of foreboding, Arthur pulled his pistol from his holster and checked the chambers. It wasn't a large gun, simply a police issue Smith & Wesson .38 caliber. It had belonged to Arthur's grandfather, a police detective and had served him well. Arthur had never had to fire it outside of a firing range, but he did know how to fire it. Pulling his coat tight, and checking his phone, Arthur also scanned the hallway. It was long and narrow and poorly light. Every other light was out it seemed, and the ones lit had dims bulbs or just flickered in and out. The hallway ended in a heavy metal door about 100 feet from where Arthur was standing. There was only one door. Therefore, only one way for the assignment to have gone. Arthur was positive it was a trap, the men outside had given that away. But why Arthur had no clue about. And he felt he HAD to know at this point.
Approaching the door as quietly as he could, Arthur strained to hear sounds on the other side. Something that would give him some inkling of what was going on. The only sounds Arthur could make out, besides his own quiet breathing, was the faint echoes of thunder and occasionally a snippet of a jazz song, what the wind didn't whip away. Arthur's feeling of trepidation was so strong that he leaned against the wall taking deep breaths. He knew there was just as good of a chance of him being shot when he opened the door as not. But to proceed further, Arthur knew he had to open the door.
With the greatest of care, Arthur slowly pressed the latch down and gently pulled open the door. Once the door was open enough for someone to slip through, Arthur paused and waited. No sound came from inside the door. All he could hear was his own muted breath. And the pounding of his heart. He was so nervous, it felt like it was going to beat its way out of his chest.
Deciding that it was a now or never situation, Arthur threw open the door, and leapt into the room, pistol drawn and ready. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he found himself staring at a scene beyond his wildest dreams. It was a warehouse full of marijuana. Stacked along the walls, hanging from drying racks, growing in a self-contained greenhouse. "What the hell is going here?" Arthur muttered to himself. That was when the world went black.
The first thing that occurred to Arthur as he came to was that he had the worst taste in his mouth. It tasted of week-old socks left to mildew in the sun. It made him gag, and Arthur didn't have a weak stomach. His next thought was that he had been hit by a semi-truck. His body ached as if some giant had tossed him around like a bean-bag. Every muscle felt bruised and banged. Arthur felt as if his head was going to explode from the pressure. Slowly pulling himself into a sitting postion, Arthur leaned back against the wall. He had no idea what had happened to cause him to feel this way, and Arthur also realized he had NO idea where he was.
Working his jaw to loosen it and generate some saliva for his parched mouth, Arthur surveyed the room. He was sitting in his living room. Looking down to the coffee table, he saw a couple of freshly emptied bottles of rum. While not entirely sure, Arthur felt this might explain the condition he now found himself in. If he had tied on a drunk like that, it was no wonder that Arthur's body was now protesting. He wasn't 25 anymore. Hell, he wasn't 35 either. But at that moment he felt 105.
As his body starting waking up, Arthur became of the urgent need to relieve his bladder. This was consistent with the number of empty liquor bottles Arthur saw on the table. Making his way to the bathroom, Arthur scratched his head. While he hurt like he had been drinking all night, Arthur couldn't recall getting drunk. Or why he would have done so. Arthur liked the drink as much as the normal person, but he normally didn't binge as much as he apparently had the night before. Most times he had gotten drunk like that, it had been for a reason, not just a random occurrence.
Pushing the door open to the bathroom, and standing there relieving himself, Arthur let his head roll back and closed his eyes. Finally relieved, Arthur turned around, and opened the door to the bedroom. He was tired and ready to just crawl into bed and get some much needed, alcohol-free sleep. Pulling his clothes off as he crossed the room, Arthur was still struggling with the reality that he couldn't remember anything from the previous night. Pulling back the covers from his bed, Arthur thought it was strange. "I don't ever make my bed." As a bachelor and work-a-holic, Arthur rarely did the house chores another more domesticated man might have. He washed dishes when he had no more clean ones. The same could be said for his clothes. He tried to sweep one a week, and that was the extent of Arthur's housecleaning schedule.
Arthur found himself staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him. "there is so much blood," came the unbidden words to his lips. "where, what...." Arthur couldn't form a complete sentence. He just stared at the naked lifeless woman laying there in his bed. Her throat had been sliced from ear to ear. The sheets were soaked in her blood. Finally a coherent thought floated into Arthur's mind. Even with this awful discovery, Arthur found himself admiring her body. She would have been a hot woman alive. Very much Arthur's type.
With that thought, Arthur reached for his phone and dialed 911. He couldn't remember what he did last night, but Arthur was pretty sure it wasn't this.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Jazzing life away
The thunder punctuated the deep beat of the drum, creating an off-tempo effect. It fitted the place, and the night. It was an ominous night, full of evil tidings; but it was a night he had no choice being out in. He had to work, because working meant food on the table and a roof to sleep under. Working meant keeping out of weather like this, staying warm and dry. Unless you had a job like his, then it never seemed to matter. "Such was life. C'est la vie." was his motto. Life had never been good to him anyway. You just made the best of things that you could.
