Rogues Retreat

Windchimes

2011-06-19T18:21:00.004-04:00

I stared as the music tumbled and fell
through my fingers, sticky and wet
warm honey.
And where the notes hit the ground
great choral overtures rose savage and sweet.

Lifted high into the summer skies
on gossamer wings.
enfolding the morning in its magical embrace.
Unicorns danced, snow white
in a field of emerald green grasses and ferns
to a long lost tune of the last zephyr
the wind and music embraced me
holding me close to her breast
smiling, knowing.

In my hand, one single note
the name of the wind.
Opening my hand, I blew softly
and the silver seed swirled, kissed my cheek
then gently danced off into a world of discovery.

And, I smiled.

Inspired by Bradley Deans The Windchimes.
Listen for yourself and dream.

The Secret Garden

2011-06-12T11:51:00.005-04:00

I watched the moon, slowly stealing into the sky
The first glitter of stars splashing twilights’ last breath
Looking through the wine glass, the candlelight danced
To an unheard tune; in waves of gold and reds

I watched as you caressed the tiny flowers
Snow white droplets, embraced with forest greens
They responded to your loving touch
And gave up their floral scents to your gentle feel

Ferns swayed to the music of the night
Mystical and magic, ancient, without age
Carried on the damp evening breezes
Chasing away the remnants of the day

Night falls, embrace, dark and sweet
Throw secret shadows in wild abandon
And the flowers know, the dance begins,
In this, the secret garden

Moon

2011-03-12T21:28:00.005-05:00

Oh great silvery celestial orb. Wilst thou not be my witness? Hear my confession, for I have naught but lust and desire and a love for one who knows not that I exist.

You, who doth chase the sun from the very heavens, wilst thou now forsake me and leave me the tormented dreams of unrequited love?

Oh cruel moon, absolve me. Bathe me in your glow and wash away the ache. Food turns to ash in my mouth; wine to water; color to dust. You smile. Can it be my foolishness that so amuses thee?

You seek to anger me? Best be aware oh great heralder of the stars, my plight is also thine! You beguile young lovers; add shimmer to fields of oats and barley and lull the peasants into a false sense wonder and adoration.

You are a deceiver! Witches and Warlocks dance naked in your light; unashamed. Satyrs and nymphs perform their pagan rituals; their sex enflamed and engorged.

Hath thou no shame? And still you smile at my anguish? Thine light shines bright but leaves me cold.

Old fool, be gone! Away!

I call on the golden orb of day to smite thee with its golden rays.
Rise no more in the black skies! I call on the stars to devour you and spit you out!
Shine no more! False promises of love art thine black legacy!

Smile no more!

No more!

No more I say!

Read more of the effects of the moon at Theme Thursday.

The Book

2011-03-05T17:41:00.007-05:00

He watched her as she slowly let one exquisitely gloved hand brush lovingly over the ancient leather bindings, sending a small swirl of dust into the air. She seemed to be breathing in some exotic perfume. Well born as could be noted from her expensive attire. As she stood transfixed before the books, she said without turning “how much will you take for these three?”

He had been gazing so intently at her that he started at her question.

“You can have the first two for one hundred apiece. But the third, the one with the ivory snake is not for sale.”

She turned and stared at him; a small pout that appeared almost playful and sensual.
“But that’s silly! The three would look divine in my collection, and I am willing to pay handsomely for it. You are a seller of books and I am a buyer. Now name your price!”

Though said quietly, her demeanor and tone made her last statement sound more like a command then a request. He would not be treated as one of her low born house servants. All trace of politeness withdrew from his features as he matter of fact stated once more, ”the third book is NOT for sale!”

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened as if to speak then just as fast her face returned to normal and a smile crept across her mouth. “Can you tell me your reason for not wanting to sell the third?”

He stood silent for a moment, content to just stare at her. She was remarkably beautiful with an ageless face. Her eyes so dark that he was sure the pupils had swallowed up their colour. Her very being exuded defiance. He suddenly realized he was being quite rude and blurted out “because I have not done the proper research on that one yet!”

Her smile broadened. “Oh, I can tell you all about it. It was written by Sarah Price of Plymouth in 1649. Sarah was a good woman who preferred the company of the forest to village folk. She was a healer and an herbalist. She had helped many of the sick villagers when the local butcher of a physician had said ‘it’s now in the hands of the Lord’. One day, the local Prior, who was known to partake far too freely of the sacramental wine, came across her in the woods as she was gathering roots and herbs. He abandoned all holiness and fell upon her in a most disgusting and vile manner. When she went to lay a formal complaint to the Bishop, she was advised that the disgrace would be too great to the church and she should return immediately home and say no more of this. As she returned home, there were two men at arms from the Sheriff waiting for her. She was arrested immediately; tried and found guilty of witchcraft. While awaiting her execution she wrote these spells and incantations. On November 16th, 1649, she was led from her cell to the village square where a pyre had been erected. As the flames engulfed her, she swore a curse that she would return and have her revenge.”

He fell back in his chair and gulped air. “How can you know all this?”

She leaned forward and produced an antique dagger from her bag and in one swift motion, thrust it deep into his chest. He gasped and looked down to where a red spot was growing quickly across his chest. The handle of the dagger was an ivory snake. She looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “I know all this because I am Sarah Price! This is MY book! And you; my soon to be dead fellow are the descendant of the Prior.”

She turned on her heels; took the book from the shelf and strode out of the store wiping the dagger with an embroidered hanky. He took one last breath and stared at the empty spot in the bookcase as all went black.

Penned for Books at Theme Thursday.

Beacon

2011-02-27T14:53:00.008-05:00

Your love is my beacon
the crashing waves, your song of love
siren of the harbor
soaring lullaby off cliff and cove

Bring me home again
to your wild green isle
where once we loved and were loved
besot, bemused, beguiled

Bring me safely to your shores
my wanderlust is quenched
raise up your soul in song
from the black velvet ocean, my vessel wretched

I will travel no more
my adventure is at its end
my treasure is found
as darkness descends

Your love is my beacon
to light my way
the stars pale in comparison
home, home again, never to stray

Let your beacon shine bright
in the dark autumn night
turn darkness to light
blindness to sight

Your love is my beacon

More beacons may be found at Theme Thursday

Painters Block

2011-02-05T12:04:00.006-05:00

I was born of evil
Born in a cauldron of hate
Suckled on mistrust
My hunger so great,

Satiated in lust
Loins afire
Turning colour to dust
Turn cold the artists’ desire

Lay the canvas bare
Raped and torn
Break brushes and palettes
Leave them broken and forlorn

I am the destroyer
I am that which you dread
In your life, in your love,
In the dreams in your head

Embrace me now
It was never your calling
I have shown you the way
Its beauty enthralling

Will you love me now
And renew your vow
I have taken it all
And yet you question “how”

It was you that sacrificed it
As on a pagan alter
It was you that saw excellence
It was you that faltered

I was the instrument
But you were the crime
Your self loathing
Disgusting and sublime

Will you love me now
Only this I ask
I have always loved you
Does that sound sad, forlorn and crass?

Return to your art
Its beauty enrapture
Its gaunt still life
Forever captured

Forgive my insolence, my unknowing eye
Absolution, your tender heart
The expanse of your love
The expanse of your art

Born to hurt, it pains me
Your colours must live
I block your creativity
Idle your art, without reprieve;

Till at last
You push past me.
Take up the brush,
At last you see
Tho an anarchist I am,
I do so affectionately.

For more colourful prose please visit Theme Thursday.

Stairs

2011-01-09T20:20:00.012-05:00

Unto this world am I born, naked and hungry. My only thought; my next meal. Wealth, love, power are but strangers to me. They are but steps on the stairs that life now presents me. Neither pauper nor king, I have no need for solicitous and salacious council. Mothers’ milk is all I crave.

The years pass. I stand on the stair that has presented me with my eighteenth year. Well schooled and surrounded by accomplices, I look back on what has brought me to this point in my climb; and indeed, what must surely lie ahead. Elizabeth. She has seen me fall and has help bind the bleeding wounds. Is what I feel love? Or in fact, familiarity. Time and life’s stairs seem to have blurred my vision of the two.

I am on my thirty second stair. The rigors of life have left their mark. Elizabeth, the ever faithful wife, has managed to somehow raise our children well; in spite of my absence due to a war I embraced too dearly. My cost was too dear. But my holdings are great and will see my seed well. And though my dreams are filled with horrors, there is much I am thankful for.

My fiftieth stair. I am surrounded by much jubilation and love. Although I have tried to dissuade my sons and through my mind’s eye, show them that in war, honour and valour are in general dispensed amongst the dead, they have never the less followed a young mans folly. There can be no joy in the outcome.

I teeter at the top of the seventieth stair. Looking back, time has not diminished the sorrow of the loss of my youngest son in the war. Elizabeth became distant, those so many years ago, and came to blame me for my sons wanting to follow in the footsteps of their father. I no longer have any words with which to comfort her. She bears my existence and lavishes her love on the grandchildren. My bed has grown cold; my soul has grown numb; and my accounts have grown large.

I lie on the eightieth stair of my life. Surrounded by loved ones, I lie dying; alone. I am afraid, but refuse to show it. There will be no more stairs for me. My climb is done. Looking back on all those stairs, I realize that each and everyone has been a blessing. My stairs now to be turned to golden ones leading to a higher place, I take my leave. I arrived in the world cold and hungry, but I now leave satiated and warm with love.

These are the stairs we must all climb.

For the prompt at Theme Thursday.

One with the World

2010-11-17T18:28:00.003-05:00

The night clings to me,
her embrace, loving and dark
I am a child at her breast
suckling her splendor, startling and stark.

Filled with the knowledge of ages,
lulled into sleep
cooing songs of dying stars
bathed in the universes undying heat
Mother and child
one with all time
I reach out and grab one moment
forever, this will be mine

I close my eyes
as blackness prevails
to sleep dreamless nights
as the universe unveils
the course she has taken
left only to poets tales
billowy and lofty
as pirate sails
and all is well, glasses raised in hail!

We are nourished
We are well
without fault
We cannot fail
into dreams I fall
as November winds swirl
I am one with the universe
One, with the world

Amulet of the High Priestess

2010-11-13T11:24:00.004-05:00

Transfixed, I watched her approach; my breath caught in my throat. Undulating as she walked, her hips swayed as to some unknown music playing in her mind. Raven black hair cascading down to below her waist caught the light that filtered through the canopy of this ancient forest, to give it sheen. Large azure blue eyes stared through me; unblinking and wicked. Her tan skin, almost bronze like glistened with the thick humidity that condensed upon touch.

Exotic smells of oils and balms and richly scented flowers mingled with the heady aroma of damp earth and burning wood. Her breasts were large and firm. Free of all encumbrances, they gently embraced the large golden amulet suspended from a string of fresh water pearls, almost translucent. Guards in tribal headdress and carrying lances menaced my slightest movement. As she neared, they bowed in reverence. She raised one bejeweled hand.

“Why have you come to our land?”

I felt the sharp point of a lance at the back of my neck nudging my immediate response.

“Forgive me. I am a doctor and conducting research into remedies found naturally in the plants that surround us. I was unaware I was intruding.”

She smiled and with a small wave of her hand, the guards retreated a few paces.

“Stand and face me doctor.”

Though said in a soft and musical tone, I felt compelled and commanded to obey instantly.

“I am curious doctor; do all the people where you come from have green eyes and pale skin like yours?”

Our eyes were locked in a searching stare; a tiny polite smile curling her lips deliciously.

“O your Majesty. Some are brown and some are blue; though, not many would have a blue so lovely as yours.”

Her mouth grew wide and she started to giggle.

“Why do you call me Majesty? I am not the Queen. I am the High Priestess! You stare at my amulet. Does this interest you? Have you lied to me? Are you here to steal it? Answer me! Now!”

Her smile had turned instantly from a smile to snarl, and contorted her beautiful features as the guards once again raised their lances and drew near.

“No, no, no, High Priestess! I am as I say. Please, you must believe me. I do, in fact find the amulet quite beautiful, but I would never consider stealing it. Please…”

Her face returned to calmness as she waved the guards once again to retreat.

“Our lands have always protected us. From Mother Earth we receive our food; our medicine when we are sick; her wood for burning when we are cold. We are bound to serve her, and she, in return allows us to live and die in her gentle arms. I will summon our medicine woman. She will show our medicines, and then you will leave this place doctor and never return. Our guards will escort you safely out of our land.”

A great sadness overcame me as I uttered my acceptance to her terms. I knew that though I would keep my promise, others would not. My appearance here would only be the beginning of the end of paradise for the High Priestess and her people. I watched as she removed the amulet and gently removed one of the pearls and held it out to me.

“Take this with you doctor; to remember me and my people. Never forget.”

She smiled and gave a gentle nod, then turned and walked slowly back to where the villagers waited for her to recount what had just transpired.

That was 41 years ago. And today, as I look at the pearl in my hand, I wonder. But, I will never know. Did she survive? Did her people survive? Is their land being raped by godless and heartless machinery till nothing remains but gaping muddy holes where once paradise on earth stood? Are this pearl and my memories all that remain of that paradise? The amulet of the High Priestess is lost, for all time and Mother Earth weeps and spills her bitter tears on the muddy ground.

Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales

My Dearest Julia

2010-10-28T17:08:00.005-04:00

My Dearest Julia,

November 29th, 1858 was a cruel day. The first snows heralding a long and lonely winter danced across the landscape, unencumbered by patches of blue sky that dared to push through the gray. The landscape, while pastoral most of the year, was now colourless. Winters icy grip tightened on the fields; choking the life out of even the heartiest gourds. Abandonment.

The whiteness of December would bring the preparations of that most festive of celebrations; Christmas! But not this year. The very best of woods piled high for yuletide logs would be cut for a very different purpose this year. Oh, how I detest the drone of death prayers and lamentations. But this day shall see naught but sorrow. My begging of God, and subsequent cursing have brought me only sorrow. For Julia, my beloved Julia is no more.

To forsake my eternal soul, for just one loving last embrace would be a pittance. I am lost. Will time remember our great love? Or shall we fall; forgotten lovers in a forgotten world. It’s too much for one heart to bear. Forgive me darling Julia, but the pistol lies loaded and charged before me. Soon my love, we will be together once more. When I am gone and winters grasp gives way to green pastures, only memories will remain, and the broken dreams of lives once lived.

Julia’s gravestone and other haunting stories lay at Magpie Tales

A beautiful day

2010-10-11T18:19:00.006-04:00

A beautiful day here! Blue skies and temperatures around 11C ( that’s around 50ish in Americanese ). The fall colours are breathtaking, but I will have to pull out the rake sooner or later. Preferably later. I came home from work, ( yes, I am an A type workaholic ) and rushed out to the garden. I slashed back everything! I was dressed for the weather, but suddenly realized that I was NOT dressed for the work! Got a tad sweaty, so I thought I would take a run to the wine store to find a naughty lil bottle of Merlot for some later scribblings in the sun. Well what do you know! I found some Rogue beer! Honestly! Well, I couldn’t resist. Oh,, I also bought a little bottle of the naughtiess Merlot you can buy.

People are out walking babies and dogs. Didn’t see many walking cats though. Go figure. Lots of overweight people in Spandex doing the “speedwalkies” thing. Spandex should be outlawed for anyone over the age of 21.

The back yard now looks kinda barren and forlorn. I may have been a tad zealous there. The squirrels have quizzical looks on their faces as though asking me, “ what the hell ya do man???” Screw them, they only drive Queen Daisy nuts! Did I mention our Daisy? A Maltese, all of maybe 5 pounds and the attitude of a Rottweiler. She rules Castle Rogue with an iron fist.

I have been marinating a pork roast in the fridge since this morning. I think Daisy can smell it. She constantly looks at the fridge with an orgasmic expression. I have the weirdest dog on the planet. I should get back to that Louise Penny novel I have been trying hard to read. Where does the time go? Ok, time to get the roast in. I cut all the herb garden back today, so no shortage of fresh herbs here. Toodles kids, see you all soon!

October

2010-10-09T11:48:00.005-04:00

The river runs cold
on these autumnal morns,
majestic Maples
leaves stripped and torn;
bear witness to November,
the sleety scorn
winters icy dribble,
the carcass of the fuschia,
laid bare and forlorn.

Scarlet and gold
reign in the wood.
the world in hushed silence,
watch nature unfold;
as surely it should,
and while the forest folk forage,
Mother Natures’ brood,
the dens are prepared,
laden with pine cones and ferns,
all manner of food.

