Hope Renewed

HOPE RENEWED

They showed up as expected in their drab brown robes adorned with sheaves and their swords in hand.  As soon as my sword started smoking in contact with the poisonous gas, I knew they were close.  We’ve done this dance before; I would think they would have learned by now it was fruitless.  Their gas had no effect on me.  My sword, given to me by Thorin, Sharon’s father practically wielded itself.  I named it Whirl.  All I had to do was hang on. 

As the attack came, Whirl flew into action, parry, block, and thrust.  I think I might have had some control in the fight as I envisioned how it would go for them without their gas mask.  Then as quickly as the thought came to me my wrist twisted and neatly sliced the filter canister from one mask off.  The agent of despair hit the floor as almost as quickly as the filter.  In seconds, he dissolved and like sand poured through the cracks in the floor and was gone.  

The others hung back circling looking for an in so one could get by.  I knew they didn’t care about me.  I was just an obstacle to them.  They wanted Sharon.  I saw her in the corner of my eye on the roof ledge doing her thing.

I could feel the hate and frustration emanate from them as they search for an opening.  Then a couple lunged from two sides.  Whirl kicked in with a burst that cleaved one sword in half and thrust through the center of the other's chest.  He followed his comrade through the floor. 

I glanced at the clock tower glowing in the distance.  Another hour and the moon will be beyond its apex and no longer be full.  These poor wretched things will go away when they fail to stop Sharon from her entreating the spirit world that we draw our life force from.

Every full moon she captures the essence of hope, love, and charity and spreads it around the world.  These creatures come every time and try to stop her.  I’ve resigned myself to my role as her protector and when I’m unable to withstand the forces of despair and deceit Whirl will release me at which point Sharon’s father will select another.  For now, I am her protector.

I don’t know much about Sharon.  She was doing this when I got the job.  She never seems to age; I suspect she will be going on with her task after I’m gone. 

It always works this way, the closer to the shift of the moon their attack intensifies.  I drop into a squat and roll through four attackers as their swords come together in the spot I was just in.  Whirl and I twist like a storm and two masked heads roll across the floor the other two retreat.

The fighting is always the same.  But, wait.  This time is different.  Instead of attacking me again the two start to climb the wall trying to access the roof – and Sharon.  They have never done that before.  Three more put themselves between the two climbers and me. 

I have never attacked them before.  I’ve always just fended them off.  Even as wretched as the creatures are and also in their desire to kill the hope of humanity and instill despair and loathing, I’ve only felt pity for them. 

I plowed through the three like they weren’t there and struck the hilt of Whirl on the wall.  The building shook, and the two miserable attackers fell to the ground.  I raised Whirl to dispatch them when Sharon turned and waved.

I felt the renewal of hope instantly radiate through me.  I lowered Whirl as the poor creatures crawled away and disappeared into the shadows.  I sheaved Whirl and headed for the door feeling good about the fate of mankind.  She makes it all worthwhile for everyone somehow.    

Celebrating the Season - Flash fiction

Photo: Paul Chadeisson

Celebrating the Season 

"Milk man's here."

"What?" Susan cocked her head at her husband, Samuel. Punching him on the arm, "Got me again," she retorted.

His blue eyes twinkled with green specks. "Na, you're far too clever. But the replenishment shuttle is about to dock."

"Oh, good. Send the kids down to the rec bubble for docking, and we'll suit up."

He flipped the lever on the squawk box hanging next to the air-tight hatch door. "Rae, and William, the shuttle is inbound. Go to the rec bubble and batten down or suit up."

A quarter-turn and Susan's helmet snapped in place. She tapped a flush button at the temple activating the Bluetooth communications. "Receiving? Sam?"

"Loud and clear," came the reply from Sam. He had his back to her while he monitored the docking video. "The shuttle's in range. Assuming shuttle control." The joy-stick in his hand moved slightly correcting the shuttle approach.

The control room door opened and William stuck his decal flame streaked helmet into the control room. "Mom, you want me to man the airlock?"

"Sure, Billy. Where's Rae?"

"She went to the rec. Said she had a blog to finish."

"Okay. Don't deactivate the airlock until you have a good seal indicator."

William's head disappeared, and the air seal rotated back into place on the door.

"Sam?"

"Yes, Dear."

"You did remember to order the diode interface set for panel six, didn't you?"

"Yes, Dear. I did."

"I hope the kit’s in this load. I'd really like to get six back on line."

"We'll see."

"Mom, Airlock seal indicator is green. Opening now."

"Okay. I'll be right down." She rapped the back of Samuels helmet. "You coming?"

"Go ahead. I need to adjust pitch because I bumped us a little too hard. I'll be right along."

When Susan stepped into the receiving area, William had already started unloading boxes. He was walking backward from the shuttle carrying something. "What do you have, Billy?"