The smoke was thick in the bar tonight, the jazz band crooning out a slow soft melody. The thunder had quieted down, but the sky still lit up with lightning flashes. He peered down at the drink in his hand. The scotch wasn't aged enough for his tastes, but as he was working he probably wouldn't drink it anyway. He peered through the smoke out of the open door. Now that the rain had ceased, the door had been propped open to allow the air to circulate some. It didn't really do anything except allow the sound to escape, the sound of a good time to lure new patrons into this dim lair. "A futile effort," he thought, "there isn't any tourists in this neighborhood. Nothing but drunks and low-lifes. And me." He chuckled at the thought that he was any different than the drunks or low-lifes.
"And now to work." he muttered. He had finally seen his assignment walk by. He had to tell this guy to wherever he went. That was what the client was paying for. Just a simple case of surveillance. Except nothing was simple about this assignment. The guy followed one of three routes. The only problem was he switched them at will. You couldn't simply walk behind the guy and not give away suspicions, one had to be a bit more careful. The best way was multiple tails, both following and leading. But the way this guy switched routes made it nearly impossible to stay ahead of him. They always lost him on the other side of Canal Street. He was exceptional about losing a tail in foot traffic.
So to get ahead of the assignment, Arthur made a gamble. No tails, and just hope he would pass by. Arthur had been sitting in this smoke filled bar for over an hour watching it rain, and nursing the scotch. Now was the time for action. Gathering up his bag, Arthur stumbled out the door, just another drunk headed home. He blended into the crowd, easily following the assignment. A block or two, and the assignment made a quick cut into a hotel lobby. "So that's how he is doing it." Arthur nodded. The assignment was ducking through one door, and then out on the other side, but a block away. His team wasn't quick enough to keep up with him, and by the time they realize he was gone, it was too late.
Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to follow the assignment this way, so he hurried to the corner, rounding it just in time to see the assignment's back walking away. "Perfect," Arthur thought, smiling to himself. He was just far enough behind the assignment to not be seen as a threat, but close enough to be able to watch him. The man strode through the French Quarter without a care. Now that he thought he had lost his tail, he wasn't quite as difficult to follow. A few more blocks and he turned towards the river.
"Shit!" Arthur exclaimed, shabbling into run. He had to turn the corner before the assignment vanished. There were too many alleyways ahead for him to disappear into. Puffing from the exertion, he wasn't used to running, he turned the corner to spy the assignment's body disappearing down a dark alley, just as Arthur had feared. Trotting with a stitch in his side, Arthur approached the alley as quickly as he could. Slowing at his final approach, Arthur found himself staring into deep darkness with only the other end illuminated in the street lamps. Arthur didn't really want to go down this alley, but he knew he had no other choice. The assignment couldn't be seen from Arthur's end, so either he was hiding in the alleyway, or there was a door somewhere.
Checking the holster holding his pistol, Arthur trepidaciously entered the alley. This wasn't his idea of a good night at work. "But at least it's not raining anymore," he thought. Just then lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the alley for all to see. That's when Arthur saw the men. He had all of a split second to react as they came charging at him. The lightning passed and everything plunged into darkness.
A passerby would only have heard the cracks and smacks of fist on skin. Lightning flashed again to show Arthur crouched over the men, unconscious now. He had learned quite a few things street fighting. But now, his investigator skills were kicking in, and instead of relishing the victory, Arthur was rapidly searching the men for weapons, wallets, cash. Valuables quickly recovered, Arthur scanned both entrances to the alley. No one had seen anything, there was no screams, no cries for help. It was as if nothing had happened. Arthur smiled, that was just the way he liked it.
Pulling zipcords from his pockets, Arthur quickly immobilized the men and pushed them out of the way. As the lightning flashed again, this time punctuated with close thunder, Arthur saw the door. It was disguised well, he might have missed it in the daylight as well. But just the slightest crack of light shone out from under it tonight. Checking his pistol once again, Arthur debated going in. He was only supposed to tail the assignment here. Nothing more. But the two men attacking him made Arthur wonder if he should let it go at that. The investigator in him felt that there was more to be learned by going inside.
The rain starting to fall made up Arthur's mind. He hated getting wet. So, throwing caution aside, Arthur slowly opened the door and stepped in.
The smoke was thick in the bar tonight, the jazz band crooning out a slow soft melody. The thunder had quieted down, but the sky still lit up with lightning flashes. He peered down at the drink in his hand. The scotch wasn't aged enough for his tastes, but as he was working he probably wouldn't drink it anyway. He peered through the smoke out of the open door. Now that the rain had ceased, the door had been propped open to allow the air to circulate some. It didn't really do anything except allow the sound to escape, the sound of a good time to lure new patrons into this dim lair. "A futile effort," he thought, "there isn't any tourists in this neighborhood. Nothing but drunks and low-lifes. And me." He chuckled at the thought that he was any different than the drunks or low-lifes.
"And now to work." he muttered. He had finally seen his assignment walk by. He had to tell this guy to wherever he went. That was what the client was paying for. Just a simple case of surveillance. Except nothing was simple about this assignment. The guy followed one of three routes. The only problem was he switched them at will. You couldn't simply walk behind the guy and not give away suspicions, one had to be a bit more careful. The best way was multiple tails, both following and leading. But the way this guy switched routes made it nearly impossible to stay ahead of him. They always lost him on the other side of Canal Street. He was exceptional about losing a tail in foot traffic.