And into dreams
once again shall they dwell,
till the cruel winters winds,
have left hillside and dell,
and return them once more,
forever to dwell,
the cycle of life,
having drunk deep from the well.

Unto every season,
the poets say;
Unto every reason,
Unto every way.
Unto every new field,
Unto every new foray,
Unto every life,
Unto every day,
the only constant is, in fact, change.

My submission for Magpie Tales resting here

The Lantern, A Magpie Tale

2010-10-03T09:04:00.004-04:00

Allison? Oh Allison, I’m so sorry. I remember my promise to keep myself safe. And I remember your promise to keep a light burning till I returned. Oh God Allison, what has become of us?

France was a dreadful place. I sat for days in mud and bloated bodies with not a thought but the flame that burned, and would herald my return home. I watched the vermin devour my fallen comrades with wild abandon, unable to move, as the shells fell and remembering my promise to stay safe. Hell on earth. Our only orders, “dig in”. Forgive me Allison. My thoughts were only of you and baby McCalister. The smell of blood and earth and sulphur smoke cloud my senses and dispose me in a sea of despair. Forgive me Allison. We were huddled in a mud filled hole. A blinding light, soundless.

And I find myself here, before your window. Oh God Allison, I will not return. Can you forgive me? I will love you always, but I will never be able to be your lover. Please tell McCalister about his father. In Him, I live. Can you hear me Allison? Allison? I see the glass and the brass, but my love, where is the flame?

Written for Magpie Tales #34 which is found here

Vertigo

2010-09-16T21:14:00.004-04:00

I dared to dream the dreams of Icaras and Daedalus. The folly of youth and the brilliance of the times ordained us as Gods. To soar on warm summer winds and caress the heavens; to seek out the face of the almighty; this was our anointed task. To this end, we became relentless in our studies. The hours spent observing the hawk and falcon; grace and speedy death. We studied the master. The great Leonardo. I was enraptured by his works. I sought to build on this brilliance. And through diligence and intense scrutiny to the smallest detail, I was utterly convinced of my success where all else had failed.

July had been kind to the farmers in allowing the crops to grow in wondrous abandon. On that day, as I climbed the tower, the burden of my contraption weighing heavy on my shoulders, my exuberation lifting me unworldly plains, I gazed upward. Higher and higher still. I must touch the clouds, for only in touching them, will they receive me and give me their benediction.

Higher still, till at once I stood at the precipice. My gaze drifted downward and dizziness overtook me. I steadied myself against the braces of willow and oak that formed this fortress that reached high into the heavens and braced myself against the rush of a hot July wind. Below me, farmers tilled the fields of lavender, blue and mauve; unknown crops tilled in unknown fields by unknown farmers, unaware of what was about to transpire high above them.

My exhilaration knew no bounds as I quickly attached the straps and moved toward the edge. In me, the dreams of Icarus, Daedalus and Leonardo would come to fruition. I fell forward and felt the pull of the wind beneath my wings and I soared! Tears flooded my eyes as the beauty overtook my senses and I became one with the summer sky; as surely as the majestic eagle. Downward I soared. In my vanity, as Icaras had tried to soar to high to touch the sun, I soared low so to as impress those nameless famers in nameless fields.

Lower, faster, lower still. I could not lift without ripping the very wings that had brought me to this. I was done! And into a field of lavender my body smashed. Its sweet perfume mingling with my blood. I lay there dazed till an unknown farmer, tilling an unknown field came upon me and brought me to an unknown farmhouse. The smell of lavender lingers in my senses and shall ever be I fear. But the dream of Icaras remains.

And now, in this painting you view, it is I, and my dog Leonardo that stands to the left on the road and stares up to the spire to witness challenge of the brave and the fool hearty. And the nameless farmers, tilling nameless fields of lavender, blue and mauve go about their business…

This was written for The Inferno’s Coxswain “Vertigo” theme where an artist from The Artist Challenge is asked to choose one of their pieces of art and the writers interpret it in words. You may find Ray Shuells painting here as well as the entire Vertigo collection.

Deja vu (or the ongoing saga of Fred and Doris)

2010-09-01T05:50:00.003-04:00

Fred looked resplendent as he lovingly gazed at his reflection in the hallway mirror. “Yessiree, today is the day I luck out and snag that new fishing lure down at Walmart!”

His red and yellow Argyle socks seductively clung to his hairy calves. The toes were a tad thread bare as was obvious from the sandals he wore. His hunter green shorts, with the gazillion utility pockets, cinched quite nicely with a faux alligator belt, and topped with fire engine red suspenders managed to magically transplant his waist so that it now lay somewhere just below his man-boobies. His John Deere tee shirt felt a little snug around his ham sized biceps and those damned shorts were starting to ride high again! Oh well, just a small tug, and it will be fine.

“Hey Doris, you coming or what?”

“For goodness sakes Fred, hold your horses! I am just putting on my face!”

Fred frowned as he thought maybe it would be easier for Doris if he got her a spatula to put on her make up. But he had once said that to her a few years back with rather dire results, and the memory of the swollen eye returned to haunt him, so he let it slide.

Fred grabbed his lucky cap; the one that was embossed with “Old Fart” on the front, and slapped it on his thigh to remove the dust. Then he gingerly placed it over his magnificently coiffed comb-over with great care so as not to disturb his “do”. There! The ensemble complete, he was ready to hit Walmart with all the vim and vigor of a kid at Toys R Us!

Doris exited the bathroom with a gasp! “Fred! Did you forget something?”

Fred looked at Doris quizzically.

“What do you mean? I got all my lucky clothes on, and you know Doris, if I do say so myself you might have to watch them ladies there at Walmart. They may be wanting to steal your man away from you!”

Fred gave a broad, toothless smile.

“There!” said Doris, “that’s exactly what I mean! Where the hell are your teeth Fred?”

“Oh, right here in my pocket. No worries, I will put them in before we hit the MacDonalds at Walmart.”

“You will do nothing of the sort Fred! Put em in NOW!”.

Fred frowned.

“You know Doris, I don’t appreciate your tone here. I will put them in when we get there, and that’s that!”

Fred watched as Doris trudged dishearteningly off towards the kitchen and disappeared out of sight. Fred returned to the mirror for another admiring glance.

Doris called out from the kitchen, “Fred, can I see you for a sec honey?”

The last thing remembered as he entered the kitchen was a dark spherical object approaching his face at lightning speed, then total darkness. As the light slowly returned, he saw Doris sitting at the kitchen table.

“Now Fred, about your teeth.”

Fred clawed his way to the bathroom and slowly looked into the mirror as he withdrew his dentures from his pocket. Across his forehead was emblazoned “laF-T” As he stared into the mirror, an eerie feeling surrounded him.

“God lord! I have seen that mark before, I swear! This here must be one of them deejer voodoo things ya always hear about! Wait till Oprah hears about this!”

For The Inferno's theme of Deja vu or as Fred sees it Deejer Voodoo

Affectionate Anarchy - Painters Block

2010-08-17T16:40:00.001-04:00

I was born of evil
Born in a cauldron of hate
Suckled on mistrust
My hunger so great,

Satiated in lust
Loins afire
Turning colour to dust
Turn cold the artists’ desire

Lay the canvas bare
Raped and torn
Break brushes and palettes
Leave them broken and forlorn

I am the destroyer
I am that which you dread
In your life, in your love,
In the dreams in your head

Embrace me now
It was never your calling
I have shown you the way
Its beauty enthralling

Will you love me now
And renew your vow
I have taken it all
And yet you question “how”

It was you that sacrificed it
As on a pagan alter
It was you that saw excellence
It was you that faltered

I was the instrument
But you were the crime
Your self loathing
Disgusting and sublime

Will you love me now
Only this I ask
I have always loved you
Does that sound sad, forlorn and crass?

Return to your art
Its beauty enrapture
Its gaunt still life
Forever captured

Forgive my insolence, my unknowing eye
Absolution, your tender heart
The expanse of your love
The expanse of your art

Born to hurt, it pains me
Your colours must live
I block your creativity
Idle your art, without reprieve;

Till at last
You push past me.
Take up the brush,
At last you see
Tho an anarchist I am,
I do so affectionately.

I originally wrote this piece with the concept of artists block. As writers have writers block; then so must artists from time to time. The greatest anarchist we face daily is our own minds that control our creativity. But generally, I have found that after the drought, come the floods. Ergo, the anarchist becomes the giver. My submission for The Inferno.

Lucky Charm

2010-08-05T14:15:00.006-04:00

He came to with a sputter. The memory of the preceding moments rushed back as his heart beat wildly; blood gushing from the gaping wound to his head. Having avoided running over the raccoon, he now found himself lying sideways in a ditch on a godforsaken country road. He slowly reached out to the St Christopher medal, now hanging to the side of his rear view mirror.

“Please God, don’t let me die.”

“Do you really believe that will help?”

His eyes widened in fear at the sound of a voice in the car with him.

“Who’s there? Who are you?”

“I am known by many names. But it’s enough that I know yours and your situation. Are you afraid? Does holding that medallion and praying to your God help?”

Through blood blurred eyes he strained to see the face of the voice that taunted him from the back. He reeled in shock at the sight!

“Oh, do stop staring. It’s rude! You know perfectly well who I am. Did you believe that I would appear with horns and carrying a pitchfork? And you believe that angels have wings and play harps, right? I know all about angels. I am one myself. But then, you must have known that. Would you like me to remove all your pain? I can if you wish. But then, I think you would accept nothing from me. You clutch that medallion and believe in metal and forgotten saints.”

His mind reeled. This must be some sort of hallucination from the head injury.

“Of course it’s not an hallucination! Don’t think such silly thoughts. I simply enjoy dropping in at opportune moments to see how little mankind has progressed. I really have no idea why God spared you at all. You are small and insignificant. Oh well, I suppose that he enjoys the praise. Quite vain; don’t you think?”

He watched as a smile filled the face of absolute evil.

“Nothing to say then? Oh very well. To be honest, you are rather boring. There is a young famer and his wife approaching. They will find you and take you to the hospital where you will be mended. But remember this it had nothing to do with that silly medallion you hold so tightly in your hand! God did not answer your prayers! It is simply fate that you face now. Lucky charms do not exist! If they did, I would not exist! And I do, don’t I…………”

Soy Milk and Flax Seed

2010-07-24T12:13:00.003-04:00

This is my response to a posting on The Inferno about the dangers of using the last of someones soy milk and flax seed. Enjoy !

Oh my God! My head feels like a split melon! I’m afraid to open my eyes. What’s that smell? Oh lord, I think I have shat my pants! With all that Flax seed I consumed though, it’s little wonder. Thank God there are no budgies around, the seed and all that, well, the thought of a budgie pecked arse is way too much to bear just now.

Ok, open one eye, slowly. Uh oh, I recognize those nylons turned down to the knee and that floral print sun dress! Doris! Oh, her face looks like a fart through a barrel of nails. What have I done now? I would fake a smile, but I have neither the strength nor the desire. I think my left eye must be blinded! And, I can still taste vanilla soy milk in my mouth!

I should ask her for help to the bathroom. On second thought, seeing her there with the frying pan in one hand and the empty carton of Soy milk in the other, maybe it’s best I simply crawl away. I wonder when the sight will return to my left eye?

Ok, made it. Whew, them drawers will have to be burned! Lord, will I ever be normal again? Ok, let’s look into the mirror and assess the damage.

Good Heavens! My left eye is open but I can’t see from it! Wait, whew, I am starting to see shadows. Hey, what’s that? A tattoo? On my forehead? Huh? LAF-T ? What the hell??? How am I going to explain this down at the Legion hall?

Ok, I’ll shower and change and swallow a dozen Tylenol Extra Strength and take Doris out to breakfast. Let’s hope the sight returns to my left eye soon. Does this make me bi-polar sighted or something? I will fire off an e-mail to Oprah.

A Blistering Kiss

2010-07-14T18:26:00.006-04:00

The moon and stars
Mean nothing to me.
They are, but a sailors beacon.
Wayward romantics,
And self righteous poets,
Wither in ostentatious reason.

Love is hot,
It scalds the soul.
No balm to soothe the bliss.
Sweat drenched sheets,
Loves burning coals,
A kiss that blisters the lips.

I have kissed the sun
Caressed her heat,
Smelled her heady scent.
Be gone, yee bards of night
With prose, calculated and sweet.
Your rhymes borrowed, sad and lent.

Love dwells in the light
Not in the dark,
Waning moons and midnight lust.
Give way to afternoon delights
Naked, and unafraid
Till at last with the coming dusk,

My love retires,
Spent in her love.
One last searing kiss she gives.
Succumbed to her charms,
In awe I see the heavens above,
And curse the night,
Curse that which poets believe.

The moon and stars mean nothing to me…

Embrace The Wind

2010-06-29T18:37:00.004-04:00

Deep forest greens
block blue summer skies
and drop us in pearls of dew,
the moon wanes
the sun rides high
morning mists give way to the daylillies sigh

The gardener stands watch
His day, yet to begin
Surveys that, which his hands have wrought,
With scents as seductive
As the original sin
Natures battle, well won, fiercely fought

Soft blow the winds
As azure skies
Split the nights retreat,
Fat fuschias, periwinkles,
Morning glories and moonglows,
Our senses to entreat

Ancient oaks, frilly ferns,
Pretty primroses
All in a row
Daisy chains
And gin scented pines,
In abundance, flourish and grow.

The gardener smiles
His face weathered and worn
Giving proof to efforts untold,
Loving care
Unto natures wrath,
Unto this Eden, he has bartered his soul.

Rotund tomatoes
Fat on the vine
Red, luscious and sweet,
Basil, summer savoury, lemon thyme,
Smells to assail the senses
In the hazy summer heat

In the cool shade
Of the Weeping Willow,
Her tentacles loving embrace,
By a lazy river
In deep cool grass,
As sensual as leather and lace.

Unto all this
The gardeners embrace
Delicious and sublime
Sight, smell, touch, trace,
He caresses the face of The Devine

Embrace…

The Tears of A Fairie

2010-06-13T16:00:00.005-04:00

A wee submission for The Inferno's theme of A Midsummers Night's Dream

From that place wherein mortal dreams are born and do sail on the warm midsummer nights’ breezes, a child of the fairie woods weeps. Shards of moonlight slash through the leaves of an ancient and gnarled oak, like daggers of light that shineth down from the pale yellow orb; as to witness this child’s sorrow. Her sobs were so soft and sweet, so as to hush the song of the nightbird. Herein begins my tale. Whilst thou follow me to this ancient place and harken to the words spoken and now written for all time?

“Delphenia, why do I cometh upon you in sorrow? Wilst thou not join the great Fairie Circle and dance with us?”

“Dear Pinus, I have no words to share with thee tonight. Can not the great maker of dreams lift me from this place and carry me off to where my heart wouldst feel no more?”

Pinus crouched low; his tiny features once sparkling and wizened, now tinged with expressions of sadness and perplexion.

“What hath led you to this state of despair dear Delphenia? The Queen of the fairies doth await upon your presence.”

Delphenia turned sharply to Pinus.

“Begone Pinus! I would not have this conversation with thee! Thou art a knave, and the messenger of the Queen! My heart hath been torn from my chest and I am smote by the careless and callous words of Acer! Here I would stay till I breathe no more and become one with Mother Earth!”

Pinus recoiled at the onslaught of words so spoken in anger as to loose his footing and fall backwards.

“My dearest Pinus, art thou safe? Please forgive my anger. I wouldst not lend this sadness upon one such as you.”

Pinus arose. His features lay witness more to his embarrassment of having fallen. Fairie pride runneth deeper than the roots of the tree of life.

“Pray tell Delphenia, as Acer may be likened to a fool that sitteth on a fools throne, what words could he use to wreak this havoc on thine heart?”

“I dare not say Pinus.”

Pinus looked into the eyes of Delphenia as she spoke. She was young, and easily hurt.

“Are we not of the same ilk Delphenia? Wouldst thou now spurn me and turn from my friendship and love? Am I now to return to the Fairie Circle without you by my side? A pain, once shared, becomes half a pain. Thou hast pained me in this place this eve, and will nought but leave to wonder from whence that pain is derived? No Delphenia! Thine sorrow is my sorrow. Speak the words to me so I make take them from your mouth and dash them on the stones of forgiveness.”

“Oh Pinus, unworthy as I am of thine love and friendship, I shall share his words with thee. Acer told me that I had the hair of a tangled bramble bush and a nose like a ripe nettle!”