He turned and presented a two-foot high green Christmas Tree fashioned after the Noble to his mom. The tree was replete with lights, tinsel, and ornaments. Flicking the switch on the battery pack, the multicolored lights lit up. 

"Oh, my goodness," Susan said. "It's beautiful."

"And look," William said. He pulled a large red canvas bag to the door and pulled the cord holding the top closed and looked in with his mom. There were a dozen boxes wrapped in Christmas paper and a single envelope. She opened and read the card.

Samuel stepped in from the peripheral corridor that led to the junction. "What do we have?" Then he noticed the tree sitting on the rack. "Wow, how thoughtful. Especially for our purpose."

"Here. A card too." 

He took the card. "Merry Christmas from 2085, signed TTZ, The Time Zone, with ten signatures. That's everyone in control."

William was floating a ten-foot cardboard box from the center of the bay. "I think this is our LED array kit. Never would guess there's a few trillion-candle power in this thing." Stopping at the hatch, William cocked his head at the box. "Dad, I'm not sure the box will fit through the workshop hatch."

"Hold on for second, Billy," Samuel said.

Samuel rummaged through some more boxes. "Here's your diode interface, Hon."

"That's great. Rae and I will get that in right away so we can test the interface before we go live. We're going to need the ampere from six when we light the array."

Samuel stuck his hands in his coverall pockets and looked around. "Anybody got a yo-yo?"

"Here," Susan answered. "I have the tape measure." She floated canister over to him.

"Thanks. Let's measure the box, Billy. I hope we don't have to unpack and piece all the parts down to the shop. Better here than in the junction though." He stretched the tape across the top of the box and then the side, squeezed the corners. "It'll fit."

~~#~~

Samuel and Susan stood by the power distribution panel in the rec bubble. Samuel leaned against a wooden rail protecting the controls as Will and Rae floated in. "Grab a seat before they’re all taken, Kids. It's almost time." 

Rae rolled her eyes. "Dad, we're the only ones here."

“Got ya.”

“Samuel, stop teasing,” Susan admonished.

The Christmas tree was magnetically attached to the gaming table and sparkling. Presents beneath it.

"Susan?" Samuel asked. 

She tapped the touch-screen monitor one more time and turned. "All the panels are aligned and the capacitor bank is fully charged.”

"I know the past two weeks were hectic. Good job on affixing the LED array kids. Your mother and I are proud of you. "He grinned. "Although, you two jump at every opportunity to go outside."

Rae piped up, "Gee, Dad. Putting that thing together was starting to feel like work after the first couple days."

"You did a good job. All the resistance checks on the array were positive first time. Well done."

"Hon." Susan put her hand on Samuel's shoulder and nodded at the clock.

"Is everyone ready?" Samuel asked as he stood by the remote switch.

Everyone nodded.

Samuel checked the manually set atomic clock affixed to the bulkhead. "Time." He pressed the switch.

~~#~~

On the ground, the Magi, in the East pointed to the heavens at the sudden appearance of a bright star shining down. One of the three turned to the others, "Praise God, the time has come. Let us follow the star. The Savior is born."

Flash Fiction - Darian and Sally

Darian and Sally

“I caused you to be out here.”

“How do you think you can control me?”  Darian circled three-sixty in the center of the nearly deserted subway station seeing only one man heading for the stairs to street level.  The man looked at Darian and picked up his pace, shortly leaving Darian alone.

“It’s because of me.  The Doctor told you I was a figment.  He told you to come at any time you needed if I returned.  Did you wonder, why it is you know things you couldn’t know, except I have told them to you?  How does your Doctor explain that?”

Darian sighed.  “He said it was disassociated cognizance.  Things my subconscious heard or seen that I was unaware of.  Why now, after all these months.  I thought you were gone.”  Why did he feel so helpless when Sally spoke to him?  Grimacing, he rubbed both temples as he spoke to the air. “Sally?  You still there?”

“Yes, I wanted you to come here, now at this time.  I knew you would if I spoke to you at home.”

“Why, this will be the train to the north city; to my Doctor?”  Releasing the pressure on his temples, he looked right and left finding no one present.

“You made a mistake.  You shouldn’t have told anyone about me.  We can get along.  We have for years.  I’ve been good to you, for you.” Sally sounded hushed as though sad.

“Please, let me go.  Stop coming.  I can’t do anything for you, Sally.”  He looked down at the subway tile beneath his feet.  Head bowed, he spoke to Sally, “Alright, why now.  I thought we had broken up.”

“Interesting way to put it.  We were never dating.  Your Doctor will put you away if you tell him about what happens next.”  Now, Sally sounded apologetic.

“WHAT!  What do you want?  Please, Sally, go away.”  The air fairly crackled, and he could feel the rumble of the cars on the track approaching the bend growing in intensity through the tile.

“Now, Darian.”

There were grinding and screeching of iron on iron with a thud and sounds of breaking glass as a great billowing cloud of dust and debris filled the tunnel entrance. 