So to get ahead of the assignment, Arthur made a gamble. No tails, and just hope he would pass by. Arthur had been sitting in this smoke filled bar for over an hour watching it rain, and nursing the scotch. Now was the time for action. Gathering up his bag, Arthur stumbled out the door, just another drunk headed home. He blended into the crowd, easily following the assignment. A block or two, and the assignment made a quick cut into a hotel lobby. "So that's how he is doing it." Arthur nodded. The assignment was ducking through one door, and then out on the other side, but a block away. His team wasn't quick enough to keep up with him, and by the time they realize he was gone, it was too late.
Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to follow the assignment this way, so he hurried to the corner, rounding it just in time to see the assignment's back walking away. "Perfect," Arthur thought, smiling to himself. He was just far enough behind the assignment to not be seen as a threat, but close enough to be able to watch him. The man strode through the French Quarter without a care. Now that he thought he had lost his tail, he wasn't quite as difficult to follow. A few more blocks and he turned towards the river.
"Shit!" Arthur exclaimed, shabbling into run. He had to turn the corner before the assignment vanished. There were too many alleyways ahead for him to disappear into. Puffing from the exertion, he wasn't used to running, he turned the corner to spy the assignment's body disappearing down a dark alley, just as Arthur had feared. Trotting with a stitch in his side, Arthur approached the alley as quickly as he could. Slowing at his final approach, Arthur found himself staring into deep darkness with only the other end illuminated in the street lamps. Arthur didn't really want to go down this alley, but he knew he had no other choice. The assignment couldn't be seen from Arthur's end, so either he was hiding in the alleyway, or there was a door somewhere.
Checking the holster holding his pistol, Arthur trepidaciously entered the alley. This wasn't his idea of a good night at work. "But at least it's not raining anymore," he thought. Just then lightning flashed in the sky, illuminating the alley for all to see. That's when Arthur saw the men. He had all of a split second to react as they came charging at him. The lightning passed and everything plunged into darkness.
A passerby would only have heard the cracks and smacks of fist on skin. Lightning flashed again to show Arthur crouched over the men, unconscious now. He had learned quite a few things street fighting. But now, his investigator skills were kicking in, and instead of relishing the victory, Arthur was rapidly searching the men for weapons, wallets, cash. Valuables quickly recovered, Arthur scanned both entrances to the alley. No one had seen anything, there was no screams, no cries for help. It was as if nothing had happened. Arthur smiled, that was just the way he liked it.
Pulling zipcords from his pockets, Arthur quickly immobilized the men and pushed them out of the way. As the lightning flashed again, this time punctuated with close thunder, Arthur saw the door. It was disguised well, he might have missed it in the daylight as well. But just the slightest crack of light shone out from under it tonight. Checking his pistol once again, Arthur debated going in. He was only supposed to tail the assignment here. Nothing more. But the two men attacking him made Arthur wonder if he should let it go at that. The investigator in him felt that there was more to be learned by going inside.
The rain starting to fall made up Arthur's mind. He hated getting wet. So, throwing caution aside, Arthur slowly opened the door and stepped in.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
Journeys
He paused in the shade of the tree. It was a scorching hot day. The kind where the sun evaporates the sweat as soon as it forms. The shade was a nice respite. Looking around, he spied a little stream making it's merry way a short distance off under the canopy of the forest. It seemed the idea place to take a break. His stomach rumbled it's agreement, and sealed the deal. He would stop and eat.
As he sat his pack down, he looked around. The shade prevented a lot of undergrowth from growing, but not everything. Small pockets of ferns dotted the area, and thick, mossy grass lined the edges of the stream. It was a clear stream, and seemed to be of good enough quality, he bent down to take a drink. The water was cool to the tongue, and quite nice on such a hot day. He settled himself against the tree, and removed his boots. It seemed a good idea to air out his feet while he had a chance. Sweating in boots was just as bad as walking through water. Sweat could soak socks just as quickly. Wet socks brought blisters, and blisters would hinder his progress.
Pulling his meager lunch from his pack, he leaned against the tree behind him and thought about his progress, where he was going and why. Life hadn't always been like this for him. Once he had everything that anyone could have wanted. A great job, a beautiful wife, an inquisitive son, all things he could have ever wanted. His life was one of happiness and fulfillment.
But it all ended in a flash of light. Literally. A flash of solar light. That was all it took to end the world.
He looked around, examining his surroundings. He hadn't seen many people since that day, but the ones he had seen made him very, very wary. Not seeing anything amiss, he settled back down. The end of world hadn't been anything like anyone thought. There was no big nuclear explosion, no nuclear fallout. No country to dominate the world, no USA, no China. There was no world-wide catastrophe, just plain human laziness and greed. We never thought about what the sun could do to us. We were more worried with fighting amongst ourselves. The solar wave destroyed all satellites, all means of communication, all sources of electricity. If it was connected by a wire, it exploded. The fires raced through cities that had no way of fighting them. People were stuck in buildings with no means of escape. Cars lost control and crashed into one another. It was mass chaos.
As he had traveled, he learned that even small towns were affected. Not just cities. With no power, no way to keeping food fresh, people started starving, and fighting for what food was left. The desperate ones sort of lost their humanity. They would attack the weak and old to survive. Those who had weapons fought as long as they could, but there are only so many bullets in a gun, and too many people who want what you have sometimes. He thought about how lucky he had been. Having grown up in small town USA, he knew how to survive of the land. And he had no trouble walking. When it all happened, he had been traveling home to parents on his way to see her. It was going to be the weekend he proposed to her, and asked her to come back to the city with him. They were supposed to be going camping. He had all the gear loaded. As the fires raged, and people started panicking, he just grabbed his gear and headed out.