Delphenia began to sob and wail. Pinus let a small smile fill his face.

“Dear, dear Delphenia. Doth thou not realize the reason for which Acer made those childlike insults? Me thinks that Acer doth hold thee in rather high esteem! And as thou has seen fit to not return his advances, he strikes at the one place that even you cannot protect. Negative attention is attention nonetheless.”

“But dear Pinus, mine heart is no longer mine to protect. For it belongs to another. It is he who must protect it.”

Pinus looked bewildered. Even the wisest of fairies may sometime make a mistake in doing that by which all mortals are bound, not realizing the obvious. And as the realization became obvious on Pinus’ face, Delphenia smiled and moved closer.

The evening air crackled as Delphenia and Pinus embraced and a great dream swirled about them and rose high into the midsummer nights sky, and sailed off to the land of mortals.

I am the keeper of fairie dreams. Therefore, by the power of the Fairie Circle, I now entrust this dream to thee. Pinus and Delphenia dance still, and will always do so, on these warm midsummer nights; creating dreams.

And herein, my tale doth end, but simply in the telling.

Beauty In The Eye of The Beholder

2010-04-17T10:09:00.003-04:00

Lost in her book, the old lady’s appearance in her shop of once loved items became an annoyance. Take what you will and go! Yes, you can have that distraught teddy bear for a pittance! Just take it and be gone! The old lady seemed bedazzled and lost in delicious memories of a time lost in the pages of a school girls’ diary. Clutching the musty mementoes to her bosom, she weaved her way slowly to the cash register. With trembling hands, she counted out the neatly folded bills that would finalize the transaction that would make these treasures hers.

Smiling, she gathered up the change and dropped it in her bag. “It’s a lovely night. I am sorry to have disturbed you. Go back to your book.”

Her smile and the twinkle in her eye left no doubt that there was nothing malicious in her statement, and so, with the closing of the front door, she returned to her novel.

The air was thick with scents. Magnolia, Cypress, Spanish Moss, but none as intoxicating as the deep rich earth that permeated all. It carried on the night winds, soft and sultry. The chorus of bullfrogs echoed through the Louisiana night. These were heady smells.

Charles stared down at the gardens, dark shadows now blanketing the riotous colours that would come with sunrise. As he rose, the moonlight seemed to fill the room with an exquisite glow. Sumptuous, and erotic. Bathed in this golden hue, his body tensed at the sight that lay before him. Muscles taught, his blond hair, wild and untamed, dampened by the perspiration of unbridled wanton desire. His eyes turned to her. To Madelien. Her raven hair, tangled, falling over the pillows. Her soft breathing, lost in some unknown dream. The silk sheet, half draped over her nakedness. One perfect breast, exposed, and the shimmer in the moonlight of sweet summer sweat.

Her beauty was undeniable. His need was without question. His manhood stiffening in the eroticism of the moment, he let forth his tongue, and drew it from the bottom most part of her lower back and languidly worked his way her shoulders. Her soft sigh left no doubt as to his prowess in the ministrations that Charles knew all too well. Her salty taste on his lips was too much to bear. The kiss was savage. Biting lips and burning lust! Turning, and giving in to her own desires, Charles seized her and devoured her as he had with no other woman.

Lying in that four poster bed, the spires reaching out; like a fortress of secret dreams, Charles and Madelien fell; spent; to dream dreams that only lovers may. And all the scents of Cypress and Magnolia and Spanish moss, but most of all, the earth; the deep rich earth of Louisiana, and the chorus of the bullfrogs, as deep sleep fell.

Into The Oblivion

2010-03-15T17:58:00.005-04:00

Two stories for The Inferno's challenge.......

I am late

I am late. The steady drone of the traffic and drunks that pass below on Madison Avenue annoy me. The heat is oppressive. I sit here illuminated in the blue light of a blank screen on my laptop hoping against all hope to come up with the words that will save me from an editors wrath. My surroundings are dismal to say the least. Three days without air conditioning have taken their toll. My brilliance at constructing the most devastating foray into the human frailties are failing me.

As I sit back and watch the sweat flow and puddle into my navel, I remember Mr. Schmidt; a mediocre high school English teacher who told me that I would amount to nothing. How prophetic! How very sublime those words now seemed as they resonated in my addled brain, grown heavy with the demons of a vicious world. He would smile right now, seeing me like this. That garish all knowing smile. I detested him; his attempt at art; his disdain for all but classical. He was as unchanging as mans contempt for change. I loathed him. His only saving grace being that he had lived longer to read more than I! But that would change.

The brandy is playing tricks on me. As I watch the golden hue and see the fumes waft the droplets in my snifter upwards, I smile. The words will come. I know this. I look at the syringe. Sinister. Beckoning. I have always been afraid of needles. A family doctors compulsion of a shot of penicillin as the cure all put me in this state. And yet, tonight, the moonlight shined on the tip, a diamond, sparkling, luring, sensual and seductive. I knew my reprieve would be in its driving home.

I detest writing. The world feeds on me and those of my kind. They take from us what they will, and so callously spit on that which they believe below them. As tho they have rank! And this we do for a pittance. Some bauble of recognition. Acceptance. Yes, acceptance!

Reason falls away as the wail of the street rises to crescendos of depravity not known since Lucifer smiled at the sublime death of the chosen one. In the repressive heat, I gather up that great sword; and plunge it deep into my vein. I swoon, and feel the rush of the drugs overtake my human senses, and plunge me deep, deep, deeper still, into the chasm, into the still night, into oblivion.

Into Oblivion...

The rank stench of death smothers me. The gagging taste of opiates fill my mouth and assails my nostrils. Surrounded by loved ones; here on my deathbed; I am alone. They don’t know I am alive! I hear their every word!

Icy fingers clasp me from the sweat drenched cotton sheets that shroud my shriveled remains. How can I scream when I have not the strength to flutter one eye lid? Odd, I feel no pain. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? No one prepared me for this. How will it end? Is this really the end?

I should not have cursed God all those years past when Sarah was ripped from my loving arms. No, God could not exist! Or could he? I see no angels through the mist; no angelic choirs beckoning me home to HIS throne. All I hear is the incessant clicking of the rosaries and the drone of biblical prayers in hushed tones, so as not to disturb me. Disturb me from what? The perfect death? The very thought repulses me. I will lie here; mouth agape; drained of bodily fluids.

The very thought of what awaits the person who shall gather up my corpse and prepare it for the ride to the place where my body will be defiled and injected with all manner chemical preservatives sickens me. I am a prisoner to my fate. It has been said that people simply lose their will to live, and in so doing, die. I lost my will a long time ago it seems, and still, here I am. Maybe I can will myself to die? Die! Die!

Spare me your rosaries and prayers! I want them all to leave. Leave me now. I have so many questions, and so few answers. Though unafraid, I fear the final moment. What is beyond that final moment? The bile rises in my throat; hot and acidic. It burns. The pain is searing! I hear my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Louder, louder, louder. I can feel the convulsions now take my body; unable to stop them; I am lost, afraid. I hear a rattle escape from my throat, and feel a waxiness cover my face. And I suddenly smell my own bodies’ demise; in one great gush of dispelled matter.

And then into the abyss I fall, into the great unknown, into oblivion.

The Grey Time

2010-02-22T20:30:00.003-05:00

The Grey Time

In the grey time, I come to you,
when the shadows of the night give way to the creeping gold
that is to be the day,
The city sleeps, and the mist rises over the mountains, dreams untold,
babies breath, the stir before the awakening.

Looking out onto this grey, stark landscape, I turn
and see the beauty that lies just within my grasp,
the smoke from my cigarette wafts, and I know I'm home,
in the arms of my love, the city will awake, the sun will shine,
and I, once again, will love and be loved.

Dishonour, Chapter 11

2010-01-18T20:28:00.006-05:00

Special Agent Joshua “Perco” Perkins walked at a brisk pace towards his superiors’ office. He had no idea why the call was so urgent, but having been in the Secret Service these few years had taught him to never question; simply obey. As he arrived at the Directors office, the secretary rose and rapped sharply at the door, opened it, and waved Josh in.

Apart from the requisite portrait of The President, and a bevy of flags, the room was quite sparse. The Director, sitting behind his massive oak desk, looked older than when Josh had last seen him. His hair thinning and his paunch having increased in girth gave him a bloated look. He appeared for all concerned to be a man who had spent far too many nights pouring over documents, caught up in the bureaucratic nightmare of the present administration, all the while preparing for a new administration that would surely have effects on his department. It was all the talk amongst the younger agents these days. Who would be the next President and what would it mean to the men and women that would be delegated to protect him.

Without so much as a hello, and without raising his eyes from the folder before him, the Director asked Josh to take a seat.

“Special Agent Perkins. Are you aware of a person or persons calling themselves The Patriot?”

Josh looked at the Director now staring him squarely in the eyes awaiting his response. Cool blue eyes; piercing and dangerous.

“No sir, I have not.”

The Director returned his gaze to the open file before him.

“I’m not surprised. Until today, I hadn’t heard of him either. I see that you were an outstanding cadet at Rowley Training Center. What I am about to ask you could very well put that training to the test. We have a delicate situation on our hands here and we feel that you are the man for the job.”

Josh felt his throat squeezing and his stomach muscles tightening. Whatever was going down, it sounded dangerous. Still, this is what he was trained to do; without question.

The Director continued.

“We received a letter that was addressed to The Washington Post and signed The Patriot. This letter states that Senator Alex McCulloch is an enemy to the people of America and to quote, ’should be shot down in the street like the mongrel dog that he is.’ And that, to us Special Agent Perkins, represents a clear and present threat to possibly the next President of The United States Of America. We believe that this is an idle threat from the mind of some disillusioned nutcase. However, we take no threats against the lives of the people we serve mildly. I want this crazy son of a bitch brought in Agent Perkins! I want it done quietly and I want it done fast!

My secretary has a folder for you that contains all the information we have on this so far. The actual letter has gone off to the lab for analysis. You will get the results as soon as they come in. You have a free hand to use any means possible, and that includes personnel, to catch this idiot before he causes any more trouble. And one last thing. I understand that you have a friend, Special Agent Sam Banks, who works with the FBI?”

Josh cleared his throat and swallowed hard at spit that was not forthcoming.

“Yes sir. We were in the Academy together. We were roommates and have remained friends.”

“Good. The FBI is aware of this and we have spoken with Agent Banks’ superiors. Getting this Patriot fellow will be a joint effort and Special Agent Banks is being briefed as we speak. He will be your partner on this mission. But make no mistake Special Agent Perkins. You are to report to this office only! I am prepared to collaborate; but only so far! Are we clear on that?”

Josh looked at that clear blue stare once more and knew the full meaning of the Directors last words.

“Very much so sir, yes.”

“Good. Helen will give you the file on your way out. Good hunting and keep me posted. That’s all Agent Perkins. You are excused.”

Senator Davis Flatt stared at the the three men facing him; a murderous rage contorting his features.

“Have you all lost your god damned minds? Do you know the money, time and effort that I have put into this campaign? I should fire all your sorry asses and be done with it! How the hell can this countrys’ biggest Union decide to go over to that fucking McCulloch’s camp? How did this happen?”

“Senator Flatt, I was,,”

“Shut your god damned mouth or I’ll rip your tongue out! These things tend to have a domino effect. Once one goes over, the others gain confidence. Before you know it, that bastard McCulloch will get them all. That cannot and will not happen! I’ll put forward a motion for arbitration on every bloody contract that is outstanding! And, we will own the judges! It will not go well with them, I swear it!”

“Senator, may I say something?”

Senator Flatt rose and walked over to the window, staring blankly at the world, now passing him by.

“I honestly don’t know why I even try sometimes. Maybe the people of this great country aren’t worth saving. Say what you have to say, than get the hell out of my office!”

The three men looked at each other in disbelief. For the first time in their lives, Davis Flatt sounded utterly rejected and full of remorse and loathing self pity.

“Senator, I would be amiss in not advising you that your strategy of implying sanctions on the unions and business concerns of America is blowing up in our faces. They are not taking kindly to it. In fact, they see it as a sort of strong arm tactic to garnish their support. McCulloch is talking about downsizing the Military budget and putting that money into programs that support Americans buying products made in America. This all translates into bringing the boys home and creating new employment. A pie in the sky approach, I agree, but the people seem to love it. We have got to develop a new strategy, fast!”

Flatt looked out at the Washington sky, and for a moment imagined the blue skies of Texas. A calmness returned to him as he turned to face the three men awaiting his response.

“Get out of my office! Get out now!”

Flatt wandered over to his desk as the three men scampered out. As he sat down, his thoughts drifted off to Texas, and the wide plains where he grew up. He could almost smell the air; scented with desert rose and sagebrush and sand. Dry and warm. He almost smiled. Almost.

Staring at the phone, his thoughts returned to McCulloch. No, he would not be cheated out of his moment in history! Not McCulloch; not his incompetent staff; not the greedy unions and hungry corporate America; no one would cheat him! Not now, never!

As he reached out, the phone rang.

“Bill? I was just about to call you. What? Who? Who the hell is the Patriot? Oh shit! When? The FBI and the Secret Service? Bill, shut it down! Do it now! Shut it all down! We’ll resume when this wild ass is caught. You shut it down now Bill! You hear me? DO IT NOW!”

Davis slammed the phone down and made his way over to the bar, poured a large Wild Turkey and gulped it down in one swift swallow. He grimaced as the whiskey made its way down his throat and wandered back over to the large windows and stared out.

Texas and home were far away. He never felt so alone in his life. He imagined McCulloch in his office, wringing his hands in glee at having won over the biggest union in the country and that thought made Senator Davis Flatt an even more dangerous man. He would bide his time, for now. But McCulloch had to die!

Shifting Shadows

2009-11-01T07:28:00.002-05:00

A smothering sky, black as coal
Choked the landscape of red and gold
And in its’ wake, the evil unfolds
Dreamless night, dank and cold

A lonely rider, high on a bluff
Inches his mount along a trail rocky and rough,
Numb from the cold, rested barely enough
The reigns slip, from finger to cuff

Slumped in the saddle, he whispers a prayer
He raises his eyes, as though someone is there
But no one is listening, nobody cares
Slumping further, he clutches his mare

The winds whisper, succumb to your fate,
Your life has been filled with anger and hate
Beseech your God, his answer await,
Till then you are mine, your peril is great

He watches the stones tumble and fall
Sees the blackness that covers all
His soul beaten, slashed and mauled
And then he feels nothing; nothing at all

Like the freefall of the condemned, upon the gallows
The cold anticipation that chills to the marrow
A bone crushing death, below in the dark hollows
Another victim of shifting shadows...

The Witch's Bed

2009-10-17T13:18:00.003-04:00

Lightening slashed the black velvet sky
Winds ripped the last colours of autumn
Giant oaks creaked, in unison cried
Bracing the witch’s wind, unable to run

A lonely figure silhouetted in black
Stared up at the skies and wailed
If this be my fate, so final, a fact,
Then allow my story to tell

Once I was loved, and loved so dear
Was blessed, and walked with angels
My vision of happiness, oh so clear
No fears, no doubt, no dangers

Into the clutches, headlong I fell
Into the arms of a woman
Beguiled and bewildered, a bottomless well
Of passion, no man can fathom

I drank deep from the cup, lust and desire
Without thought of the demands to come
My loins burned with passions fire
Satiated in the deed, exhausted, spent, done

She offered up drink, a ruby red elixir
I swallowed it with wild abandon
Thick and sickly sweet, as the tunes of a zephyr
In an instant, my soul was undone

Cursed be the night, cursed be the day
Cursed be the moon, cursed be the stars
Cursed be the method, and cursed be the way
And cursed am I, for I will always be this way

For in a witch’s bed have I slept
Her bidding forever my task
A longing for death, a wish, a promise never kept
Till that one day, long at last

Her thirst for herbs, and blood and hate
Will end in a fiery ball
If I am lucky, then with my mate
I will ascend to that golden hall

Till then, heed my words
Beware that which appears too good
Or suffer my fate, lost between two worlds
Before can becomes could

If God exists, then strike me down
This night, be my reprieve
But that is a dream, I am on my own
And always will be it seems

And so I search, never rest
On this all hallowed eve
The blood of innocents is my quarry
And what should I perceive,

You who are reading
Do you feel safe? Do you see my shadow behind?
What are the feelings you are feeling
Are you sure it’s only your mind?