Darian gaped down the manmade hole, then threw his arm over his face as the exhaled breath of disaster washed over him.  Was that screaming he heard in the distance, only fleeting before the silence?  Smoke followed the cloud, heat and hot plastic assaulted his nostrils.  He looked up, and the ceiling vents were sucking up the vapors.

Sally piped up, “Wait for it, Darian.”

He ran a few feet toward the wreck he knew was there invisible in the smoke and stopped.  “Get out of my head,” he pleaded with Sally.

“Now, Darian.  They will need you.”

They came.  The passengers, floating along the tracks, climbing over the edge of the platform and swarming around Darian.  In their translucence, they passed by him, around him and through him.

He dropped to his knees and covered his face.  “Oh my God.  Sally, what is this?  Are these people dead?”

“Go to the stairs.  You and I will be a beckon.  When I will call them they will see you.  You will point the way.  Darian move now, help them.  Many will be lost to the earth if you don’t guide them to the light.”

Darian dropped his hands, looked at the hapless spirits milling about and screamed, “All right, I’m going!”

In his mind, he heard, “This way, come this way,” as Sally called them.

As each spirit passed by at his direction they looked at him and mouthed a silent Thank You as they moved up the steppes fading in the daylight at the top. 

It is done. Well almost. My first novel.

Bell Tower in Red Bluff, CA

Well, gee.  It's written after two years in the making.  My first novel.  Perhaps my only novel.  I hadn't written anything on it for a couple months.  Thinking on how do I get from where I am to where I thought I wanted the book to end.  I even wrote the end before starting my two month ponder.  

It didn't feel right.  The end was to abrupt, to many characters hanging out off page that people still want to know about. 

Okay, I sat down and wrote the next chapter from the antagonist point of view and two thousand words later the prefect ending.  I changed the other ending into the epilogue to which it was better suited.   

Now what?  The dreaded editing process. I have learned a great deal from the writing group I'm in that so many of my editing woes are coarse corrected by the group.  I have 33 chapters and the epilogue.  I've presented up to chapter 24 to the group.  That's five more months at two chapters a month.  I expect more coarse corrections to come.  Their critiques are spot on.  I rarely ignore a specific input for improving my story. 

I need to consider the marketing aspect at this point as well.  I've put that in the back of my mind because I didn't want to present the book or it's theme without the thing being written.  Now it is. 

I will have to look up query letters and submission guidelines, agent or not, self-publish or not, find a cover; o-gee.  Hardly know where to start first on the marketing phase.  

Anyway, yippee.  It's good to move along.  

A thought on writing Characters

A thought on writing Characters -

When it comes to writing, we try and describe our characters in such ways that the reader will come to love or hate them.  This description comes in two fundamental forms, physical attributes, and actions. 

As authors, we get to pick and choose how we match up the physical with the action.  It isn’t likely that the portly short man with heavy jowls, will pull Kung-Fu moves on someone.  On the other hand, the lean, chiseled, square-jawed man with the tan you can shine with Brasso doesn’t surprise you when he cleans some’s clock or changes a diaper.  Surprisingly, the tough guy gets a greater range of emotion.

These characteristics we use in our writing come about because of our contact with the entertainment industry that feeds us stereotypes and our connection with the real world by taking in the news and knowing the histories of friends and family.  Thus, to hear Uncle Lewis relate taking up the 50 Cal when the sailor was shot out of the seat on the landing craft rushing onto Omaha Beach, if not surprising, is at the very least fascinating.  Then to hear the landing craft was so riddled with bullets that it barely made it back to the launch ship before it sank was an eye-opener. 

Take all this information gleaned and write your characters.  There is a component implied, that is believability.  In editing, we ferret out all the stuff where we find no one will believe our character would do what they do in that scene.  Although in real life, they might. 

That takes us to the realm of understanding how people work.  Not many writers are psychologists.  We observe, converse about what we see and hear to gain an understanding of how people operate in the world so we can write that into our stories.  Generally, we exaggerate a trait or two for our character to give them a bigger than life persona.  It also helps us to direct the characters believability for the reader.

It helps us to understand what is going on in the world.  As a writer, there is more to understanding than knowing victim number forty stepped forward today accusing Harvey Weinstein of sexual molestation.  As a writer, why number forty?  What happened with number one victim twenty plus years ago?  There is something we need to know if we are to incorporate such a character in our story as to how things are the way they are and be believable.  In this particular instance, here is an article that is well put on the topic.  https://longreads.com/2017/10/23/weinstein-women-and-the-language-of-lunacy/

If we can come to understand the inner workings of stuff like Weinstein’s situation, we are able to translate that into behaviors in other cases.  For instance, see the parallels between the sexual antics of Weinstein, Cosby and Wiener and the political scene with Fast and Furious, Benghazi, Uranium One or Trump Jr. and Russian lawyers or the hacking of the DNC.  Could Bill Clinton gotten away with his sexual antics today or would we be listing his name along with the rest of notable offenders of today?  I don’t know, but when we write our characters, we can use what we see and hear to infuse our stories with the same kind of confusion and tension we see around us.  Makes one wonder, what’s going to happen?  As has been said, you can’t make this stuff up.  But, we can certainly use it.   