Weeks later, he found himself here. He had yet to fire his pistol in his own defense, but there were several close calls. It hadn't taken him long to realize that major thoroughfares were not the place a person traveling wanted to be. Desperate people will try anything. He had followed the interstate at first, thinking that it's straight route would get him there quicker. And at first it had. Then he had come upon the scene of a brutal gang-rape. Her screams could be heard for nearly a mile. He had slipped into the woods beside the interstate, not wanting to be involved, not knowing how many were involved. He saw a group of men, horses nearby, doing unspeakable things to a family. The only merciful thing they did was shoot the father before he saw too much. He knew the women would soon wish for the same fate, a fate they wouldn't have. Not wanting to be caught by people such as this, he moved on as stealthily as he could. It hurt him that he didn't do more to help the people, but his own survival was paramount to him at this point. There was nothing he could have done for them that didn't involve him dying.
Soon after that, he switched to smaller highways, then to less populated back roads. The highways kept bringing him to towns and villages where marauders kept bases. After finding a treasure trove of food at an empty home, he avoided these vague memories of civilization, preferring the solitude of the back road. He slept way of the road at night, usually as close to running water as possible. Fires were small and quickly put out to avoid detection. He suffered bites and stings from pests until he found some bushes that kept them away. He kept as many of leaves as he could and would rub them on himself from time to time to keep the scent fresh. He was sure he didn't smell that great, but then no one was around to complain either.
Navigating with an old map, and a compass, he had traversed most of the way to his parents home. What usually only took him two hours had taken nearly two months. And to reach her, he still had months more to go. He only hoped that he could gain a horse at his parents. They raised cattle, and God-willing, would be in a position to help him.He just had one last obstacle to tackle, then he could finish out the last ten miles before dark. But that obstacle wasn't a little one.
A group of bandits had set up a toll bridge on what was once the bridge spanning a large creek. He knew he could get around them, he had waded many creeks, and swam one river, but they had obviously had that problem before, as they were patrolling the river in boats. He had watched them for a while, observing the situation, plotting out his course. Charging over was out of the question, he didn't have enough bullets or a way to get away other than run. Swimming across here would be perilous, but he knew a place upriver where they had once swam. If he could avoid them, he could travel far enough upriver that he might be able to avoid them all together. But to get anywhere in that direction, he would have to cross an open field. One that they were guarding. The bandits had thought this situation out quite well.
And so he sat in the shade and ate his lunch pondering. So close and yet so far away.
(to be continued...)
As he sat his pack down, he looked around. The shade prevented a lot of undergrowth from growing, but not everything. Small pockets of ferns dotted the area, and thick, mossy grass lined the edges of the stream. It was a clear stream, and seemed to be of good enough quality, he bent down to take a drink. The water was cool to the tongue, and quite nice on such a hot day. He settled himself against the tree, and removed his boots. It seemed a good idea to air out his feet while he had a chance. Sweating in boots was just as bad as walking through water. Sweat could soak socks just as quickly. Wet socks brought blisters, and blisters would hinder his progress.
Pulling his meager lunch from his pack, he leaned against the tree behind him and thought about his progress, where he was going and why. Life hadn't always been like this for him. Once he had everything that anyone could have wanted. A great job, a beautiful wife, an inquisitive son, all things he could have ever wanted. His life was one of happiness and fulfillment.
But it all ended in a flash of light. Literally. A flash of solar light. That was all it took to end the world.
He looked around, examining his surroundings. He hadn't seen many people since that day, but the ones he had seen made him very, very wary. Not seeing anything amiss, he settled back down. The end of world hadn't been anything like anyone thought. There was no big nuclear explosion, no nuclear fallout. No country to dominate the world, no USA, no China. There was no world-wide catastrophe, just plain human laziness and greed. We never thought about what the sun could do to us. We were more worried with fighting amongst ourselves. The solar wave destroyed all satellites, all means of communication, all sources of electricity. If it was connected by a wire, it exploded. The fires raced through cities that had no way of fighting them. People were stuck in buildings with no means of escape. Cars lost control and crashed into one another. It was mass chaos.
As he had traveled, he learned that even small towns were affected. Not just cities. With no power, no way to keeping food fresh, people started starving, and fighting for what food was left. The desperate ones sort of lost their humanity. They would attack the weak and old to survive. Those who had weapons fought as long as they could, but there are only so many bullets in a gun, and too many people who want what you have sometimes. He thought about how lucky he had been. Having grown up in small town USA, he knew how to survive of the land. And he had no trouble walking. When it all happened, he had been traveling home to parents on his way to see her. It was going to be the weekend he proposed to her, and asked her to come back to the city with him. They were supposed to be going camping. He had all the gear loaded. As the fires raged, and people started panicking, he just grabbed his gear and headed out.
Weeks later, he found himself here. He had yet to fire his pistol in his own defense, but there were several close calls. It hadn't taken him long to realize that major thoroughfares were not the place a person traveling wanted to be. Desperate people will try anything. He had followed the interstate at first, thinking that it's straight route would get him there quicker. And at first it had. Then he had come upon the scene of a brutal gang-rape. Her screams could be heard for nearly a mile. He had slipped into the woods beside the interstate, not wanting to be involved, not knowing how many were involved. He saw a group of men, horses nearby, doing unspeakable things to a family. The only merciful thing they did was shoot the father before he saw too much. He knew the women would soon wish for the same fate, a fate they wouldn't have. Not wanting to be caught by people such as this, he moved on as stealthily as he could. It hurt him that he didn't do more to help the people, but his own survival was paramount to him at this point. There was nothing he could have done for them that didn't involve him dying.