And lightening slashed the black velvet sky…

Ode To a D

2009-10-07T17:48:00.001-04:00

The silver seeds of spring, on gentle breezes fly,
tickling the warm soil, before back up to the heavens they fly,
seeking that perfect place, wherein they shall lie,
giving birth to their colour, in the warm sun, growing high.

Deep green and gold, this is her gift,
she thwarts all attempts, though narrowly missed,
mans dominion over nature, his control over bliss,
will not stave her from her duty, rest assured of this.

She watches as you trudge, off to your car,
she sees the skies, the clouds, above so far,
she smiles as she knows, a victim you are,
to the beauty she possesses, to the wonder of the briar.

They grow in profusion, splashes of gold,
emerald green, shapes strong and bold,
try as you may, with efforts untold,
she resists, and beckons, your efforts turned cold.

Embrace her, and love her, for she is the one,
who will never desert you, as others have done,
she dances in the wind, with wild abandon,
til she again gives up her seed, to the warm summer sun.

Don't ya just hate Dandelions?

Quiet Scream

2009-10-04T20:11:00.002-04:00

Things just didn’t feel right as Bill Stanford pulled off to the side of the country road. He opened the map and traced with his finger the route he had been taking. He should have already arrived in Cedarville. As beautiful as the country road was; with tall standing pines and wildflowers in profusion; the hour was getting late. A hot meal and a warm bed to curl up in was all he wanted right now.

Odd that he hadn’t seen another car on this road in the last two hours. It made asking directions all the more difficult. The choices were clear. Two hours of driving back to the nearest truck stop, or forge on and hope to find some diner or homestead where he might get some help. Bill chose the latter as he slipped the shifter into drive and pulled back onto the road.

The sun was going down, and tall shadows were slithering across the road as he made his way through the turns and curves. This would be a tricky road to maneuver after nightfall. He stared ahead intently, gripping the steering wheel tightly and would have missed it if his peripheral vision hadn’t been so acute. Daddy Bucks Home Fixins’. Thank God! A meal and directions.

He hit the brakes, and turned into the gravel parking lot, raising a cloud of red dust behind him. Definitely not one of your fine diners Bill thought as he turned off the ignition. Apart from an ancient and worn out red pick up truck and a tacky old Oldsmobile, the parking lot was bare. As he got out of his car, he raised his eyes to the sign of the diner and noticed that some local yokel must have at one time used it for target practice. Still, it beat driving around in circles at night on this godforsaken road, and despite his misgivings, he pulled on the door and walked in.

His senses were assaulted as he walked into the dank darkness that was this diner. The air was thick with smells of things, too long left unattended. Hank Williams moaned out from the jukebox about how lonely he was. The tables and chairs were dusty and dirty and looked as though they had not been used in years. But the shiny red vinyl counter seats had been arse rubbed to a high gloss. Fly corpses hung suspended on a long brown sticky strip hanging behind the big man.

“ Howdy stranger “

He was a mountain of man. In a stained wife beater tee shirt and camouflage pants. His grin showed the left side of his teeth missing, no doubt from a solid kick to the mouth Bill thought as he advanced to the counter. Though his gut feelings told him to turn and run out of this place with all his might, Bill proceeded nervously and took a seat on the shiny swivel stool.

“ Howdy. What can I get ya this evening?”

Bill looked around for anything that might resemble a menu then thought better of it as he watched that fly strip slowly flowing in the stinky breeze that wafted through this putrid place.

“ I’ll just have some coffee please. “

The smile left the big man’s face as he leaned forward, resting his huge bear-like hands on the greasy counter.

“ Oh come on now! A strapping young feller such as yerself needs nourishment! Pickins have been a might slim these days with huntin’ season about to open, but I can still wrassle ya up a plate of Daddy Bucks special stew! Think we might have enough left for one last serving. What ya say city? “

Bill heard the skinny country boy at the far end of the counter snicker as Daddy Buck waited on his answer. Obviously he was the owner of the pick up. As much as he didn’t want to know anything about food in this place, to refuse now might be taken as an insult. He was in a strange place, with strange people, alone on a dark night in the middle of nowhere, and so he accepted Daddy Bucks offer.

Daddy reared like a big old bear and let out a throaty laugh. “ Enjoy the stew son, but don’t be thinkin’ yer gonna be gettin’ my recipe! “

Again there was that snicker, more like a cackle from down the counter. Bill squirmed and squeaked on the hot vinyl seat.

Daddy Buck whirred into action. He pulled a dirty plate from the sink and ran it under hot water for a minute and dried it with a decrepit tea towel. Bill’s stomach was churning watching the sight unfolding before him, wondering how on earth he was going to get any of Daddy Bucks food down his throat.

“ Won’t be but a minute city. “

Bill looked down at the man at the end of the counter who was nursing a beer and leering at him in a lascivious way that sent shivers up Bill’s back.

“ Daddy Buck, may I ask? How far is it to Cedarville? “

Daddy Buck turned towards Bill and in a nonchalant tone told him it was about two miles down the road. Bill felt the bile rise in his throat. Two miles? And he had put himself through all this torture for two lousy miles? Bill rose from the vinyl seat.

“ Hey, where ya goin’ city? “

“ I’m sorry Daddy Buck, but I have an urgent appointment in Cedarville that can’t wait. I will gladly pay you for the dinner, but I really can’t stay. “

As Bill started towards the door, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He swung around into the face of the country boy from the end of the counter. His look was demonic and filled with rage.

“ Ya ain’t very polite there city! Daddy Buck here went to a lot of trouble for ya, and you just walk away? That may be the way they do things in the city, but out here, well, we are simple folk who believe in God, country and damned good manners! “

Bill felt a sense of dread and looked towards Daddy Buck who was ripping off his apron like he was getting ready to rumble. Bill raised his hands to his chest, palms outwards and said “ Hey, I’m not looking for any trouble here. I just have to get to an appointment is all ! “

The country boy advanced with a demeanor leaving no doubt of his intentions. Bill turned back towards the counter.

“ Ok, on second thought, my appointment can wait for ten minutes. “

Daddy Buck started whistling through his half a mouth of teeth as he put his apron back on.

“ Smart move city “ said the country boy as he headed back to his seat.

As Bill turned back, Daddy Buck slid the plate of hot stew before him.

“ Enjoy city, but remember what I said; ya can’t have my recipe! “

Daddy Buck was beaming from ear to ear, waiting for Bill to dig in. Bill slipped in a fork, and slowly raised it to his mouth. It was the most horrible thing he had ever tasted. The meat tasted funny, and was fatty. Pale and creamy, it sort of slid down his throat, leaving a greasy trail to his stomach. Bill nibbled at the sparse serving of vegetables in the plate, but they had absorbed the flavour of that ghastly meat, whatever it was. He started to feel dizzy, weak, nauseous. As he let his fork drop, he tried to rise to his feet but felt his knees buckle as the world spun out of control and as the darkness set in, he heard that snicker, resounding over and over in his mind and all went black.

Voices were making their way through the blackness as Bill gradually regained some awareness. Distant, but growing louder as he struggled to open his eyes. The searing pain in his mouth hit him like a bolt of lightning and he tried to scream, but nothing but guttural grunts were all he could manage. He suddenly realized he couldn’t feel his teeth; nor the roof of his mouth! My God! My tongue was gone!

His eyes widened against the realization of his situation. Tied down securely in what looked to be a butcher shop! Drawing on all his forces to break the ties that bound him to the table but they would not budge! He strained to hear what was being said in the next room.

“ Morning Sheriff. How we doing this fine morning? “

Morning? How long had Bill been unconscious? And what had happened to him?

“ Mornin’ Daddy Buck. Mornin’ JJ. Sorry Daddy, but I have a few questions for ya. Some city fellow never showed up at his hotel last night in Cedarville and his bosses are concerned that he had an accident. Y’all aint seen nothing have ya? “

Bill tried hard as he could to grunt with all his might, over and over again!

“ Nope Sheriff, ain’t seen a thing. How about you JJ? “

“ Nope, been here all night, and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of no city guy. “

Bill was frantic! Yelling as loud as he could as the tears and blood chocked his grunts, he coughed blood and bile; every muscle straining against the restraints.

“ What’s that sound in the back there Daddy ? “

“ Aw Sherrff, it’s just the wifes’ retard brother. I am babysittin’ him while she is in Cedarville getting her hair done. “

“ Alright then Buck, what’s for breakfast this morning? “

“ Well Sheriff, how about some fried, thinly sliced tongue, a couple of eggs, grits and coffee? I got me a new shipment of meat last night. “

Bill eyes bulged to the point of exploding from his head as he heard them all laughing in otherworldly possession.

“ And tell ya what Sheriff, bring yer lady around tonight. I am gonna prepare a fine roast leg with all the trimmins fer dinner. “

Bill felt his stomach heave as he trembled uncontrollably, and the last thing he heard before his heart exploded in his chest was that snicker…and the diner became the dined upon.

And Now Something Completely Different

2009-09-29T20:52:00.003-04:00

I have taken a break from Dishonour for just a short while. In the meantime I’ll be writing and posting poetry, tales and what ever else comes to mind. As well, I’ve joined The Inferno, a group of amazing literary folks. The Price was submitted to the first Challenge, Curiousity Killed The Cat. Enjoy !

The Price

I don’t know what was worse. The cold and damp night air; the biting mosquitoes; or the fact that I had been lost in these damned woods for nearly three hours! Stick to the main trail they said. Ya, right! A guy steps off the trail to relieve himself amongst all the glory of Mother Nature, and next thing you know, you seem to be going deeper in rather than coming out. I was beginning to think that nature itself was conspiring against my safe return to my campsite! It wasn’t getting easier as it grew darker, but at least with the full moon rising, I could still see enough to avoid the most obvious hazards.

The forest seemed to be transforming itself from its normal daylight wonder world into something foreign and strange. The noises, the shadows, the creaking of dead tree limbs, all heightened my instinct to listen and look harder than I had ever done before. Perhaps that was a mistake. The human imagination being what it is, I thought it might be best to just ignore most of what I see and hear and continue on my quest of getting out of this godforsaken place!

I was starting to creep myself out. This is not a good thing. I was getting tired. But, in spite of my fatigue, I was determined that I wasn’t going sit up beside some tree in damp leaves to shiver and wait for the sun to rise. No way! I continued on. Stumbling here, cursing there, and the ceaseless swatting at those carnivorous bloodsucking beasts of the woods they call mosquitoes. As I stumbled over some mammoth dead stump of a tree, the sound of running water arose from ahead. I proceeded toward it with renewed inspiration. The brush thickened as I clawed my way through; thrashing like a bear in a raspberry thicket, till at last it opened unto a clearing. My immediate thoughts were those of salvation and jubilation. I could always follow the water; right?

What lay before me was a magical place. Lush ferns languished amongst thick velveteen grasses like giant sails rising out of an emerald lake. The water of the creek danced and splashed over ancient rocks; worn smooth with time. Droplets exploding in mid air like diamonds shattering in the moonlight. The fresh smells were intoxicating and delicious. And all was bathed in the silvery light of the full summer moon hanging low in a star filled sky.

I have no idea how long I stood there, stunned, in silent wonder.

“ You must pay a price!”

I swung around to see who had just said that! A strange, small voice. I saw no one there, so I called out, “ I’m sorry. What did you say?”

I waited for a response which didn’t seem to be coming.

“ Is anyone there?”

“ You must pay me a price!”

Again that voice. It seemed to come from no where in particular, but more like being carried on the warm summer breezes.

“ Who and where are you? Come out so I can see you.” Again I waited,,,,

“ I shall. But first, you must agree to pay me a price!”

I have never been the most patient of men, and this little game with my unknown protagonist was starting to unnerve me.

“ Fine! Name a price, and come out where I may see you!”

I had no intention of being blackmailed by anyone for information on how to get out of this wood, but my curiosity had gotten the better of me.

“ Then you agree to pay me a price?”

I thought to myself, I just might throttle this person when they show themselves, and so I answered.

“ Yes, yes. Whatever. Now, show yourself!”

A loud laugh filled the air. An evil laugh filled with wild abandon. I watched as a small shadow approached slowly until at last he emerged from the dark undergrowth and into the full light. I stumbled back, my legs growing cold and numb as I looked into the face of the voice that had taunted me. His eyes were tiny slits. His nose was long and pointed decidedly upwards. His sneer contorted his troll like face, and sparse whiskers covered his pointy chin. All of three feet high, his legs bowed like a horseshoe.

He wrung his hands and giggled and jiggled as he stared down at me on the ground; frozen in fear. His face grew serious as he licked his greasy lips and proceeded to address me.

“ All you see, belongs to me.
From that rock way down there, all the way to that tree.
You have entered my home, unasked I might add,
and now a price you shall pay, for behaviour so bad.”

My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I struggled to suck in air. My mind was afire with fear and dread. A price, yes, but what? I had nothing of true value on me. And what was with this rhyming thing of his?

“ You mentioned a price, but still you haven’t said what that price you want is. What did you have in mind?”

His eyes widened, and that sneer returned to his gnarled face. He hopped from foot to foot, in a distorted little dance.

“ Your desire to leave my happy abode, this wondrous place I own,
comes with a price, which you must pay, to this bargain, you are bound.
A price you say? A price it is, and when you have failed,
I will have your soul, mine to keep, chained, tethered and bailed.
I shall give you a verse, slowly at first, one that you must complete.
And when you fail, to complete the tale, you’re soul is mine to keep!”

This was madness! My mind was reeling! I couldn’t think, let alone complete one of his nonsensical rhymes.

“ If I do this, what’s to stop you from saying that I wasn’t right? For all I know, you could be making this all up as you go along! How can I win? You are trying to trick me!”

He went motionless and glared at me. The blood drained from my face as I saw the full horror of my last remark reflected in his evil stare.

“ Trick you? Trick you, you say? We have made a deal!
A bargains’ a bargain, a pact is a pact, the agreement signed and sealed!”

His demeanour left no doubt as to his seriousness; and so, in quiet resolution, I agreed. He drew close to me as though he would whisper. His breath was foul and repugnant and I grimaced as he slowly began…

“Every man is free to choose,
To gamble, win or lose,
To think with his heart,
To hurt with his words,
The choices are his to use.
To spurn the love,
And embrace the hate that steadily grows inside,
To build the walls,
Never heeding the calls,
Till all the beauty has died.
I have such beauty,
I have no walls for as far as the eye can see,
Finish my rhyme,
In verse so sublime,
And …”

He drew back from me, allowing me reprieve from the foul stench that exuded from his body and breath. I couldn’t think. The verses kept going around and around in my head, in endless repetition. My only thoughts were that of escape. I had no idea what this tiny troll of a man would want! That’s when I finally understood. I slowly repeated the verse in my mind, trying to grasp its meaning. If I finished his rhyme, what would be my reward? Freedom! Yes! That was it!

“ Before I give you my answer, may I ask you something?”

He stared at me with a quizzical look upon his wizened features, suddenly grown soft.

“ I think you may have already answered your own question, but yes.”

I don’t know if it was the moon playing tricks on the old man, but he seemed to be transforming before my eyes. Wisdom shone thru his misshapen features as he awaited my question.

“ This was all for my benefit, wasn’t it?”

He cocked one eye and leaned back against a stone.

“ Finish the rhyme!”

And in an instant, I knew.

“ And the traveller shall go free.”

He let out a loud laugh as he fell back on his rotund arse. Then he drew his knees up to his chest and looked me in the eye.

“ I followed you thru the woods. In spite of all the beauty that surrounded you, you saw nothing but the ugliness. You were so absorbed in your own self pity at being lost, you lost track of where you were lost. Being lost in the beauty of nature has immeasurable rewards. But, you refused to see that. And now, I have shown you the way and given you a choice. It is yours to use. You may stay here the night and watch the sun rise over the water, or you can carry on. Use your choice wisely.”

And with that, he rose and wandered back off from where he came. I laid back and stared up at the stars and swore; never again to lose sight of the beauty that surrounds us all.

Dishonour, Chapter 10

2009-06-16T18:00:00.004-04:00

The machinery droned on, relentlessly filling the plant with oppressively hot, greasy air. Phillip, feeling a little worse for wear after a night of fine Scotch whiskey, could feel the sweat trickle down his back, sticking his khaki shirt to his body. His head was throbbing as he tried in vain to keep his mind on the task at hand. Enough was enough he thought as he made his way to the plant managers office to advise him that he was taking the rest of the day off. As he pulled out of the parking lot, the thought of going home and preparing lunch seemed too much trouble today. He would stop and pick up some take out food.