Flash Fiction - The Gun

The Gun

James Levitt didn't lift his feet any higher than it was necessary to clear the ground for each step.  It had been already twelve miles today and he wanted to take advantage of the flat high plains to make as many miles as they could.  The foothills were growing larger by the step.

As Captain of the train, he always took the lead and could hear the creaking of the wagon behind him and six more after that.  He didn't need to turn around to know his daughter and wife with ox lead in hand, were trudging alongside.  It was late in the day and the long shadows of the mountains before them were stretching toward them as the sun descended in the west. If they could make five more miles he figured that they would stop for the night in the forest line of the foothills. 

The ruts on this section of the Oregon Trail had been filled in by someone previously.  There hadn't been enough rain to pack down the powder.  Then he heard a loud crack and the ox bray once.

"James!"  His wife called.

The wagon had slipped off the crest of a rut and buried itself to the hub in the dust leaning at a stiff angle.  A chest, blankets and two barrels tore loose the canvas siding and tumbled out on the ground.  The train halted and a gaggle of men stepped up to the lead wagon. 

They put their shoulders to the wagon and pulled on the wooden spokes while James' wife whipped the ox and the daughter gathered up their belongings.  The wagon slowly pulled up from the rut and was level again.

A mile later they entered the tree line.  The James heard a low pitch guttural cry of a mountain lion.  He turned and called to Sarah, "Get my gun from the chest."

A moment later his wife came up to him, "It's gone."

James sighed.  He had traded a piano and a fertile sow in England for that gun knowing they might need it.  "Alright, I'll get Samuel to come up with his long gun until we make camp."

"Samuel, take your rifle and stand vigil as we set camp,” James instructed.  "Also, could you send a couple of the older boys back down the trail where we got stuck in the dirt and see if they can find my revolver.  It must have spilled out there?"

"Sure, thing Captain."  Samuel headed back to his wagon.

The wagons were circled in a large clearing that had been carved from the trees a long time ago as there was no firewood in the immediate vicinity.  The light was subdued as the sun dropped behind the mountains when John, Samuel's oldest boy came up and handed James his gun.

"Was it where I thought?"  James asked. 

"Yes, Sir.  It was just lying there on the grass by the trail."

"Here,” James handed it back.  "Take a few of the other boys and gather some wood.  Might have to go ways to find some.  I heard some big cats.  So, keep an eye out."

Half an hour later, James heard two shots and looked up from the hay he was laying for the ox.  Several more men gathered around looking in the direction of the sound.  A short time later, four boys emerged from the trees, arms laden with dead wood. 

John returned the gun.  "Was a mountain lion threatening us.  I don't think he meant any harm, just curious.  I scared him off with a couple shots."

"Bless you, John.  That was a Christian thing to do."  James clapped him on the shoulder.  "Let's get the fire started and eat dinner. 

Flash Fiction - Wednesday

Wednesday Night

How in the world did I get roped into this?  All I did was tell Steve that I liked Linda.  Well, I liked the look of her because I had never met her. 

"You know what night this is?"  Steve asked me in my mom and dad's kitchen.

I was sure he was going to enlighten me when I gave him a blank stare and then said, "Sure, Wednesday."

"It's the dance at the Rec Center at Raynor Park.  They'll be dancing until ten o'clock."

"Oh, I forgot about that."  Why would I remember?  I'd only been to it twice the whole school year. I opened the fridge and took out an apple.  After fetching a knife from the block on the counter, I started to peel it.  "You want one?"

"Sure, thanks." 

I handed him one unpeeled.  I already knew he liked it that way.  "So, you going?"

"So are you."

"Really, I don't really like it.  I just stand around."

"I called Linda and asked her if she was going."  He tore a huge chunk from the apple and sat down at the table.

"Yep, first she said she didn't think so.  Then I told her you were going to be there.  She said then she would go." 

He looked so smug.  What nerve.  I was amazed at him and pleased at the same time.  "Okay.  What time does it start, six-thirty?"

I straightened my tie and picked a small piece of apple from my tooth I saw in the mirror.  Dabbed a little hair Cream on my cow-lick and headed out the door.

I got there about six-forty-five and could hear the music from the grass.  Inside, the music was blaring.  But, no one was on the dance floor.  I shifted around and headed for the large orange drink container, and there was Linda.

She was nearly as tall as I was with light auburn hair that swept down across her face, over one eye and waved next to her small aristocratic nose.  She wasn't particularly a busty girl, but the deep blue dress was tight, and just above the well-pleated top she had an embroidered red rose that accented her hazel eyes. 