Soon after that, he switched to smaller highways, then to less populated back roads. The highways kept bringing him to towns and villages where marauders kept bases. After finding a treasure trove of food at an empty home, he avoided these vague memories of civilization, preferring the solitude of the back road. He slept way of the road at night, usually as close to running water as possible. Fires were small and quickly put out to avoid detection. He suffered bites and stings from pests until he found some bushes that kept them away. He kept as many of leaves as he could and would rub them on himself from time to time to keep the scent fresh. He was sure he didn't smell that great, but then no one was around to complain either.
Navigating with an old map, and a compass, he had traversed most of the way to his parents home. What usually only took him two hours had taken nearly two months. And to reach her, he still had months more to go. He only hoped that he could gain a horse at his parents. They raised cattle, and God-willing, would be in a position to help him.He just had one last obstacle to tackle, then he could finish out the last ten miles before dark. But that obstacle wasn't a little one.
A group of bandits had set up a toll bridge on what was once the bridge spanning a large creek. He knew he could get around them, he had waded many creeks, and swam one river, but they had obviously had that problem before, as they were patrolling the river in boats. He had watched them for a while, observing the situation, plotting out his course. Charging over was out of the question, he didn't have enough bullets or a way to get away other than run. Swimming across here would be perilous, but he knew a place upriver where they had once swam. If he could avoid them, he could travel far enough upriver that he might be able to avoid them all together. But to get anywhere in that direction, he would have to cross an open field. One that they were guarding. The bandits had thought this situation out quite well.
And so he sat in the shade and ate his lunch pondering. So close and yet so far away.
(to be continued...)
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Waves of the unconscious
The wind was picking up. He had just sat down to eat his stew. It was going to be a rough night, and he wanted all the energy he could muster.
He had been watching the weather roll in all afternoon. It was going to be stormy very soon. The lightning was popping above his head now, the thunder getting closer.
His course was to sail over the open water between the two points of the gulf. It was the straight line approach. It would give him good wind currents that he could use to keep the sailboat on track. It was to be his first solo ride on his new boat. He had sailed it before with his mates, but never solo.
And then the storm had to blow in. He had altered his course to bring him closer to shore, but the area was known for craggy cliffs and jutting rocks tha t in low tide or high surf could tears holes in the hull of a boat. Not an idea that appealed to him. So he kept the safe tack, keeping plenty of room between him and certain death.
The thunder vibrated the boat shaking everything. He made a quick trip around the outside of the boat, checking to make sure everything was tied down and secured. He had dropped his dredging anchor and was hoping for the best. At this point, it was really all he could do. The straighline winds could be severe enough to rip a mast off the boat, or capsize it, if he was trying to sail in the storm. The winds could rip a sail right off. The only thing to do was batten down the hatches and ride out the storm.
Satisfied that everything was taken care of, he gave the storm one last hard look and then gazed around. He still couldn't see the lighthouse at the point. He felt that this was probably a good thing. It meant he was still far enough out not to have to worry about the rocks yet. Nodding his head, he went in and fastened the door behind himself. It was time to hunker down and try to relax. The sway of the waves wasn't that bad yet, the small(ish) sailboat didn't rock much in the waves, it tended to move well with them. But he knew it would get worse before it was over.
Turning on the four monitors above the couch, he checked his position on the gps monitor and then glanced at the security camera he had installed. The weather screen showed the edge of the storm sweeping down upon him. The last screen showed him the vitals on his boat - electricity, ships engines, water, etc.
As he sat down, silently preparing himself for the ordeal to come, he found himself missing her. She would have never come aboard this small of a boat, her sea-sickness wouldn't allow for that. But she would have loved the snugness of the cabin. It's intimacy and coziness made one feel safe even with the storm raging outside. It wasn't large, but it was spacious enough for him.
He found it odd that he thought of her so much lately. It had been years since he had last seen her, longer since they had last spoken, and even longer since he held her in his embrace, two as one. But at the strangest of times she filled his thoughts. His only regret in life had to let her go so easily, to not have fought harder. Would she have still left? Of that, no one would ever know. Yet, the thought of her plagued him. A ghost to forever haunt him.
"How Ironic," he thought. He had spent much of his adult life being a ghost, someone seen only fleetingly and with very few certainties that he was ever actually really there.
The thunder snapped overhead, bringing him back to reality. He looked to the outside screen, the rain was making blurs of everything. But he wouldn't have seen much anyway, since it was night out. He checked the weather screen, his little sailboat was in the thick of it now. All one could do was to hold on tight. And of course he thought of her. He knew that he would never forget her. Even though their time together had been brief, relatively, it had left such a lasting impression on him. He looked out one of the portholes, and could see the lightning snapping. He could hear the rain beating down on the deck. He desperately wanted to check his boat, but it simply was too dangerous. The boat was grounded, but he wouldn't be if he stepped outside right now. So he just sat there trying to relax. For now, he had done what he could.
(to be continued)
He had been watching the weather roll in all afternoon. It was going to be stormy very soon. The lightning was popping above his head now, the thunder getting closer.