La Cucina was bustling, trying to keep up with the lunchtime crowd. A local eatery; what it lacked in opulence, it certainly made up for in fine Italian cuisine. Loryanne stared at Sam who was idly eyeing the lunchtime specials on the menu. She thought how handsome he looked sitting there in his impeccable suit. Her thoughts drifted back to childhood days and summer fun during school break. Sam loved to tease her with wild abandon, but she also knew how much he loved her; unconditionally. He had his Dad’s smile, but he had Mom’s pale blue eyes, his most striking feature; one that Loryanne was always secretly jealous of.

“ Hey! Are you going to order or sit there daydreaming all day? ”

Sam’s remarks brought Loryanne back to reality.

“ Well, I’m not really that hungry. Maybe I’ll just pick at whatever you’re having. ”

Sam frowned and Loryanne smiled as she knew how much Sam hated anyone touching his plate.

“ No way Jose! Order a soup or something, but you’re not getting any of mine! ”

“ You’re such a wussy Sam! ” Loryanne said as she returned her gaze to her menu.

Phillip could smell the pizza sauce and hot bread as he walked into La Cucina and made his way to the takeout counter. Idly looking up from her menu, Loryanne saw Phillip standing there in the corner. She let out a barely audible “ Oh shit ” as she quickly buried her face back into the menu.

Sam perked up in his seat, staring wide eyed at Loryanne with her face hidden behind the meal list, then turned slowly to see Phillip standing at the takeout counter.

“ A friend of yours LA? ”

Loryanne was in no mood for teasing just now.

“ Sam, just shut up and decide what you want. ”

Sam put on a playful pout.

“ Aw, but I would love to meet any friend of yours! ”

He was up and out of his seat in a flash, and making his way towards Phillip. Loryanne was quickly moving into a panic.

“ Sam, you get right back here this instant! ”

Her words came out as more of a hiss than a command. Sam, on the other hand, simply grinned over his shoulder as he continued to march towards Phillip, up till now, still ignorant of Loryanne’s presence in the restaurant.

“ Hello there! I’m Sam Banks. ”

Phillip swung around to see Sam with his hand outstretched.

“ I believe that you know my sister over there. ”

Phillip turned and stared into the enraged face of Loryanne. Shaking Sam’s hand, Phillip told him that, while yes, he had met her, they were not good friends. Sam had a disappointed look as he further inquired as to where they had met.

“ It was nothing really; just a cocktail party with some friends. ”

Sam’s look changed instantly from disappointment to bewilderment.

“ A cocktail party? Loryanne went to a cocktail party? ”

Sam’s face was now beaming with an unbridled smile.

“ It must have been at Alex McCulloch’s house. Right? I mean, Alex is the closest friend she has! ”

Phillip was growing very tired with Sam’s apparent inquisition.

“ No, it was another friends house. Now, if you will excuse me Sam, I would like to order and get home. ”

Sam persisted.

“ Tell you what, why don’t you join us for lunch? My treat! ”

Phillip was saved by the sound of the girl behind the counter asking him for his order.

“ Sorry Sam, perhaps another time? I have a killer headache and I really must get home. ”

Sam shook Phillips hand, wished him well, and made his way back to a livid looking Loryanne.

“ Sam, you have a hell of a nerve young man! How could you? Honestly, sometimes I could just smack you! ”

Sam was grinning like a guilty schoolboy as he took his seat.

“ So, a cocktail party eh? ”

Loryannes face flushed into a beet red.

“ What did he tell you? ”

Sam noticed a look of panic in Loryanne’s eyes.

“ Geez, calm down LA. He simply told me that he met you at a party at some friends’ house. What’s going on here Sis? What did you do? Is there something I should know? Did he try to get fresh with you? ”

“ Sam! Stop! No, he didn’t get fresh with me. This is none of your business! Stay out of it! Ok, I have lost my appetite. Order your lunch and I’ll just have some tea. ”

Sam fell back into his chair.

“ Ok, now I know something is terribly wrong here! I know that tone you’re using with me! You have me worried now LA. Who are these people that you’re having cocktails with? What are you hiding from me? ”

Loryanne burst into tears as she rose abruptly from her seat.

“ Sam! For Christ’s sake stop! I’m your sister! How dare you interrogate me. I asked you nicely, and I won’t tell you again! Stay the hell out of this! Eat your lunch on your own! I’m going home. And don’t call me LA again! ”

Sam sat dumbfounded and red faced as he realized that just about every patron and employee in La Cucina had just witnessed Loryanne’s outburst. Apart the soft sounds of recorded mandolin music, the restaurant was deathly quiet as Loryanne stormed out.

As Sam sat waiting for his food; one finger twirling the ice in his water glass; he came to the conclusion that he had learned three things today. One; something about that cocktail party last night pushed a button in Loryanne; BIG time. Two; this fellow Phillip was a part of it. And three; sometimes people need saving, in spite of themselves, and Loryanne had already had way too much sorrow in her young life. So, as her beloved brother, he would find out all he could about that soiree and who else was there. He was, after all, an FBI Agent.

Dishonour, Chapter 9

2009-05-23T12:41:00.005-04:00

Loryanne opened one eye. Her bed seemed far too comfortable to crawl out of this morning. As her second eye opened, she stared at the ceiling fan humming softly as whisps of cool morning air drifted down and over her. It had been a short and dreamless night. She was always happy when she didn’t dream. There hadn’t been good dreams ever since “that” night. Haunted by visions of violence and personal violations and all the pain and anger that embellished her demonic dreams, they rose like a towering wall of tortured souls screaming for salvation. It always ended the same; with her feet stuck to the ground, unable to reach out and push back the wall that closed in and smothered her muffled cries, till she woke up shaking uncontrollably.

Loryanne swung her feet out from below the duvet and sat up abruptly. No, she would not think such thoughts just now. She raised her hands above her head and yawned and stretched. Plodding her way to the bathroom, she stopped to look out the front windows at a new day dawning. The sun was strong and hot, and promised to bring a beautiful late summers day to all. Reaching the bathroom, she pulled the string at the waist of her mens’ pyjama bottoms. They fell down around her ankles and she plopped her self down on the seat.

Sitting there, her thoughts returned to last nights meeting with Phillip and the look on his face as she explained the events of her past. Well, she thought, I guess that’s one man that won’t be calling me up for a date! She started to giggle at her silly thoughts as she reached out to an empty roll of toilette paper. Damn! She reached inside the shower and turned on water till steam started to rise and fog the large mirror over the bathroom vanity. As smells of soaps and shampoos filled the bathroom, Loryanne’s mind was whirring; planning her timetable for all she had to get done today. After a stop at the office to pick up some files for an upcoming case, she had a doctors appointment to keep. She always hated her appointments with Dr. Katz, but he was the best Internal Medicine doctor there was to be found, and he had worked miracles for her after her rape.

After that, it was lunch with her brother Sam. Sam was younger than Loryanne by 2 years and she adored him. He was smart and handsome, with a good education and with an amazing array of loyal friends who were always trying to set him up with the “perfect” girl. After high school, he went on to study Police Sciences and was accepted at the Police Academy. Upon graduation, he accepted the job as a Field Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. His career was rock solid and his supervisors showered praise on the young Agent. The only thing that really bothered Loryanne was the annoying pet names that he gave everyone. In her case, it was LA. He always said that Loryanne was too long to say, and so even as a child, he would call her LA. Her constant admonishing and berating him; insisting that LA was in fact Los Angeles would not daunt him. He would only smile at her and say “ ya, well, whatever”. He was hopeless.

Loryanne climbed out of the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy white bath towel. Wiping her hand across the steam covered mirror, she looked deep into her face and let one finger trace down the ugly scar. Why had God been so cruel? She had worked hard in school and had achieved success at a young age. She was surrounded by friends who loved her and encouraged her when she had proclaimed that she wanted to donate six months after graduation to working for Houses For Habitat. Her suitors were plentiful and she looked forward to finding the right man and raising a family. She sang in the church choir and always gleefully volunteered to help out at the Bazaars. But all that changed in the wink of an eye.

She dropped the towel to the floor and gazed at her nakedness. Who would have her now? She would never be a mother, a lover, a wife. She braced her hands on the vanity, lowered her head, and wept, almost whimpering like scared child. No arms would ever hold her in a loving embrace and kiss away the pain and tears. These cold silent walls would be her only reprieve from a cruel world. And so, Loryanne Banks was alone.

She raised her head in defiance and stared at the mirror; a flash of anger in her dark eyes. Loryanne took a deep breath, pulled the towel back around her naked body and strode out of the bathroom. A new day was here, and she was determined to make it the best day ever; a day with room for no remorse and silly self pity. No, she was stronger than that. Much stronger! Wasn’t she?

Looking for just the right thing to wear, Loryanne kept seeing Phillips startled face in her mind. Somehow, she just could not shake it. It was quite silly really; he hated her, and she him! And still, pangs of guilt at her brutal barrage on him last night haunted her. As she pulled out the gray pinstriped business suit, she held it up high to admire it and said out loud, “ I’m sure that Phillip would love me in this!” Lowering the suit, she let out an audible gasp, “ Phillip? I meant Sam! “

She flopped down on the bed and sighed as she watched the ceiling fan slowing turning in circles.

“ I don’t know what I mean anymore.”

Senator Alex McCulloch was a handsome man. His hair was cropped short, slightly greying at the temples and pulled forward in a rough finger comb. Having spent countless days in shopping mall parking lots and college campus lectures where he extolled the need for America to return to the values that made this nation great, his skin was tanned and firm from the hot Maryland sun. Although 43 years old, he looked more like a young Hollywood star.

His beliefs were strong and his bank account was short. And America loved him! His office was more like a shrine to past sports heroes and memorabilia than it was a Senators office. Dressed casually in navy blue slacks and buttoned down white shirt; less the tie; McCulloch was the epitome of laid back. His brilliance was unquestionable and his Presidential platform flawless. With impeccable credentials and an unblemished past, Alexander McCulloch was poised to usher in a new era for American history.

Unfortunately, the major industrialists were squeamish about taking on Senator Davis Flatt and his Texas cohorts. Lobbyists were hard on the trail declaring that support for McCulloch would be viewed by the future administration as in fact being an attack on the platform of the future President of the United States. That, of course, being Davis Flatt. And while never being stated, the insinuations of sanctions and withdrawal of financial support for those industries that transgressed would be serious considerations.

The American people loved McCulloch, but the American people did not award loans and bailouts. This was at best a crap shoot. The industrialists had the future of their empires to consider, and their shareholders were pushing relentlessly to get into bed with McCulloch. The unions were wavering on their support, and a large number of contract negotiations were upcoming. Time was running out, and they would have to declare their support soon. The McCulloch camp was well aware of Flatt’s influence and money. But they were also banking on the fact that industry would have to declare an allegiance quickly; bringing with it greatly needed funds.

Alex looked out his window and watched as a pigeon alighted on his window sill.

“ Oh to be as free as a bird with nary a thought to bother. You are luckier than me dear friend. A few grains of seed and a warm sill on which to perch are all that you need.”

Alex turned and stared hard at the phone.

“ Call Stan, for Christs sake, call!”

Dishonour, Chapter 8

2009-05-09T06:54:00.002-04:00

“ I’m Melinda’s brother. My friends call me Dan.”

As Phillip grasped the young mans outstretched hand, he noticed the family resemblance. The same soft brown eyes and dark hair. A friendly, open smile.

“ Regardless of Loryanne’s remarks Mr. Preston, the people here tonight are all victims; in much the same way you were a victim. I would like you to regard our little gathering here as a support group for victims.”

Phillip realized the irony in Dan’s remark and suppressed the urge to smile at the idea of a support group for felons.

“ I really don’t want to hear any more horror stories of who did what to whom Dan. That was not my reason for coming here tonight.”

A look of perplexity clouded Dan’s features.

“ May I ask Mr. Preston, exactly what were your reasons for accepting my sisters’ invitation to join us tonight?”

Phillip looked out around the room to the others, oblivious to the conversation going on between the two men. They milled about, sipping their wine, and partaking in lively party chat, only Loryanne looked on; a bemused smirk on her face. Phillip felt an icy chill run up his spine.

“ Mr. Preston?”

Phillip turned to the young man.

“ Ok, before we continue Dan, please stop calling me Mr. Preston. Call me Phillip. As for the reason I accepted your sisters invitation, well, I didn’t see that I really had any choice! I’m sure Melinda has all the best intentions. She seems a very nice woman. But quite frankly Dan, I was convinced that by this time I would have been arrested and charged. Make no mistake, I enjoy my freedom as much as the next guy but I was perfectly willing to accept the consequences of my actions; and still am. I make no excuses, and ask for no special consideration. I would be a liar to say that I have no regrets. But I am more than willing to live with those regrets. Unlike that Loryanne woman in there!”

Dan grabbed Phillips shoulder and looked deep into his eyes.

“ I understand perfectly Phillip, and, it’s alright. I’ll also make sure that you don’t hear anymore horror stories tonight. But please, just meet the people here. I’m sure you will see that they are all perfectly normal people who have felt the very same things you are feeling right now. Draw on their experience and resolve. You deserve a normal life Phillip; in spite of all the terrible stuff that has happened. Try to remember that. And try to also remember that we are all here to make that happen. Here, no one will judge you. We have no secrets. This is simply a circle of friends. Someone you can call at 2 in the morning when remorse sets in. Someone who will listen, and know. And, it will happen Phillip. Trust me; trust us all. We understand.”

He saw the sincerity and compassion in the young mans eyes and words. Looking past Dan, he saw Melinda. Her face showing an air of apprehension on what would follow and he suddenly felt sorry for her. The realization of all that she had done to make him welcome. Her tremendous efforts in making this a very special evening. A sudden wave of guilt washed over him as his thoughts of a plan to kill Melinda and her son came to the forefront of his mind. And he thought of Rose and Carly. He suddenly felt more ashamed than he had ever felt in his life, and his cheeks went crimson at the disgust that welled up inside him. Had he been just a tad weaker, he would have broken down in great heaving sobs. But Loryanne was watching; that demonic smirk fixed on her face; the evil scar enhancing her sinister regard. And so, he agreed to stay.

And no one was happier at his acceptance to stay than Brad Stryker. He wheeled Phillip about the room like a long lost brother; introducing him to all those present. Melinda smiled and brought out fresh pastries and she gleefully poured exotic wines of the world. Dan was chatting with a pretty young woman who was showing far more interest in his conversation then a young woman should. The talk was light and lovely and the guests were engaging, IF, you avoided Loryanne! And Phillip did.

Loryanne stood off in a corner, drinking her wine and eating with wild abandon; not really paying much attention to any conversation that might come her way. She was cold and inconsiderate and the conversation seemed to move away from her. And, she seemed to delight in that. Aloof and uncaring, she remained stoic right up until she announced her thanks for the food and wine, but she must be gone.

Upon reaching the front door, she pulled hard on the handle and turning, gave one last smile to Phillip.

“ Welcome to our little country club Phillip!”

And with that, Loryanne Banks was gone. The room seemed lighter without her presence. As the wine flowed, the conversation became more relaxed and Brad and Phillip agreed that Loryanne was a total bitch! They laughed their way through the evening as the guests babbled on to Phillip and greeted him warmly.

Brad’s cell phone rang.

“ Excuse me old buddy, but I really have to take this.”

Brad excused himself as he made his way out the back door. Flipping the cell open, he recognized the number.

“ Hello?”

“ Hello Brad, Bill Jacobs here. How’s our new guy doing?”

Brad looked into the trees and watched a squirrel run across the telephone line.

“ I think we can use him Bill.”

“ I’ll need more assurance than that Brad. My people are anxious to get this plan of ours underway. We need someone who is strong and willing to follow orders!”

Brad let the words sink in. Follow orders?

“ Bill, I understand you’re anxious. But let’s not forget; this is his first time meeting the group. He is still very angry and mistrustful. And besides, his meeting with Loryanne didn’t appear to be all that helpful.”

Bill Jacobs swallowed hard at the mention of Loryanne.

“ Are you telling me that you let that bitch talk to him? Why didn’t you stop her? I knew it was a mistake bringing her into this group! She is nothing but a loose cannon! It might just be time for her to quietly disappear from the group.”

Brad had no liking for the way this conversation was going.

“ Bill, I don’t know what you’re inferring, but I don’t want any part of it! That wasn’t our deal!”