I sidled up alongside the cooler on the other side.  "Hi, Linda.  Would you like a drink?"

Linda locked her gaze on me and smiled.  "Sure, thank you."

I fumbled for a glass and knocked over the whole stack of about ten.  Thank goodness they were plastic as they uncoupled and rolled all over the top of the folding table.  Linda was quick and corralled several as I quickly gathered them up.  "Sorry,"  I stammered.  Then dutifully, I filled one up for her and handed it to her.

We stepped away from the table along the wall, and more kids were starting to get into the Twist.  I lost my tongue.  I was sure I brought it with me.  I had it a few minutes ago, but now nothing would come out of my mouth.  Just pink lemonade went in it.  We stood there watching the other kids gyrate.  

Then, the music stopped.  There was a short pause and then came The Monster Mash.  "Linda, would you like to dance?"

"Sure, I would love to,"  She said.  We set our drinks on the chairs and headed on to the dance floor.  It was wonderful, she was so graceful and somewhat reserved as she bent slightly at the knees and rose like a sinewave to drop again as her head waved gently side to side.  The song ended.

We stood there wondering what was coming next.  Then Blue Moon filled the Rec Center, and I took her in my arms

Flash Fiction - THE LAST CURTAIN

THE LAST CURTAIN

I'm not sure why such melancholy fills my soul.  Perhaps, it is the soaped greeting in the stage mirror, "A Happy New Year 2010."  It's been a fantastic run, 624 performances, rave reviews and my agent has no less than a dozen offers in the queue.  For what reason do I have to be so sad?

The last curtain as dropped on our rendering of Columbus, The Man of the Time.  I've been so comfortable in the skin of his squire that I hardly know who I am.  Night after night, I've transported back on stage to a time of wonder.  I've lived on the elbow of a man of such powerful purpose that his will could not be denied.  Royalty acquiesced to his desire.   I am inspired each night to bolster him in his moments of despair.  In private, he leaned on me, my only skill - to believe in him, in his immortality. 

As I look around at the plastic fruit in the vase, the LED flame in the lanterns and chandelier, the curved Styrofoam bulk of the castle walls and the thin tin mirror with the holiday greeting, I wonder can anything next be finer? 

I am afraid I may be ruined.  How could I ever do a crook or an evil person after having lived in the shadow of such a great man for the past two years?   I don't know that I can.  I'm not famous, I can't pick my roles.  I have to eat and pay the mortgage.  My agent assures me there are characters waiting that are worthy.

All right then, I am a professional.  I will gird up my loins and stride onto the front of make-believe to accost the enemies of righteousness and bring new projections of hope, perseverance, and right choices to those that watch my performances.   

For I am an actor of merit. 

Flash Fiction - Blessed

Fire falls photo by Stephen Leonardi

BLESSED

It was late in the evening as the brown loose weaved linen curtains filtered out the last of the setting sun’s light.  A kaleidoscope of light blues, reds and greens flashed on the walls from the small muted television mounted next to the ceiling at the bed’s end.  Richard paid it no mind as the pixelated screen showed rioters silently slamming a road barrier into a plate of glass. 

The rhythmic beep from deep in the display box suspended on a pole emitted softly that Richard was still alive.   On the face of the box were his vitals.  Sinus rhythm was irregular.  Oxygen was 83 despite the clear rubbery hose attached to his nose.  Pulse at 110 gave Richard some sense of anxiety, but it had come down after the last depression of the button on the pain medicine. 

The light brightened the floral cloth screen pulled around his bed as the oversized door to his room opened.  For a brief time, he could hear the buzzing of many voices, a floor buffer and falling blocks from the ice maker as someone filled a small plastic bucket like the one on the stand by his head.   Shortly it all went quiet again.

“Grandpa, it’s Denise.”

Richard feebly raised a gnarled hand in greeting.  “Hi, Sweetheart.”  His voice was low, but still held a strong baritone presence that carried well into the small room.  “I am so happy to see you.”

Denise took the raised hand and dropped into the chair by his side.  “How are you feeling?”

Richard looked at number twenty-six in his lineage.  “I’m doing as well as can be expected in hospice.” 

He could see the moisture dam up in her eyes.

“Now, don’t be sad.  Sharon, bless her heart, and I have lived a blessed life to have gotten to be a part of your lives.  To see you sell lemonade from the stand on the corner of the yard when you were six and when you were so determined to ride that bike after Karen did it first brought joy to me.”  Richard coughed lightly and took a deep breath.  “I’ll just close my eyes for a moment.”

When he woke, Denise was still there holding his hand.  “Thank you for being here.” 

Denise was about to reply when a rapid honking alarm emitted from the I.V. pole. 