His course was to sail over the open water between the two points of the gulf. It was the straight line approach. It would give him good wind currents that he could use to keep the sailboat on track. It was to be his first solo ride on his new boat. He had sailed it before with his mates, but never solo.
And then the storm had to blow in. He had altered his course to bring him closer to shore, but the area was known for craggy cliffs and jutting rocks tha t in low tide or high surf could tears holes in the hull of a boat. Not an idea that appealed to him. So he kept the safe tack, keeping plenty of room between him and certain death.
The thunder vibrated the boat shaking everything. He made a quick trip around the outside of the boat, checking to make sure everything was tied down and secured. He had dropped his dredging anchor and was hoping for the best. At this point, it was really all he could do. The straighline winds could be severe enough to rip a mast off the boat, or capsize it, if he was trying to sail in the storm. The winds could rip a sail right off. The only thing to do was batten down the hatches and ride out the storm.
Satisfied that everything was taken care of, he gave the storm one last hard look and then gazed around. He still couldn't see the lighthouse at the point. He felt that this was probably a good thing. It meant he was still far enough out not to have to worry about the rocks yet. Nodding his head, he went in and fastened the door behind himself. It was time to hunker down and try to relax. The sway of the waves wasn't that bad yet, the small(ish) sailboat didn't rock much in the waves, it tended to move well with them. But he knew it would get worse before it was over.
Turning on the four monitors above the couch, he checked his position on the gps monitor and then glanced at the security camera he had installed. The weather screen showed the edge of the storm sweeping down upon him. The last screen showed him the vitals on his boat - electricity, ships engines, water, etc.
As he sat down, silently preparing himself for the ordeal to come, he found himself missing her. She would have never come aboard this small of a boat, her sea-sickness wouldn't allow for that. But she would have loved the snugness of the cabin. It's intimacy and coziness made one feel safe even with the storm raging outside. It wasn't large, but it was spacious enough for him.
He found it odd that he thought of her so much lately. It had been years since he had last seen her, longer since they had last spoken, and even longer since he held her in his embrace, two as one. But at the strangest of times she filled his thoughts. His only regret in life had to let her go so easily, to not have fought harder. Would she have still left? Of that, no one would ever know. Yet, the thought of her plagued him. A ghost to forever haunt him.
"How Ironic," he thought. He had spent much of his adult life being a ghost, someone seen only fleetingly and with very few certainties that he was ever actually really there.
The thunder snapped overhead, bringing him back to reality. He looked to the outside screen, the rain was making blurs of everything. But he wouldn't have seen much anyway, since it was night out. He checked the weather screen, his little sailboat was in the thick of it now. All one could do was to hold on tight. And of course he thought of her. He knew that he would never forget her. Even though their time together had been brief, relatively, it had left such a lasting impression on him. He looked out one of the portholes, and could see the lightning snapping. He could hear the rain beating down on the deck. He desperately wanted to check his boat, but it simply was too dangerous. The boat was grounded, but he wouldn't be if he stepped outside right now. So he just sat there trying to relax. For now, he had done what he could.
(to be continued)
Sunday, April 8, 2012
The simple things
As the headlights came closer, he crouched lower into the bush. The fog was rising, but it wasn't thick yet, just whispy tendrils that floated mindlessly through the air. He wished he could gather some of the fog up and wear it as a cloak.
As the headlights came closer, the vehicle slowed down. Without warning, a spotlight flashed on and started slowly sweeping the sides of the road. He knew they were looking for him, but he wasn't going back this time. They couldn't catch, and even if they did, they couldn't make him. He was free. Finally, at long last.
While he waited for the car to move past, he thought about how he had come to be at this junction. He would have never imagined that one day he would hiding from the law in bushes as his only chance for freedom. The escape had been dictated by actions beyond his control.
Her letters had come regularly as clockwork, it was what kept him sane, gave him the strength to make it through the day, day after day. She was all he had, all he thought of, she was the only thing keeping him alive. But recently, the letters had become distressed, and he could tell she was no longer herself. He could tell that she was being coerced. He had to go help her.
So he devised a plan, it was quite a clever plan. And it worked even better than he had imagined. Which is why he was here, hiding. "So close now, so very close," he mummered to himself. The car was past now, it's spotlight sweeping wide arcs on either side of the road, its engine's noise slowly fading. He had escaped notice.
She was so close now. Just a few blocks from here. Thinking about home, he found himself staring into his own house, through the back window. He wasn't sure how he got here, he couldn't remember moving, but here he was. Watching intently, he peered in, trying to access the situation.
He could see her sitting at the table, it seemed she was sitting unbound, but he wasn't sure. He could see her mouth moving, he knew someone else must be in the room. As if to confirm his deductions, a shadow moved between her and the window. He could hear a man's voice echo faintly. He waited, patiently listening. After a few minutes of not hearing another voice, he assumed they were alone. Now was his time. Now was the moment he had been waiting for.
With the speed of a gazelle, he kicked open the door and sprang inside. The man spun and tried to block his passage into the kitchen where she was staring dumbfounded. A quick feint to the left and he knocked the man out with his lightning fast right hook. As the man crumpled to the floor, he stepped over him into the room.
She looked up at him in terror, he was the last person she expected to see her. As if a light had been turned on, he could now see clearly. He realized that she wasn't being coerced, this was all her idea to begin with.