Bill leaned slowly back in his chair.

“ Deal? You want out of our deal Brad? It would be a shame to have your lovely wife and kids visit you in a penitentiary on weekends for the next twenty fives years; wouldn’t it Brad? How long do you think she would wait for you? And all those lovely victims in the precious group, how many do you think would survive a life sentence? Do you want to be the one that sends them all away for life Brad? Don’t you dare talk to me about deals! It’s because of me and all my connections that you still have a home to go home to. Now this can go either one of two ways. You can shut the hell up and listen, and do as I say; or you can walk away from my deal. In which case, well, we have been through that! You better tell me right goddamned now Brad; what will it be?”

Brad’s mind was reeling with the vicious words and possible scenario that Bill Jacobs had just put forth. His mind raced to find a response; any response that would ease Bill Jacobs rage.

“ No Bill, I’m not looking to get out of my deal with you or anyone! It’s just, well, I would prefer not to be involved with anything that would upset the group and ruin your chances of finding the perfect candidate for whatever the job you have in mind. The sudden disappearance of Loryanne would invite too many unanswered questions. I don’t want to jeopardize the trust I have built up within the group. That’s all! And as I said, Phillip simply isn’t ready yet. Just give me some time. Please?”

Bill Jacobs slowly closed the file laid out before him.

“ Very well Brad. I will do nothing for now. I am a patient man, and I will be patient a while longer. But know this; my patience has its limits. If my time runs out, then so does yours and all the rest in the group! Remember that! Get back to me as soon as you can!”

The line went dead. Brad slowly closed the cell phone and took a deep breath of damp evening air. He had to compose himself before returning to the party; returning to Phillip; returning to the deal.

Dishonour, Chapter 7

2009-04-07T10:38:00.003-04:00

The office smelled of wood and old leather. Various pictures of heads of state; warm false smiles over brief hand shakes at photo ops; bedecked an antique dresser with worn brass pull handles. The air reeked of old money and born into affluence. One wall was lined with diplomas and various accolades from grateful charities. A large American flag moved softly with the gentle flow of air from the air conditioning. Beyond the oversized window, the Lincoln Memorial rose high into the blue skies over Washington.

Senator Davis Flatt was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. Born into wealth, he attended all the prestigious schools and acquired the contacts from the wealthy armament manufacturers that would make his run for the Presidency an obtainable goal. There was just one fly in the ointment. The Senators contacts were anxious for it to be removed. Failing that, they had off handily mentioned that they may have to shift their encouragement to another camp.

The consensus amongst the American people was leaning towards a winding down of military involvement and the shoring up of established industries within the American economy. There was no money to be made in peace and Senator Davis Flatt was all about the money. Though well concealed, his family interests lay deep within the Texas testing grounds, and his loyalties were to the men that made the delivery systems by which those tests were made possible.

Davis leaned in close to the man sitting opposite him, lap filled with files and folders, and breathed the words in a conspiratorial hush.

“ I hired you because they told me you were the best. But now I am getting the feeling that I was sold a bill of goods! Are you sure we are both on the same page here? Because if we aren’t I will then have to make other provisions!”

Bill Jacobs looked at the face of the Senator and saw the anger flashing in his eyes, and felt his blood run cold.

“We have done what we could to find the perfect person. We are still looking, but I think we may have found him.”

Davis fell back into the overstuffed leather seat.

“ May have? I don’t want answers of that sort Bill. We both know that Senator McCulloch is gaining power amongst the masses with his goddamned rhetoric about what a wonderful country this could be without America putting its ass out there in developing countries. He is coming off like John fucking Kennedy! And the people are eating it up. No Bill, you had better come up with something better then may have. America is on the verge of losing her interests abroad, and I am on the verge of losing MY interests here in America! And make no mistake about it, if that goddamned peacenik McCulloch does somehow manage to beat my sorry ass into the White House, you will not be around to see it! Am I clear on that Bill?”

The Senator had said what he wanted to say, and left no room for negotiation.

“ Our time is running out fast. The more people we bring into this scheme, the more chances we have being found out. And Bill, understand this; I have no intention of eating a bullet on this. This is your project and you will succeed or be forever branded a traitor to your country. Do not ever say may have to me again! Now, do you have someone in mind?”

Bill opened the file on his lap and looked at the information it contained. As he drew his eyes back into the face of the Senator sitting across from him, he sensed the murderous rage in the Armani suit.

“ Yes, I believe we have our man. Phillip Preston. He is new to the group, and we may need some time to confirm that he is suited to perform his task, but I strongly believe that he is the right man for the job.”

The Senator rose from his chair and made his way back to his desk. Sitting behind it and crossing his hands in an angelic fashion, a smile crossed his face.

“ Get him on board fast Bill for both our sakes. Time and money is running out.”

Phillip mumbled an inaudible apology and made his way past the officer at the door and into the cool evening air. The young officer turned and watched him trudge off to his waiting car then returned his look to his sister Melinda.

” What’s going on here Melinda?”

Melinda rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and replied; “ He just finished talking with Loryanne.”

The young officer rolled his eyes.

“ Ok, that would do it. Give me a sec sis. Let me see what I can do?”

With that, the young officer turned and yelled to Phillip.

“ One moment please Mr. Preston! May I have a word?”

Phillip was in no mood for further conversation and politely waved at the officer as he continued to unlock his car door.

“ Mr. Preston, it’s important that I talk to you for a moment. I really must insist that you come back into the house.”

His demeanor left no doubt to the seriousness of his remarks.

Phillip stared at the young officer for a few seconds and returned his keys to his pocket as he made his way back to Melinda’s front door and the awaiting policeman. At this point, Phillip was ready to turn himself in and be done with it. No good would come of this evening. He knew that. He also knew that he was returning to a house full of people who had committed a capitol offense. His only thoughts now were to find that bottle of Scotch and consume it with wild abandon. Perhaps this would all disappear in an alcoholic haze.

“ You know Phillip, Loryanne isn’t a shining example of the people who are here tonight. She is a very angry young woman. Mind you, she has every right to be, but still, I wish you had met the others here tonight. And yes Phillip, I know what Loryanne told you. However, not everyone here tonight has killed someone. My sister Melinda has never harmed a fly!”

Phillip stared incredulously at the young man at the door.

“ Then why is she here hosting this get together?”

The young officers face paled as he searched for the words; so difficult to find.

“ She is here because of me Phillip.”

Dishonour, Chapter 6

2009-03-30T17:00:00.003-04:00

She was a tall woman. Her boyishly cropped hair complimented her well defined features. Phillip immediately noticed the ugly scar that ran from her jaw bone down the side of her neck. Though very good looking, that ugly scar immediately drew attention away from her natural beauty. Dressed in a loose fitting sweater and a pair of drab, ill-fitted slacks, she made no attempt to garner a smile or appear in any way happy to be here. Her icy demeanor left no doubt in Phillips mind that she was here to tell him something, and be done with it. This encounter was cold and awkward.

“ I am Loryanne Banks.”

She looked straight at Phillip with eyes so dark and cold, it was hard to tell what colour they were. Phillip feigned a smile and stretched out his hand in a gesture of friendship.

She simply looked at his hand and continued.

“ I think you know perfectly well why we are all here tonight. I, personally, would rather be somewhere else but I made a deal and will keep my end of the bargain in the same way you will. While everyone inside is passing around pastries and sipping wine, trying to hide the fact that they all have a dark and sinister secret, with strict orders to try to make you feel comfortable and a part of our little clandestine group, I am stuck outside here with a guy who feels so bad at having killed the son of a bitch that destroyed his life.”

Phillip fell back a step at the tirade that spewed into his face from this cold and vicious person who had just blurted out his crime.

“ Oh don’t look so shocked Phillip. We all know what you did and we all agree with your final solution. So please spare me the look of anguish and surprise. Everyone back in there has murdered someone! Pretty little housewives and soccer coach Dads, they are all guilty of the same crime. Some simply choose to try to hide it more than others.”

Phillip couldn’t breathe, let alone respond to Loryanne’s matter of fact attitude towards the crime of murder. He simply stared back into her face seeking some sort of reprieve from her relentless onslaught of verbal destruction and abuse.

“ Nothing to say for yourself Phillip? Fine, then I will tell you my story, get back inside, finish my wine and say goodnight to all you losers!”

The initial shock wearing off quickly, a seething anger started to rise in Phillips gut. In spite of her beauty, what faced him in this place of languid calm and serenity was a very ugly person. He clenched his teeth as he thought to tell this Loryanne person to go to hell and get out of his face. He moved in closer to her, a look of anger contorting his features.

” Why the hell don’t you go tell your story to someone else lady? I don’t need yours or anyone’s bullshit!”

Loryanne smiled for the first time since they had met.

“ Well well. A tad angry are we big guy? Did you honestly believe we came here tonight to sip wine and eat pastries and honour you with the Man Of The year Award? I’m telling you my story because I made a promise to do so. Listen if you want or piss off if you don’t! One way or another, I’m here; I will say what I have to say; and then you will be done with me, and I with you. Fair enough?”

Phillip took a long sip from his glass of Scotch and drew hard on his cigarette, the acrid blue smoke mingling with his response.

“ If you must, then just say it and be the hell gone!”

“ Ok Phillip, I will make this as brief as possible. I was beaten, raped, had my throat cut and was left for dead in a pile of garbage!”

Phillips eyes widened.

“ Oh, spare me that look Phillip. I am a lawyer by trade and had just left the office after an evening preparing for a case that was to be heard the following day. As I stepped out of the elevator in the garage, I had a bad feeling; like eyes watching me; but I ignored the silliness and continued towards my car. Rounding the corner, I was struck in the back of the head by someone. Although not unconscious, I fell forward hard into the pavement. Lying there, I could feel the warmth of my own blood running down my face and puddling on the pavement and was convinced I was going to die. That’s when I was struck again, this time on the back of my shoulder. The pain was searing, but I couldn’t scream. I could feel my clothes being torn from by body as he punched and kicked me over and over again. I tried to fight back, but had no strength. He pulled apart my legs and shoved whatever he had hit me with viciously into me. He laughed and talked all the while he was doing this, telling me how much I must love this. The pain was too great and I passed out. I awoke two days later in the hospital.

Well Phillip, as I sat there with the news the Doctor gave me about my condition, I realized that my life and dreams were over. He had cut my throat but missed the jugular. I don’t know if that was a blessing or a curse because I now have to live with the consequences of that night for the rest of my life. I will never have a child. There was nothing left undamaged. They had to sew up my anus. I have a steel plate in my head as well as a rod and screws in my shoulder. The biggest joke was that the Police had a good idea of who this rapist and murderer was but because they had no other living victims to testify against him and no semen to match DNA, they were waiting for the chance to get him.

And so Phillip, without getting into too many details about whom or how, I was contacted and given certain information. And the same thoughts that were in your mind last night, were also in mine. I killed him. Not just killed him; I mutilated him and am not sorry one bit for having done so. As you have probably already guessed Phillip, our crimes are hidden by the very same people that are sworn to protect. We are all protected. We are simply doing a job that the police want done. And don’t you ever forget it! And one last thing Phillip? This scar that you seem to be so taken with? Well, I could have had plastic surgery to remove it, but I want to keep it. It reminds me every day of the ugliness and pain that fills our lives. That is my story. Someone will be contacting you soon. And that’s all I have to say!”

Phillip stood in stunned silence as Loryanne turned and went back inside, letting the screen door behind her slam hard. Moments passed as Phillip half mindedly stared at the screen door, trying to digest the angry words of Loryanne. He suddenly felt sick and tired. Opening the screen door, he quickly walked through the kitchen and into the foyer. Loryanne looked at him with a knowing smirk as he made his way to the front door.

“ Phillip, is something wrong?”

Melinda had a look of concern on her face as she gently touched his forearm. The touch startled Phillip and he recoiled as though having been touched by a leper.

“ This is all so wrong Melinda. I should have never come here tonight. Who are you people? Why are you doing this to me?”

Melinda withdrew her hand from Phillips arm and took a step back. As her eyes welled up with tears, she gave one last pleading look to Phillip.

“ Please Phillip, we want to help you. Please stay.”

Phillip would not be swayed by Melinda’s tears tonight. As he turned and threw open the front door, he again returned his gaze to a saddened Melinda with begging eyes. Then, without looking forward he rushed out stumbling into an impeccably dressed young police officer.

“ Good evening sir. You must be Phillip. My sister Melinda has told me about you!”

Dishonour, Chapter 5

2009-02-16T11:37:00.004-05:00

“ We all have our stories Phillip. Some are sadder than others. But rest assured that everyone here tonight has their own story to tell. Did you want to hear mine?”

He looked at the big man and could tell by his hard swallowing between sentences that it might be a painful one to tell. Still, his curiosity aroused, he asked Brad to continue.

“ I was always a big boy growing up. School was hard for me. My size invited challenges from the other boys wanting to prove how tough they were. Well, fighting became second nature to me and led to more than the occasional trip to the principals’ office. And though the vast majority of fights were not of my making, they deemed me to be a trouble maker. A problem student.

As my hatred for school progressed, my grades sank. They assigned me a mentor to help with my schoolwork and turn my attitude around. All of eleven years old and branded a nuisance. My mentor seemed nice enough at first. We worked hard at the books, and then he would reward me with a trip to the store for a chocolate bar and a coke. We would talk for hours. Me telling him my darkest secrets, my fears, and my desires. He was the perfect listener.

Up till then, I had no idea what a predator was, but, I soon found out Phillip. You see, as my trust in him grew, his friendly gestures turned to touches. Small at first, but always growing.”

Phillip could feel the blood in his temples pulsing, trying to take in what Brad was telling him. Brad’s complexion had also changed along with his demeanor. In his voice, the further the story progressed, the more pronounced the seething rage inside the big man surfaced.

“ Well Phillip, you have probably guessed by now. I was sexually abused by this man. I was confused and angry. And now, instead of simply defending myself, I would seek out confrontation anywhere I could find it. That’s how I dealt with it. Admitting my abuse was out of the question. For an eleven year old boy, admitting that another guy had touched you that way, well, the other kids would call me queer and stuff. And so I kept it to myself and raged against anyone and anything. They finally removed me from that school and placed me in another. And I was placed in a special class, with other special kids. It was horrible.

This whole thing carried on with me my whole life. It’s an awful lot of baggage for a kid, but I survived, and never forgot. It never left me. School was terrible for me. I could not make friends. Hell, I didn’t want to make friends. I didn’t want to trust anyone ever again. As the years went by, and my grades kept slipping, I discovered alcohol and dope. And by the age of sixteen I would consume anything with wild abandon. My parents were beside themselves and the family urged therapy for me. I, of course, didn’t want to know anything about it. All I cared about was beer and dope and anything that interfered with my getting high pissed me off. They suggested a trade. My Dad suggested the army. My choice though was to deal dope and get an apartment. And I did. I just kept sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss of despair and depravity. I met a girl. Phillip, I’ll tell you, I fell head over heels in love at first sight. I stopped dope and returned to trade school. Love can do that for you.”

For the first time since Brad had started to tell his story, Phillip saw a small smile light up his face. And for a second, Brad was lost in some delicious memory of those days of innocence. And then, as quickly as the smile had appeared, it drained from the big mans face.

“ We talked about everything in those days. Then, one night, I told her about my abuse. We cried together and she held me close like a baby; rocking me, saying over and over again it would be all right. We found a therapist and I started therapy with gusto. I had to drop all this baggage that had dragged me down all these years. And through it all, I finally learned to love myself again and believe that it was not my fault. I had been the victim of a criminal act. I learned to be happy and at peace with myself again. And I married that girl! We now have three kids.”

Phillips head was swimming with unasked questions and thoughts of why the hell is this guy telling me all of this? He reached into his shirt pocket and drew another cigarette. As he went to take a sip from his scotch, he realized that his glass was empty and after all that he had just heard, the numbing effects from just one glass simply wouldn’t do.

“ Brad, may I fetch you another Scotch?”

Brad gave broad grin and said, “ Just a sec Phillip.”

He opened the screen door, and asked Melinda, “You think we could get that bottle of scotch out here?”

His request was filled within a minute.

“ Here you go boys. Sorry, I have some stuff in the oven. If you need anything else, just let me know.”

Brad gave Melinda a quick peck on the cheek and thanked her with a grin and poured both of them a hefty dram of the heady elixir. Brad looked at Phillip as he gulped the Scotch.

“ Better now?”

Phillip simply nodded yes as he puffed on his cigarette.