He felt her jerk.  “It’s okay.  The nurse will be here in a second.”  As if on cue, the caregiver came in and pushed a button on the unit and took a flat bag down, hung a fat one and departed.

“Daughter of my daughter, I love you.  I pray for you each night that in your disbelief you will find the answer you avoid.”

“What is that, Grandpa?”

“That God is your Father in Heaven and wants you home.”  He squeezed her hand.

“I don’t know, Grandpa.  Religion just preys on the weak minded, to control them, separate them from their money,” she whispered.  “I wish I knew otherwise.”

“Sweetheart, I see God’s hand in everything.”  He fixed her gaze in a vise grip hold.  “Tomorrow, I will be too weak to speak as this transition nears.  I tell you this.  Go to the Horsetails Falls in Yosemite in February.”  He pulled his other hand over and took hers in both of his.  “There, when the trick of light fires the water you will find in your soul only God can orchestrate such a wonder.”

~#~

Denise stood on the high bank as the sun rose gazing at the tranquil scene of water falling over the cliffs edge.  Suddenly the fall turned fiery red orange.  She dropped to her knees and cried. 

“Thank you, Grandpa.  If you can hear me.  I believe.”

Resolution Phase of a Novel

Resolution

Starting with chapter 32, I think I've moved into the resolution phase of my book.  Yet, I'm not sure what that means. 

The plot is resolved, the characters good and bad have come together and worked out their differences, for the most part, and now I need to end the book. 

My protaganist just keeps on going.  There is no plot left, but I just don't want to say 'The End' in the middle of a thought.  I haven't given any serious thought of a sequeal to this book.  Even so, I want to end it in a way that were the book to be accepted and people want more of my character I could do another book on him.

That isn't really the problem though.  I can cliff hang him for another book, it's the space between the climax and the flattening of his character arc and the end that perplexes me.  I wonder how much should be devoted to the resolution?  I have chapters 33 and 34 already written and having a hard time tying it all up. 

Anybody have any thoughts or feelings about it?

Flash Fiction - Lost and Found

Lost and Found                   604 Words

By E.J. Hall

      _{Tammy wiped her eyes on the torn short sleeves that barely covered her shoulders as the setting of the sun took with it what was left of the thin warm air. She shivered and folded her arms. Lifting one leg front of her, she wondered where she had lost her shoe. The filthy sock, trimmed in pink hearts, ended a scratched and bruised leg. Grandpa bought the shoes for her third birthday only a week ago. She hoped he wouldn't be mad at her for losing her shoe.}

      _{She moved up the mountainside climbing over large rocks to escape more thickets. Cresting the rocks, she slipped and slid down the other side resulting in a skinned leg landing on the edge of a small meadow. Tammy leaned back against the rock locking her jaw. She wasn't going to cry again. If only she could find the trail from the rest stop.}

      _{The shadows give way to darkness as she got up and started wading through the tall grass. There was still some lightness to the sky across the clearing. The other side had a gap that looked clear of trees and bushes; maybe the trail was there. Tripping and stumbling for what seemed a long time she neared the gap now nearly in total darkness.  The trail.  She was sure of it.}

      _{"Tammy." The quiet voice came from a faint outline of a man.  Tammy started to cry. She couldn't help it. The tears came out all by themselves. The man picked her up. She stopped crying as warmth flowed Through her.}

     _{"Well child," the man soothed her "you're fine now." Tammy nodded and hugged on his neck. The beard was soft. She didn't feel scared anymore. "I was with Danny, my brother and I got lost."}

  _{"Yes, Tammy I know," he told her. "Let's sit on this log till morning. You can wrap up in my robe. It's warm." The two of them sat on the log. "Do you know any songs?" he asked.}

  _{"I know I'm a Child of God" Tammy responded proudly.}

      _{"Oh good," he said cheerfully, "that's one of my favorites." They talked then sang. Before the end of the second chorus, Tammy fell asleep.}

       _{A ray of sunshine fell on Tammy's face. She opened her eyes.  Across the meadow, a familiar green checked shirt appeared over the rock she had fallen down last night. She heard him.}

      _{"There she is." He waved behind him. Two uniformed men appeared on the rock behind her father as he reached the ground.}

       _{He dashed across the clearing grabbing her up to give her a hug. "We were so worried about you," her father said.}

       _{One of the uniformed men tapped him on the shoulder. "Mr. Talbert, set her down so I can check her."}

       _{"Yes, of course. Tammy sit still so the deputy can look you over," he instructed.}

_{"Okay, Papa."}

      _{The deputy smiled at her. "That's a lovely pair of shoes you have. Those for Church?"}

  _{Tammy nodded. "A man helped me," she said.}

      _{He squeezed her shoulder and turned to her father. "Wow, Mr. Talbert, there isn't a scratch on her. No sign of exposure at all."}

      _{"Look at this Ralph," the other Deputy called from a few feet away as he stood in the gap.}