Looking at her with cold calculating eyes, he spoke with no emotion.
"So you want a divorce do you? What happened to death do us part?"
As he stepped towards her, she let out an ear-piercing scream of terror. Her last to ever be uttered.
As the headlights came closer, the vehicle slowed down. Without warning, a spotlight flashed on and started slowly sweeping the sides of the road. He knew they were looking for him, but he wasn't going back this time. They couldn't catch, and even if they did, they couldn't make him. He was free. Finally, at long last.
While he waited for the car to move past, he thought about how he had come to be at this junction. He would have never imagined that one day he would hiding from the law in bushes as his only chance for freedom. The escape had been dictated by actions beyond his control.
Her letters had come regularly as clockwork, it was what kept him sane, gave him the strength to make it through the day, day after day. She was all he had, all he thought of, she was the only thing keeping him alive. But recently, the letters had become distressed, and he could tell she was no longer herself. He could tell that she was being coerced. He had to go help her.
So he devised a plan, it was quite a clever plan. And it worked even better than he had imagined. Which is why he was here, hiding. "So close now, so very close," he mummered to himself. The car was past now, it's spotlight sweeping wide arcs on either side of the road, its engine's noise slowly fading. He had escaped notice.
She was so close now. Just a few blocks from here. Thinking about home, he found himself staring into his own house, through the back window. He wasn't sure how he got here, he couldn't remember moving, but here he was. Watching intently, he peered in, trying to access the situation.
He could see her sitting at the table, it seemed she was sitting unbound, but he wasn't sure. He could see her mouth moving, he knew someone else must be in the room. As if to confirm his deductions, a shadow moved between her and the window. He could hear a man's voice echo faintly. He waited, patiently listening. After a few minutes of not hearing another voice, he assumed they were alone. Now was his time. Now was the moment he had been waiting for.
With the speed of a gazelle, he kicked open the door and sprang inside. The man spun and tried to block his passage into the kitchen where she was staring dumbfounded. A quick feint to the left and he knocked the man out with his lightning fast right hook. As the man crumpled to the floor, he stepped over him into the room.
She looked up at him in terror, he was the last person she expected to see her. As if a light had been turned on, he could now see clearly. He realized that she wasn't being coerced, this was all her idea to begin with.
Looking at her with cold calculating eyes, he spoke with no emotion.
"So you want a divorce do you? What happened to death do us part?"
As he stepped towards her, she let out an ear-piercing scream of terror. Her last to ever be uttered.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Moonlight through the leaves of the Willow tree
He knew he needed to get up, but he was so very tired. He knew that if he didn't move soon, he wouldn't be able to. Old age had caught up with him with a vengenance. But he was so tired, and just a few more minutes here, in this place, would be alright.
It was such a beautiful place. The willow had grown to a staggering height over the years, it's full arms draped down, providing a virtual green curtain to the world. Many a day he had sat in silence and wept for his loss. This was the only spot where no one else was ever around. He was able to escape here without any interruption. The moss always seemed to be grow thick and green, soft enough to provide a comfortable seat. Over the years, he had slowly worn an indention in the ground, providing a slight chair indention. Just a few feet away trickled a babbling brook. He would oftentimes launch a leaf ship down the stream just watching the currents sail it away.
It was an idealistic spot. But one created through tragedy. He planted it the day she had died. They had been a young couple, full of hope and dreams. One fateful night, one tragic accident with a drunk driver, and suddenly he was all alone in the world. He planted the tree on the day he left.
People talked about him for years, wondering what had happened to him, where he had gone. He lost his mind for a time, and wandered the world. For forty years he wandered the earth as a mercenary, a soldier, spy, trader, business tycoon. Forty years of emptiness and regret. Forty years of a lonely existence. While he had met many different women over the years, none had ever been able to take her place. His heart loved only one person. Now and forever.
Finally, tired and weary, with no more mystery left in the world, no wars worth fighting, he came home. People no longer recognized him, no one remembered him; he was able to find the obscurity he sought. Forty years gone was a long time for a tree to grow. It took him a little while to find his old property, the land was still his, but growth had sprung up around it. Nothing looked the way it did when he left.
He spent months cleaning up the property by hand. Cutting down trees, clearing out underbrush, digging a new trench for the brook (now a stagnant pool of debris), it took him a long time, but he was proud of his work when he was done.
But now he was so tired. He wanted to rest just a minute more by the tree. He felt so close to her here. In this spot, so many years ago, he had asked her to be his bride. He could still her voice calling his name. It was a whisper on the breeze. The leaves would move with the sound of his name. She was calling him home.
The neighborhood never really knew who cleared the property. They assumed it was a park. Residents soon came freely to the area, enjoying the tranquility, the peace, and they always felt an overwhelming urge to keep the place pristine, cleaner than they found it.
But the real draw for everyone was the strange willow tree. It was magnificent, obviously old in age with spreading roots and voluminous leaves. But the reason everyone wanted to see the tree was the strange wooden statue that rested beside it. It seemed just a stump of an old tree at first. But if you looked closely, some believed they could make out a face. And that face was smiling from one ear to the other.