“ Good. Now where was I? Oh yes. Well, it seemed my life was going well. I was happy; gainfully employed; the father of three kids with soccer and hockey and nights at the table helping with schoolwork. I had a beautiful wife and a lovely home. One evening I came home and was casually leafing through the newspaper when I came upon a story on the third page. It was about a young man that had committed suicide the day before. A child really, only sixteen years old. I continued reading the story. And as I read, I started to tremble, uncontrollably. My wife walked into the living room and saw me. She rushed over to ask what was wrong. I’ll tell you Phillip, I couldn’t talk! I simply held up the paper to her as my tears splashed on the pages. I couldn’t control it. It was the most horrible moment of my life! As my wife read the story, she saw the name. This young man had had a mentor!”

Phillip watched as the big mans body wracked with a tremour and a tear rolled down his cheek. Brad turned away from Phillip and quickly wiped the tear away and sniffed hard.

“ The thing is Phillip, the cops were already onto this guy and building a case against him. They had hoped that this kid would testify and finally give them the proof to put him away for a very long time. However, because he committed suicide before he could testify, and because of the Doctor/patient confidentially law, they couldn’t get the Therapist to testify. You see Phillip, we also have friends that are absent here tonight, but also have a story to tell. And those friends are in the force. I was contacted a few days later, and asked if I wanted to testify, but if not, then other arrangements could be made. After my tears, the rage set in. That’s when I realized the great opportunity that had been presented me. Now don’t get me wrong Phillip. I was never a great believer in revenge. I was never a believer in working outside the law, apart from my dope days.”

Brad gave out a hearty laugh at the last remark. And Phillip realizing the comical intent, laughed as well. The pressure seemed to leave as Phillip sipped from his glass.

” Well truth be known Phillip, and without getting into the gory details, I am the one that killed that rotten son of a bitch! I did it and I am not sorry one little bit for having done it!”

Brad turned squarely into Phillips face with his last remark as though to gauge his reaction. Phillip could not remove his eyes from the big mans face. No words would be right. He had no idea what to do or say to such a confession.

As the wetness hung about them on this warm summers night; the beads of sweat forming on his upper lip, Phillip simply turned to look down into his swirling glass. Then the big man spoke.

“ Phillip, I don’t need to know whether you agree with what I did, I simply want you to understand why I did it. As I told you earlier, we all have our stories. Mine is just one. Please try not to judge too harshly. You’re amongst friends tonight. I have to return to the guests now so I’ll see you in a bit.”

And with that, Brad was gone back inside in the wink of an eye.

Phillip felt dizzy. Maybe it was best to call it an evening and get the hell out of there!

As he butted out his cigarette and prepared his excuse for leaving, the screen door opened.

“ Hello Phillip!”

Dishonour, Chapter 4

2009-02-07T14:24:00.003-05:00

“ Hello Phillip, this is Melinda. Are you feeling any better now?”

Phillip was in no mood for mind games.

“ Yes, I am ok. I’m sorry, but is there something I can do for you?” Phillip waited for her response.

She seemed to be searching for the right words.

“ I was wondering. Are you free this evening? You see, I thought you might stop by my house for a drink. I am sure you will find it easily enough.”

Phillip pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it incredulously as though it might respond to his regard.

“ Miss Beecham; Melinda; I don’t think that would be such a good idea. As you are aware, my wife died recently, and well, I am really not ready to be entertaining any sort of relationship with anyone just at the moment.”

Melinda recoiled at the last remark.

“ Phillip. I don’t think you really understand what I was saying. I am not asking you out for a date. I am having some friends over for drinks tonight. They are anxious to meet you. And, they may have some answers to questions that have surely been on your mind. But, by all means, if you feel that you are not up to it, then perhaps we can do this another time.”

Phillip felt his face go red and he quickly responded.

“ Oh, I am sorry Melinda, I didn’t understand. Forgive me. But may I ask, who are these people?”

“ Friends. People you can trust. People who know exactly what it is you are feeling right now. I really can’t say much right now Phillip. I am sorry to be sounding secretive, but you will understand when you get here. Will you come?”

Phillip thought that all of this was getting to be a bit much. Melinda knew his name; the deed he had done; she was having a secret meeting with secret friends; she was offering up scraps of information which lead to more questions; and being downright sickly sweet and compassionate through it all. Making his decision on where and how to kill her even more complicated. Getting her home address might prove rather useful though, and so he agreed to meet.

After Melinda gave him the address and time, she paused just long enough for Phillip to ask her what was wrong.

“ Well, may I ask Phillip? Would you please shave and dress accordingly? These are my closest and dearest friends, and well...”

Phillip assured her he would do his best to make himself presentable, and hung up.

The summer sun was sinking quickly into the western horizon; casting long shadows over the sprawling front lawn as Phillip put the car in park. The repressive heat of the day gave way to warm evening breezes that caught the scents of the flowers growing in profusion and carried them in waves of gentle smells. It was obvious that Melinda took great care of her home and garden.

A gnarled crab apple tree, heavily laden with summers’ bounty was off in a corner. The manicured lawn, lush and thick, swept gracefully up to the front porch. Its railings were snow white and set against the forest green color of her home. Atop the railings, planters, overflowing with rich red Begonias were placed every two feet. On either side of the large wooden front door were brass pots. Shoots of wild grasses and tiny flowers in purples and gold swayed in the gentle winds.

As Phillip climbed the front steps, he heard the sounds of soft music and laughter coming from inside the house. The clinking of glasses and the smell of warm pastry seemed to be hanging in the air. He grabbed out to the big knocker in the form of a lions head and was about to knock when the door suddenly swung open.

“ Phillip! I am so glad that you could make it! Please, come in.”

Melinda looked lovely. Her dark hair framing a pair of soft brown, and sparkling eyes. Her tanned complexion bore witness to the work she had done in making her front lawn summer perfection. She gently took Phillips hand, in a soft handshake, and without letting go, pulled him into the foyer. A large mirror to the right was far too harsh a reality that Phillip gazed upon in brief disgust; the damage of these past days had left their toll on his features.

The conversation; so bright and lively; came to an abrupt halt, as all heads turned towards the front door.

“ Everyone, I want you to meet Phillip Preston.”

Smiles beaming, and glasses raised, they seemed to all say in unity; welcome Phillip. He felt awkward. He felt like turning and running out the door. Melinda, sensed this awkward moment, and offered him a drink.

“ What can I get you Phillip? I have some terrific wines. But I also have a bottle of really great single malt Scotch whiskey if you prefer.”

Phillip agreed to the whiskey and Melinda, smiling and never letting go of Phillip’s hand, gently led him to the bar. The conversation continued as Phillip turned his back on the guests; all the while sensing their eyes upon him. This had been a mistake, but he was here now and couldn’t leave. He felt trapped and totally friendless. What had he been thinking when he accepted this invite from Melinda?

“ Hi Phillip. Brad Stryker.”

Phillip turned into the face of a man with a large smile and friendly demeanor. One large hand thrust forward. As Phillip took his hand, he noticed the grip. Strong and sure. Brad was a big man. Broad shoulders and barrel chested; he reminded Phillip of a wrestler from years gone by.

“ May I join you in the Scotch? Wine is ok, but whiskey is better!”

Phillip was glad someone was talking to him. So, he agreed.

Melinda smiled as she poured Brad his drink.

“ I have to check on some things in the oven. Brad, will you please take care of our guest till I return?”

Brad raised his glass of Scotch in the air and saluted Melinda as she slid from behind the bar.

“ Tell me Phillip, are you a smoker by any chance?”

Phillip was dying for a cigarette, and was relieved that he had met another person that shared this addiction.

“ Yes, I smoke.”

Brad gave a toothy grin.

“ Then I have just the place for you! Follow me.”

Phillip followed the big man as he wandered through the kitchen, stating, “Melinda was the greatest hostess and cook anywhere to be found.” Melinda, bent over near the oven, having heard this, blushed.

The two men continued out the side door in to a shaded back yard. Thick with trees and a pond, the croaking of frogs and birds singing made it a haven from the day to day stress. As much care as Melinda had put into her front garden, an even greater priority had been placed here. It was lush and damp. A cool wetness hung in the air and the myriad of fragrances from countless species of plants mingled with the smells of mosses and forest foliage.

As Brad reached down to pick up an ashtray that had been placed by the door, Phillip pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Brad.

“ Oh, no thanks Phillip. I don’t smoke. I thought we might just talk a bit. You see, we are all here tonight for you.”

Phillip drew hard on the cigarette and said as his mind focused, ” What do you mean?”

Brad’s face grew serious as he searched for the words.

” We all have something in common Phillip. In spite of our different lifestyles and personalities, there is one common thread with everyone here tonight.”

Phillip stared at Brad, waiting for him to continue. Brad took a large sip from his Scotch, and turned his gaze back on Phillip.

“ On second thought, I haven’t smoked in years, but maybe a cigarette would be good just now. Do you mind?”

Phillip hastily fumbled for his cigarettes and Brad took one. Lighting it up, he took a long haul and gently let the smoke drift out into the evening skies.

“ I haven’t smoked since the night that I killed that son of a bitch.”

Brad drew another long puff from the cigarette as Phillip stood wide eyed at his last comment.

“ Killed? Who?”

Dishonour, Chapter 3

2009-01-06T12:35:00.005-05:00

After fumbling with the aspirin bottle for a few moments, Phillip used his teeth to bite off the top. Cursing, he grabbed 4 aspirins from the spilled contents on the coffee table and took a long drink from the half emptied water bottle, now at room temperature. Kicking off his shoes and removing the revolver from his belt, he laid back on the sofa. He watched intensely at the tiny flecks of dust tumbling and dancing on the small stream of sunlight peeking through the barely closed curtains.

Thoughts of this mornings encounter with Melinda Beecham flooded his mind; in spite of all his best efforts to banish them. Try as he may to block them, it seemed that all the sounds of everyday life going on just outside his window were amplified today. He heard the children squealing with laughter at some silly game. The neighbours dog barking incessantly; no doubt at a squirrel or cat that dared invade his domain. Dave across the street banging and clanking on the motor of that car he was hoping beyond all hope to restore one day. Phillip closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift off to happier days.

The years fell away as Phillip drifted deeper and deeper into his daydream and the chance encounter that would forever change his life. Phillip had gone with his buddies to the bowling alley for beers, bullshit and laughs. Just a few lanes down were a group of girls in candy pink bowling jackets with The Marymount Maulers emblazoned across their backs. He and his buddies had cajoled their way through more than a few pints when one of the guys made the unfortunate remark, quite loudly, that the Marymount Maulers looked more like the Marymount Mini Mice!

A tall blonde and a rather petite dark haired girl turned and glared at Phillip and his friends. The dark haired girl with large brimmed glasses reminiscent of Jiminy Cricket boldly strode over to Phillips table. The guys immediately stopped talking and you could hear a pin drop. Staring directly into Phillips eyes, she placed her hands on her hips and stated as loud as she could for all to hear that as they talked the talk, maybe they would like to walk the walk and accept a challenge from The Marymount Maulers to see just who the true mice here were!

The guys roared with laughter and gladly accepted the challenge. However, Phillip did not laugh. His eyes were locked on this feisty little woman standing before him. Pure defiance and courage in such a little package. She had dark blue eyes and frizzy dark hair, pulled back in a rough ponytail. Her features were as fine as a porcelain doll and the name Rose was stitched across her left shoulder. Rose he thought; how fitting in that pink jacket.

The men learned the meaning of the word “mauled” that day. Bruised male egos abounded while the rest of the patrons of the bowling alley stopped to watch these brash young men get their butts kicked. And the Marymount Maulers did not let them down. But all through the game, Phillip could not take his eyes off of the young girl named Rose. And more than once, he caught her looking at him with a sly smile.

It all started that day, so long ago. And Phillip returned, time and again to that bowling alley with and without friends to secretly see the girl he fell madly in love with. Rose Marie. Although she always really hated her name and tried to supplant it with the more familiar Marie, Rose had stuck. Her friends and family would have no other name for her. Her parents being devoted listeners to Rosemary Clooney songs during her conception, decided to name her Rose Marie. And thus, Rose it was and would be always. She was quick to laugh, and even quicker to cry. Although strong in most things, she had an overly sensitive side to her. With sparkling wit and an insatiable desire to devour any and all reading material she could come across, she was the exact opposite of Phillip. He feigned interest during dinner as she droned on about her newest found literary geniuses. The words did not matter to Phillip. As long as he could be with Rose, he would endure anything. He would move mountains for her, and would do so gladly. She was his world.

Days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months, and their love grew. Phillip found himself impatient to return home to their meager apartment after work simply to be with Rose. Their embraces at the front door, once closed, were mind shattering! They would listen to Carly Simon and drink cheap wine and dream. Money was tight, but their love was strong and they needed very little. Nights of passion were the norm and giggles and tickles at sunrise when a full day of work beckoned were not uncommon. The idyllic days of a young married couple in love marched on.

Phillips promotion to Foreman and Roses promotion to Assistant Chief Librarian brought much needed funds and a desire for Rose to start a family and find a new home. The evenings of experimental food, and more expensive wine, while Carly Simon sang about vainess, came to an abrupt halt the night Rose refused a glass of wine. Phillip asked if she was well. Rose responded with a big smile that pregnant women should not drink! They hugged and cried, and sat quietly in the candlelit living room as Phillip rubbed Roses stomach and repeated over and over how much he loved her.

The pregnancy was not an easy one, and the doctors advised Rose and Phillip that this would be their only one. Although devastated, they decided that this child would be the most cherished child the world has seen. And perhaps in a year or two, they might consider adopting a brother or sister for her or him.

Rose looked very tired and weak holding the infant daughter in her arms. A daughter. Dark hair and pink skin with delicate little features. Her name was Carly. Once again their lives were forever changed. Their home was filled with toys and songs and books as Carly grew into a young girl. She had her mothers’ love of books and her fathers no nonsense attitude towards life. Though a natural beauty, she had no awareness or considerations of such things. She loved her friends unconditionally, and they loved her in kind. Try as Phillip would, she could not see the world as a dangerous place. She loved all, and was convinced that through love and understanding, she could change the world.

Those were wondrous years, and Rose seemed to grow more beautiful with every birthday. She delighted in being Carlys best friend, and ganging up on old gruff Dad, attempting to change his cynical ways. The years flew by and Carly was now a college sophomore. Her beauty and easy going manner concerned Phillip, and more than one dinner conversation ended with Carly asking that her Mom intervene and get Dad to chill out. And Rose would always grab Phillips hand and reassure that all was well. Phillip would take solace in that and lightly kiss Rose and agree. Carly would roll her eyes in dismay at the expression of love of such an old couple at the dinner table. And though Carly attended a lot of parties, she always came home early, and sober, which made Phillip and Rose very happy that their little girl was outgoing and well adjusted but also well grounded and wise. But, all that changed one dark and rainy Friday night. It was a call that no parent should ever receive.

Phillip reached out to answer the phone knocking books and glasses to the floor and listened to the caller.

“ May I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Preston please? ” As Phillip assured him that he was, in fact, Mr. Preston, the caller continued.

” Mr. Preston, I am Dr. Goldbloom. I am the Physician in charge of emergency services here at Marymount General Hospital. May I ask you, do you have a daughter named Carly? ”

A wave of panic clutched Phillip as he wildly grabbed for the table light.

“ Yes, she is my daughter. What happened ? ”

“ Phillip, who’s on the phone? ”

Rose saw the look of panic on Phillps face and started to yell, “who’s on the phone Phillip? Where is Carly? ”

Phillip tried to listen to the doctor as Rose kept yelling over and over about Carlys whereabouts till he turned to Rose and blurted out, “ Rose, for Christs sake be quiet! ”

Rose immediately burst into tears and stumbled out of bed to get dressed.

“ Mr. Preston, I’m afraid there has been a terrible mishap. Your daughter is here in intensive care. I wish I had more positive news to give you, but at this time, it doesn’t look good. I will be available to talk to you when you arrive. I am truly sorry Mr. Preston. ”

Phillip jumped out of bed and dressed as Rose raced about the house in total panic, wailing my baby, my beautiful baby. Phillip tried his best to comfort Rose as he quickly ushered her out of the house into the car.