_{As Ralph joined him, Tammy heard him whistle. That's five hundred feet straight down if it's an inch."}

    _{"Yea, she's a lucky girl," the deputy commented.}

    _{Tammy's Papa picked her up. "What man, Honey?"}

    _{"The nice man in the long coat. He kept me warm, and we sang songs."}

  _{"Did he say his name, Sweetheart," her dad asked?}

  _{"Yes, I remember," Tammy looked smug as she told him. His name is Jesus."} 

Flash Fiction - Remote Control

REMOTE CONTROL

“I am so glad that you were all able to make the meeting today,” Mire told the onlooking group of the Bullseye adventurers.  They sat in a cavern carved from the blue-gray rock on the largest asteroid in the field.  In the bottom of the cavern was where the amphitheater was dug out of the porous nitrogen/oxygen rich lava like substance, everyone sat in apt report.  At the completion of the cavern and amphitheater, it only took six hours for the cavern to fill with the life sustaining gas coupled with a modicum of technology to reduce leakage out of the mouth of the cavern.  So, long as the shaker cam was active atmosphere filled the cavern.  

“Bullseyers, the day will consist of several venues for you to pick from, the agendas are transmitted to your personal companion pads.  First, we will have a report and lecture from Master Joten about the new sun darting techniques,” Mire’s voice rose with excitement.  Mire looked at the teleprompter hovering just to his left.  “There is a new sublight acceleration and speed run lecture.   That is in the seventh hour.”  Mire grinned and spoke in hushed terms that came through companion pads clearly, “They figured a way to vent their cabin air that gives a tremendous boost.”

A few ahs, emitted from some of the onlookers.

Mire continued, “There are some break-throughs in skid plating.  You can skip on meteors at eighty-gees with no damage to the exoskeleton of the ship.  That’s the third hour.”

#

 Notjim strode up on the rocks guided by the red Bullseye circles on the back of Karjen’s jacket.  “Wow, I can’t wait to try the air venting trick.  What did you think?”  Reaching her, he sat down to gaze out at the asteroid field.

“I don’t know?  There’s a lot of retrofitting needed for getting the doors to open right on our class Jaunter.  We’re not really made to spring from a standing start.”

Notjim pursed his lips in a retort, “Yeah, but once we’ve moved to a tenth of light we soar.”

“That’s true.  We already have the record for flybys.  It would be nice to compete in the standings.”  She looked up at the Universe.  “That is so pretty out there.”

Smiling, Notjim agreed, “Yes, it’s gorgeous.  Is it okay for us to retro the doors?  I think the air vent will boost us to a tenth.”  He clapped his hands.

Karjen turned to see the joy on Notjim’s face as he stood.  “Okay.  Let’s get going.  Feel the ground.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Men.  What do you feel?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“Exactly, you dote.  The shaker cam has stopped.”  She grabbed him by the jacket sleeve as her foot slipped on the rock.

“Oh, yeah.  You’re right.  We better go. There will only be air for a couple more hours.”  He turned and looked back in the dark cavern.  “Gee, everyone’s gone.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his kabob and pointed it up at the asteroids.  Nothing happened.

“Well, you going to call the shuttle down?”

“I’m trying.  I think the battery in my remote is going bad.”  He beat it on the palm of his hand and tried again.  Again, nothing.

“Let me see that.”  Karjen took the remote from him and pried off the back with her thumbnail.  She looked up at him.  “Why isn’t there a battery in it?”

“Oh my gosh.  I knew it was getting low,” he told her with a crestfallen face.  “I took it out so I would have it when we made planet fall; you know so I get the right one.”

“Notjim.”  She handed it back to him.  “You’ll be the death of us yet.”

Flash Fiction - Lost Art

LOST ART

“How do you get all the way up there, Father?”  Tin asked.

“We use planks and ropes through a pulley system that reduces the effort needed to lift me to the head.”

“When I have my fifteenth birthday, will you teach me to be an eye carver too?”

“You must learn.  I am the last with knowledge of facial features.  Now that the Hebrews are gone and with them so much of the knowledge of construction techniques we are likely not to see the likes of this magnitude again.  It is incumbent on us to maintain what they have done.”

“How are the ropes put up there?”  Tin craned his neck up at the figure standing twenty stories tall to the left of the Gold leafed door frame. 

His father pointed.  “You can’t see them until you get close; the Hebrews embedded hooks in the rock wall every twenty meters.  There are small hand and footholds carved into the figure's body that is impossible to see from the ground.  Climbers take a small lineup to drape over a hook.  Other workers pull the line tied to the larger rope up to the hook. The pulley is attached to the hook, and the larger rope is strung through it.”  He sighed.  “There is a problem, though.”

“What is that, Father?”

“The hooks have been coming loose. So, we tie to two hooks to suspend the planks between.  Still, it is dangerous.”

“Can’t we fix the hooks?”