It was such a beautiful place. The willow had grown to a staggering height over the years, it's full arms draped down, providing a virtual green curtain to the world. Many a day he had sat in silence and wept for his loss. This was the only spot where no one else was ever around. He was able to escape here without any interruption. The moss always seemed to be grow thick and green, soft enough to provide a comfortable seat. Over the years, he had slowly worn an indention in the ground, providing a slight chair indention. Just a few feet away trickled a babbling brook. He would oftentimes launch a leaf ship down the stream just watching the currents sail it away.
It was an idealistic spot. But one created through tragedy. He planted it the day she had died. They had been a young couple, full of hope and dreams. One fateful night, one tragic accident with a drunk driver, and suddenly he was all alone in the world. He planted the tree on the day he left.
People talked about him for years, wondering what had happened to him, where he had gone. He lost his mind for a time, and wandered the world. For forty years he wandered the earth as a mercenary, a soldier, spy, trader, business tycoon. Forty years of emptiness and regret. Forty years of a lonely existence. While he had met many different women over the years, none had ever been able to take her place. His heart loved only one person. Now and forever.
Finally, tired and weary, with no more mystery left in the world, no wars worth fighting, he came home. People no longer recognized him, no one remembered him; he was able to find the obscurity he sought. Forty years gone was a long time for a tree to grow. It took him a little while to find his old property, the land was still his, but growth had sprung up around it. Nothing looked the way it did when he left.
He spent months cleaning up the property by hand. Cutting down trees, clearing out underbrush, digging a new trench for the brook (now a stagnant pool of debris), it took him a long time, but he was proud of his work when he was done.
But now he was so tired. He wanted to rest just a minute more by the tree. He felt so close to her here. In this spot, so many years ago, he had asked her to be his bride. He could still her voice calling his name. It was a whisper on the breeze. The leaves would move with the sound of his name. She was calling him home.
The neighborhood never really knew who cleared the property. They assumed it was a park. Residents soon came freely to the area, enjoying the tranquility, the peace, and they always felt an overwhelming urge to keep the place pristine, cleaner than they found it.
But the real draw for everyone was the strange willow tree. It was magnificent, obviously old in age with spreading roots and voluminous leaves. But the reason everyone wanted to see the tree was the strange wooden statue that rested beside it. It seemed just a stump of an old tree at first. But if you looked closely, some believed they could make out a face. And that face was smiling from one ear to the other.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Counsel of Voices
The momentary silence was welcome, a brief break in the onslaught of sound. And he just couldn't tune it out, the voices demanded his attention. Just about everyone was so vocal. All but John, most of the time. But when John did speak up, it was loud, immediate and demanded everyone's attention. John always got his way when he spoke.
Her words reverberated inside his skull. They were all stunned. Silenced in a way that no one had ever expected. He never expected her to turn on him in such a fashion. None of the voices had anything to say. The brief moment stretched further. She obviously was awaiting his answer. He had no idea what to say, he sat there like a deer in headlights, just waiting for the killing blow to follow.
John awoke in the silence with a fury. Before he knew what was going on, he had already left was halfway down the street. John, the fearful one, was in control, going who knew where. All the time muttering, "can't let them get close enough to hurt me..." over and over. John was always the one hurt, he took all the hurt, all the pain, and kept control of it. John was usually complacent to sit in the corner and absorb all the suffering. But occasionally, he seized control in a "flight-or-fight" mentality. And John was always ready to flee.
George raged in the background, he wanted to fight back, to strike back at her. To hurt her more than she hurt him. It was his self-preservation instinct honed to be battle-ready. He wanted to kill everyone and everything, before they could hurt him. George was a bit of a revenge-seeker.
Frederick tried to rationalize everything, to make sense of it all. He wanted reason and logic to rule. Especially considering the raw state of John's emotional outbursts. It left them all hurting and weak. Frederick knew that if he could find a way to offset the power of John's emotions, it would be the end of them all.
He grasped control from John and leaned against the wall. He simply couldn't allow anyone close, they always hurt him in the end. John cheered and George agreed. They finally had reached a unanimous agreement. Something they could all agree on.
Life wasn't so bad alone.
Her words reverberated inside his skull. They were all stunned. Silenced in a way that no one had ever expected. He never expected her to turn on him in such a fashion. None of the voices had anything to say. The brief moment stretched further. She obviously was awaiting his answer. He had no idea what to say, he sat there like a deer in headlights, just waiting for the killing blow to follow.
John awoke in the silence with a fury. Before he knew what was going on, he had already left was halfway down the street. John, the fearful one, was in control, going who knew where. All the time muttering, "can't let them get close enough to hurt me..." over and over. John was always the one hurt, he took all the hurt, all the pain, and kept control of it. John was usually complacent to sit in the corner and absorb all the suffering. But occasionally, he seized control in a "flight-or-fight" mentality. And John was always ready to flee.
George raged in the background, he wanted to fight back, to strike back at her. To hurt her more than she hurt him. It was his self-preservation instinct honed to be battle-ready. He wanted to kill everyone and everything, before they could hurt him. George was a bit of a revenge-seeker.
Frederick tried to rationalize everything, to make sense of it all. He wanted reason and logic to rule. Especially considering the raw state of John's emotional outbursts. It left them all hurting and weak. Frederick knew that if he could find a way to offset the power of John's emotions, it would be the end of them all.
He grasped control from John and leaned against the wall. He simply couldn't allow anyone close, they always hurt him in the end. John cheered and George agreed. They finally had reached a unanimous agreement. Something they could all agree on.
Life wasn't so bad alone.
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