“ You’re going to have to calm down Rose. It seems something has happened. I’m not quite sure what, but I am sure that Carly would not want to see her Mom this way! Everything will be alright. She is in very good hands. ”

The ride to hospital was done with total oblivion to any other vehicle on the road as Phillip raced on. Rose simply cried and whimpered over and over again, Carly, my beautiful baby. Phillip and Rose ran into the emergency room where they were met by a nurse who asked them to follow her upstairs to intensive care. Rose was ashen and shaking uncontrollably as they exited the elevator. A doctor in a white smock was standing outside intensive care talking to a tired looking man wearing a rumpled suit.

“ Dr. Goldbloom? Where is my daughter? ”

Phillip realized that Rose was not beside him. He turned to see her standing beside the elevator door, unable to move, tears streaming down her face. He went back and put his arm around her shoulders.

” It’s going to be alright Rose. Come on now, be brave. ”

In the anteroom beside intensive care, Dr. Goldbloom explained that Carly had taken a massive heart attack after consuming drugs. By the time the ambulance arrived, the damage was too great. She was on life support, but declared brain dead. All hope was lost.

Rose and Phillip sat, numbed from the news, till Rose started smacking Phillip wildly.

“ You said it was going to be alright! You lied! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! “

Dr. Goldbloom and the man in the suit gently pried Rose off of Phillip who had sat there, taking the beating, without even wincing. The last goodbye to Carly was too unbearable for Phillip and Rose. A room filled with tubes and machines and a solemn nurse who sat at her desk, darkened but for one lamp that barely illuminated the paperwork she was aimlessly rummaging through. One last gentle kiss, and Rose and Phillip were handed Carlys personal effects. Rose was never the same again.

The days that followed seemed unreal; dreamlike; a dream from which there is no waking. The funeral, the flowers, the sandwiches and coffee, the ministers kind reassurances of Carly being at peace in a better place. None of that mattered.

The card that the man in the suit had given to him that night at the hospital was from the Marymount Police, Narcotics Division. Phillip stared at it over and over again. Carly never took drugs. How did this happen? Little to no information was given to Phillips repeated requests at the police station. No information was available at all.

Rose continued her downslide into hell as doctor after doctor and medication after medication failed to restore her. She had become a shell of her former self, and no family member or friend could pull her out of it. Genuine concern for her physical health became paramount, and Phillip was losing way too much work to stay home with her out of fear that she may harm herself.

Three months to the day that Carly was buried, Phillip received a telephone call at work. Rose was dead. She had swallowed a combination of medications.

Alone, on the couch, revolver on the coffee table, Phillip wept like a child. He was alone. Rose was gone. Carly was gone. He was a man with nothing left to lose. He looked at the revolver. It would be over in a second. No one would care anyways. And he would not have to live with these memories anymore! As he reached out to the gun, the phone rang.

Notes to self

2008-12-23T17:04:00.002-05:00

Why do any of us feel we must write? Is it for our selfish pleasure or some warped desire to leave our last mark on this world before exiting unceremoniously? I haven't a clue. But one thing I have learned is that there is a very big difference between someone who writes, and a writer. I belong to the former. Having never studied in writing, I am simply a story teller. My manner of writing involves seeing the story evolve in my minds eye. A sort of movie playing over and over in my mind. I try to describe each scene as it unfolds. I use words, much as a painter would use a palette. It is so uncomplicated, it's stupid. I have no idea if other persons so taken to writing would agree with me, as I don't really know any. Other than Ponderings Of The Pond. My love was borne with another novelette that I wrote. Broken Sparrows. It was rife with errors and grammatical errors, but it was written using the characters as taken from an online chat room that I visit regularly. The response was overwhelming, and thus began my addiction. Perhaps this can be my atonement and apology to all the serious writers out there who strive to create works of value. My purpose here is purely entertainment and diversion from the day to day tedieum. I am Rogue. And I have a story to tell,,,,,I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you Cath

2008-12-22T17:01:00.002-05:00

I am so flattered that you would take the time to read the story word for word. I have printed out all of your comments, and will do the necessary corrections when I have time. I truly appreciate your comments. This is a learning process for me. And without imput such as yours, I might wander in the wilderness forever:) Again, thanks.
Rogue

Thank you June

2008-12-22T16:55:00.002-05:00

Thanks heaps June. I am truly glad you are enjoying this. I have quite a learn to become a real writer. However, writers are story tellers. Our first priority is to drive the editor of our story nuts!:) I think I am doing good job there. Cheers mate.
Rogue

Dishonour, Chapter 2

2008-12-20T16:24:00.002-05:00

The undeniable smell of wet pavement permeated the hot morning air. His neighbourhood was alive with early morning greetings and sounds of hoses washing down the filth of a day, yet to begin. Tomatoes were arranged for the best selling price and that bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil that his cousin believed to be the best ever, well, Phillip wasn’t buying it today.

The Grind was a coffee shop. But not just any coffee shop. It was a place that Phillip knew all too well. A new dynamic had been given life. Dylan was their God, and all things poetic were gifts of the powers that be. It was to this lifestyle that his daughter had belonged. Gentleness and fairness to all living things was their creed, and love was their name. She had told him so time and again.

He took a long drag from his half smoked cigarette, flicked the butt into the street and pulled hard on the shiny brass handle of the front door. The heady aroma of freshly brewed coffee assailed his senses, and he smiled, almost. He reached behind to touch the cold steel tucked safely between his belt and lower back. His apprehension was almost palpable as he slowly entered The Grind.

The coffee shop was alive with morning sights and sounds. The rising sun flooded through the oversized front windows as soft new age music twisted thru the scents of coffee and freshly baked croissants. Knapsacks and oversized brightly coloured purses created an obstacle course for the uninitiated. Small groups of kids sat huddled around the hard wooden chairs and tables, babbling on about nothing at all that would interest Phillip this morning. In the centre of the shop was a roughly hewn bin into which all manner of well thumbed tomes of knowledge had been tossed. A young man with a woolen cap and exposed Joe Boxer briefs, IPod fully plugged in and oblivious to all, ransacked the bin. Tossing the books one after another, he remained expressionless in his quest for the reading material of his choice.

Phillip glanced about the shop looking for the anonymous voice; this mystery woman. He saw no one that would even fit the description of mysterious. Other than the college co-eds all hyped up on caffeine and philosophical bullshit, an employee was taking her break staring blankly out at the street and sipping from an oversized mug that resembled a bowl of cereal.

Phillip weaved his way through the knapsacks and oversized purses to the counter.

“ Good morning. What can I serve you today?”

He reached up instinctively to remove his sunglasses, than withdrew his hand abruptly as he realized that his bloodshot eyes might be best served by remaining covered.

“ A large coffee please; one sugar “

Phillip stared at all the shiny equipment glistening in the morning sun and heard the whishing of the Espresso machine as he impatiently waited for the young girl to act upon his request.

“ And what sort of coffee is it that we will be wanting this morning sir?”

He turned his attention back to the well scrubbed girl behind the counter.
“ Coffee. Regular coffee. Large please.”

The young girl smiled and grabbed a bowl off the shelf.

“ Right then, 100% Columbian with one sugar.”

Phillip rummaged through his pocket and pulled a few wrinkled bills out. As he laid the 5 dollar bill down, she handed him the bowl of steaming brew.

“ No charge sir. The manager has taken care of it. She is over there at the window seat. Have a great day, and please, come again.”

Phillip grabbed the bowl with two hands and turned to look at what he had perceived to be an employee on her break. He started to walk towards her table, removing one hand from the bowl and slowly drawing it towards his lower back, coffee spilling as he went. Arriving at the table, he put down his bowl, keeping his hand close to his lower back. She turned to him and smiled, and Phillip sat down. He edged his sunglasses down on his nose, and stared over the top into her face. “Ok, what’s your game?”

Melinda stared back at him. Unshaven and unkempt hair. His breath smelled of cigarettes and coffee, and in spite of his obviously freshly showered person, his wrinkled shirt smelled of body odor.

She recoiled to the back of her chair and forced a smile while extending a hand. “ Good morning Mr. Preston, my name is Melinda Beecham”

Phillip ignored her outstretched hand, drew closer across the table and in a barely audible growl said “ lets drop all these niceties right here and now. You asked me here to discuss last night. I have no idea what you are talking about, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt. So say what you have to say, and be done with it.”

A look of disdain mingled with disappointment quickly replaced the warm smile Melinda had been wearing up till that point. “ Very well Mr. Preston. Let me start by saying that I am not a police officer. I am not a reporter. I am just a normal working single mother of a son who is of the same age as your daughter. I pay my taxes; have never been in jail and always try to help others when I can.”

Phillip cut her off abruptly, “ Fine! Then I will nominate you for the Sister Theresa Award. Now if that is all,,,”

“ Mr. Preston! Please do not judge me so harshly. You haven’t heard what it is I wish to tell you yet!”

Phillip leaned back in his chair, the gun barrel digging into his lower back. He took a long sip of his coffee as thoughts of lighting up a cigarette flooded his brain. What’s the point of going to a coffee shop if you can’t enjoy a cigarette with your morning coffee?

“ I know you received an anonymous call from a young man telling you the name of the person who gave the drugs to your daughter the night she died.”

Philip bolted upright in his chair.

“ And I also know he gave you the information on how to find him. And you did, last night, didn’t you?”

Phillip could feel the veins throbbing in his forehead as he gritted his teeth and snarled, his top lip trying to suppress his rage. Try as he might, no words would form in his brain.

“ I want you to calm down Mr. Preston. I would not have let you see where I work if I had any intention of doing harm to you. Quite the contrary, I am here to help you. That anonymous caller was in fact my son! And while I would never condone the taking of a human life for any other reason, we support your decision in this matter and would like to offer any and all assistance to you.”

Phillips mouth hung open as he fell back into his chair.

“ There are some people I would like you to meet. Can we count on you keeping an open mind in all this Mr. Preston? ”

His mind suddenly became crystal clear as all her words reverberated over and over in his head. So many questions; so many things left unsaid. Who were these people, and how much did they really know? Trust was out of the question, but from where he sat, Melinda Beecham was obviously in the drivers’ seat here. He was only along for the ride and he felt like a rat trapped in a maze with no way out. While concessions would have to be made, so too would a plan to eliminate this possible threat. And what of her son? He also was involved and knew far too much. And so, he would try to buy precious time to enable him to devise his schemes to rid himself of this nasty threat.

“ I see Miss Beecham that you have this all worked out so perfectly. I am simply the meek lamb to be led off to the slaughter. You and your cohorts have stumbled upon a situation that you feel you can control and use to your advantage. Well, it would appear that I have very little choice in this matter. And so, I shall meet with these so-called friends of yours and see what happens.”

Melinda stared sadly across the table, then turned her gaze back out into the street with its morning bustle. As she raised the bowl to her mouth, she realized that there was no coffee left in it. She put it down and returned her disappointed gaze to Phillip.

” You haven’t heard a word I said Mr. Preston. We are here to assist, not to hurt you. Soon, you will see the truth in my words. But right now, I can see your anger and mistrust; however misplaced it is; and know that very soon, that will all change. I won’t keep you any longer, but do try to get some rest. You look like hell!”

Melinda got up and walked back to the counter never looking back.

Phillip, stepping outside into the bright sun, drew his last cigarette crushing the empty pack. Throwing it down as he walked away mumbling " I am going to have to kill that fucking bitch! "

Dishonour, Chapter 1

2008-12-19T18:11:00.001-05:00

He felt no remorse. In fact, he felt very little. Perhaps slightly amused that the thick scarlet pool oozing from the wound resembled one of those blotter tests that wealthy doctors in plush leather seats asked you to interpret, in a condescending and all knowing air. Yes, definitely a butterfly! In spite of the violence of the preceding minutes, all was calm. His life was now forever changed. And he could care less.

Glancing down to search for the spent shell casing, he paused then thought better of it. What difference would it make? When they extracted the bullet from this mans head, they would know what sort of gun was used. As for identifying the firing pin and positively identifying the murder weapon, who cared? He certainly didn’t. The barrel felt warm as it slid between his belly and belt. The air was thick with the smell of burnt gun powder. While a sense of amusement seeped thru his soul.

Withdrawing cigarettes from his shirt pocket, he realized the absence of any tremors in his hands. He was calm. He lit one and drew a long haul, then turned his head to the starry summer skies and exhaled. Lowering to gaze once again upon his victim, childhood thoughts of Sunday school filled his head, Revenge is mine sayeth the lord. Well, that may be true, but not tonight. Tonight, the lord would have to take a back seat. As he turned to walk away, he stopped. Quickly turning on his heels his left foot kicked into the face of the dead man. Just for good measure. Then he walked slowly away, smoking and smiling.

The colour of bright pink through closed eyelids was his first awareness of a new day. He would have to open his eyes sooner or later but later was better. Breakfast would be great but whiskey would do. Anything at all that would numb the events of last night.

He fumbled around for the bottle, found it and raised it to his waiting mouth wincing as one drop hit his tongue, thick with last nights abuse. As his arm fell heavily back to the bed the bottle smashed, slashing through his pinky finger. The bodily assault continued all the while the bright sunrise deadened any possibility of arising without shock.

His eyes flew open with the realization of the gashing wound, yet a sense of serenity drew about him. Bathed in this warm golden hue, he allowed a moment of recall while the blood from his hand soaked the sheet beneath him. He tried, against all odds to find the butterfly but saw only blood. Blood. Contrary to all belief a bullet to the head is not always the clean and easy way. As the heart continues to beat, blood continues to spurt. Without a second quick shot, preferably back to front there is always the possibility of a corpse becoming a witness. His begging for mercy fell on deaf ears. He was dead and even this mornings hangover was cause to celebrate.

Drawing himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, he reached out for his cigarettes on the night table. Turning his head he gazed into the framed photo. Happier times. A time when his life had meaning. A time when he was happy to be a live. But all that was gone now. The smiling faces of his wife and daughter would only come to him in dreams. He lit a cigarette and let his eyes roam about the room. It was a pigsty. Since the funeral, he just didn’t care anymore. What was the use?

Sunbeams cascading through the half open drapes made it even more apparent that this house was in total neglect. He stared down at the blood dripping from his finger and then back to the bed. Light glinting on the revolver lying under the shards of broken glass brought him back to reality. He rose and made his way to the bathroom, leaving a small trail of blood behind him. As he turned the shower on, steam began to rise. Slowly undressing, he allowed his clothes to fall onto the cold tile floor. His thoughts mingling with the ever growing pool of blood dripping from his finger, he grabbed a dirty facecloth and bound it tightly, staunching the flow and pulled the shower curtains to one side.

The phone rang. It was ignored as he slipped into the hot stream of water. It felt good. He stood motionless, allowing the water to flow from his head down his body for what seemed like the longest time. The phone rang again. He turned his head slightly towards the annoying sound and mumbled an obscenity. Finishing the shower and once again bandaging the finger, he walked naked into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker.

The phone rang….again! Who were these people? His senses smiled as he breathed in the aroma of coffee wafting its way thru the kitchen. He pulled a dirty coffee mug from the unwashed dishes lying in the sink, gave it a quick rinse under hot water, and poured himself one. As he raised the mug to savour the first sip, the phone began to ring and continued ringing! Incessantly, destroying all possibility of this mornings only respite from the pain and soreness.

A snarl curled his lip as he grabbed the phone, nearly ripping it off the wall and yelled into the mouthpiece, “What do you want!”

Obviously startled by this outburst, the caller meekly inquired “Good morning, Mr. Phillip Preston?”

Phillip realized that the caller was a young woman who was obviously shaken by his outburst, and he calmed his voice.

“I am sorry Miss, who ever you are, but this is not the time. There is nothing that you have that I would be interested in buying. Now you really must excuse me, but I am rather busy at the moment.”

As he removed the headpiece from his ear, he heard the woman’s voice speaking louder,

”But I am not selling anything sir. I simply would like to talk to you about last night!”

Phillip stared incredulously at the telephone and let the last statement fully sink in.

“Last night? What about last night?”

“Mr. Preston, I am at The Grind just down the street. Can I buy you a coffee and we can talk?”

Phillips head swirled. Who was this woman, and what did she know? Was she a cop? A black mailer? One thing was certain he would have to find out.

“Very well, give me ten minutes to dress.”

“No problem Mr. Preston, I will be here waiting.”

The line went dead. He suddenly realized that he had no idea what this person looked like. Was she some crazed lady, perhaps the wife or girlfriend of the man he had killed the night before? He walked back to the bedroom and started to dress. This day was starting very badly. He picked up the revolver and tucked it behind him in his belt. The cold muzzle sent a shiver through him and he walked out into the bright morning sun.