“We’ve tried.  We can’t figure out how the Hebrews put the hooks in and made them stay.”  He beckoned to the hoisting team.  “Are we ready?”

“Yes, Carver,” The nearest man of ten men nodded, grasping the rope descended from the figure.  “You may mount the plank.”

“Me too, Father?”

“No, Tin.  Another year you may join me.”  He pulled his wooden box of hammers and chisels along with a bucket of mortar onto the board and stepped on holding the rope on one side.”

Tin watched as the twenty men, ten on each side, pulled raising his father up the side of the figure's skirt.  One man off to the side was calling cadence. 

“Now PULL, Now PULL,” the man’s base voice called.  His father rose in jerks until he was but a speck.

Suddenly, all ten men fell backward as the rope went slack.

Tin saw the end of the plank drop and pointed.  “My father,” He cried.

The first thing to hit the ground was his father’s box of tools, exploding and scattering its contents.  Immediately following was the bucket of mortar which sprayed all around with the gray-brown prepared mud. 

Tin looked up to see his father dangling from the end of the plank.  The men on the other side started to lower him. 

“Easy,” Tin called out.  “Don’t drop him.”

When they were twenty-five meters, the remaining men fell back as the others had.  Tin’s father hit the ground with a dull thud.  Tin sprinted over to him.  His father's eyes were closed, and blood ran from his mouth and ears.

“Father, Father,” Tin raised his father’s head into his lap.  “Father, open your eyes.  Speak to me.”

“Oh, ah… Tin?”  A weak voice came forth.

“Father.”

“I’m sorry, Tin.  I won’t be able to teach you after all.  Another Hebrew secret will go to the grave with me.  So sorry. So…”  He went quiet.

Tin looked at the man leaning over them.  The man shook his head gently.

Tin hugged his father and told him, “It won’t be lost Father, I will figure it out.  I swear to you I will.”

Mine Remembered

Mine Remembered

It had been rough getting back here.  The last time I was here I came on horseback.  My three-year-old Roam didn’t think anything much of rough terrain.  The ’32 Chevy Contender that got me here today protested mightily the whole way. 

After pouring myself out of the seat and arching my back to let the kinks out.  I turned to my grandson that was just shy of 16 years, “Here it is.  I spent two long years of my life here.”  I forced a smile for him.  “I was just about your age.”

“It’s falling down, Grandpa.”

“That it is, Boy.  You oughten to have seen it in its heyday.”  I pointed to the weathered gray building, further most right.  “That was administration.  I help raise that structure.  It still standing.  Says a lot for cedar and rough-hewn pillars.  A few of the supports in there still have roots in the ground.”

“When were you here last?”

“Over half a century now.  I remember driving ten penny nails in the roof joists.  The backside of the administration building is only nine or ten feet off the ground.  We’d slide down and leap off like we were a bunch of crows taking air.  Then hit the ground rolling.”  Ralphy came to mind.  “That is till Ralphy broke his ankle.  The foreman said no more jumping.  We had to use the ladder like normal folk.”

“Let me show you the other side.”  I commenced leading him up the sandy shale embankment.  I started out with a limp until I got some lubricant to working in my left knee.  The little slope was slippery, and I ended up crab walking it up.  I thought about there was a time when I’d hit a spot like this at a run and never look back.  We finally, made our way through the rubble and came out on the other side.

“Boy, look up that there hill.   Now, just imagine a wall of fire the height of a tall horse, from that rise to this bellowing down on you.”  I swept my arm across the landscape covering the territory to the horizon.

“Wow, were you scared?”

“No time for that.  We’d were nearly complete with the new building, and we were determined to beat that fire back.  Why it came right down within spittin’ distance of our mine.”  I looked at the green hills and wondered how was it we nearly lost the whole place but for expending our lives energy putting out the fire and the place has lasted another fifty plus years since.  Another fire like that and there be nothing here.

“What did you do, Grandpa?”

“Well, we hunkered down with shovels and hoes and started pulling back the vegetation as far up as we could reach without gettn’ deep fried.  We were bound to deprive that fire of any more fuel.  At the end, when it reached the end of our line we commenced to throwing shovels of dirt on it.”  I remembered the heat and sweat pouring off us.

“The fire was out to defy us.  It spits red hot ash into the air that landed on the Roofs.  We had a couple lads on each roof that stamped them out soon as they lit.  But they were coming mighty fast and hot.”  I grinned.  Here I was winding myself telling the tale.  At that time I was in fatigable, although I was just a runt of a kid.

“I tell you, grandson, it was a long ten hours we fought that blaze.  When it was all over, there wasn’t an eyebrow in the place as they’d all been burned off.  A couple of the older fellows kept pattin’ out their beards.” 

“Can we get in the mine, Grandpa?”

“Don’t know, let's crawl in there and see.  I’ve got lots to tell you about this place.”