30 Days of Fiction: 15

Friday was his 12th birthday and Joey was scurrying around the house frantically searching for his Nerf Auto-Blaster 3000. He looked under his bed, in the closet, in the living room closet, downstairs but it was no where to be found. His mother, June, was in the kitchen complaining to no one in particular that the dishes should have been done the night before and that it was Jemma's turn to do them but she was doing them anyway. Jemma was Joey's older sister and while his mother was quietly rebuking her Jemma was in her room talking to Stan Jones. All the while Jordan, Joey's stepfather was at work. He had promised Joey that he would make it to the birthday party at five but no one really thought he'd show up except Joey. Joey knew he would. Why would he say he would and then not, Joey thought.

Joey turned over another couch cushion and cursed, "Shit," when he saw no signs of Nerf activity.

"Watch your mouth Joey," his mother yelled from around the corner. "It might be your birthday but this is still my house," she said, but Joey could tell she wasn't really mad. She was always saying things like that. "Stay off the roof," she'd say, or, "Don't eat candy before dinner." But he knew she wasn't serious because even if she saw him disobey she'd just give him a look.

He sat on the couch and turned the TV on and flipped between channels but nothing looked interesting so he turned it off after about 30 clicks of the remote. What to do, he thought and then he remembered. He'd been wanting to climb the biggest tree in the neighborhood ever since Robert Claiborne had bragged about doing it last month in the cafeteria. When Joey had called him a liar, that day, Marcus Leonard backed up the story and threatened to punch Joey in the chin if he called Robert a liar again, so Joey knew it must be true. Since then, Joey thought that climbing the monster tree was not only possible but that if it could be climbed by Robert, a boy a year a year younger than he was, he had to try it.

Joey stood up from the couch and walked with purpose into his room to prepare. He changed into his climbing jeans, that were just his normal jeans but not the nice jeans he wore to church, these were the ones he wore after church. Then he put on his lucky blue belt, his green Hulk shirt and tied up his generic running shoes tightly. Then, his folding knife and two cards were put into his pockets and he was ready to go.

He opened the front door and yelled toward the kitchen, "I'm going outside to play!" His mom mumbled something about being back in time or something and he mumbled something back about doing what she'd said. When he opened the door he quickly turned his head from the bright light emanating from the sky and grabbed the pair of glasses on the stand to his left. They were his sister's but she never left her room anyway so why would she care, he thought. He put the red glasses on and marched out into the sun.

Joey was only a few feet down the road when, Peter Baker, a fifth grader with a speech impediment, rolled up next to him on his Schwinn bike and asked,"What ahwr you doing?"

Joey responded with,"I'm going to climb the tree," and puffed his chest out a little and marched forward.

"Well, that's stupid," Peter said incredulous of the claim. "You'wr gunna fall just like Wobewrt did."

"You're saying Robert's a liar," Joey asked not believing Peter for a second. What would a fifth grader know anyway, Joey thought.

"I saw it," Peter said and then added, "and Wobert only got up like five feet and slipped all the way down and cwied like a baby." Peter smiled remembering the scene.

"Bullshit, what do you know," Joey said as he continued to march down the sidewalk.

Peter said, "whatevewr," and rolled away up the street.

Joey continued his walk  until he reached the crest of the hill and at the top he stopped, pulled his sunglasses off and stared at it. The tree sat at the bottom of the hill nestled to the side of the road in an abandoned field standing in stark contrast to the otherwise desolate lot. It's lush green branches stretched up to the sky beckoning the sun and rain to nourish it's expansion and it called to Joey. To climb it's heights was to tame an ancient creature and have your name live on in infamy. Joey put his glasses back on and continued down the street.

Halfway down the hill another neighborhood child saw Joey walking down the road, in his resolute form, and became curious. Brad Pendleton was 11 and Brad liked an adventure. He rushed out of the the house and in no time was following Joey grilling him about what he was doing and why.

Brad jumped up and down along the sidewalk and asked, "Whatcha doing? Are ya goin to play in the lot? You're not goin to climb the tree are ya?" At this, Joey turned his head indicating that he was indeed going to climb the tree but he had no time to talk about it. Brad started to leap higher and higher and rubbed his hands together and said, "Oh, yeah! That's awesome. I wanna see this." Brad narrowly missed a mail box and continued, "You can do it, Joey. I know you can. Awesome."

The two boys continued down the street toward the vacant lot and as they stepped off the sidewalk and into the sandy lot they slowed to watch their steps. The lot was surrounded by chain link fences and trash was strewn about the area holding unknown dangers. One kid from school said the lot was covered in needles and broken glass but from Joey's perspective it was just kinda gross. Both boys still watched their steps and as they approached the base of the massive tree a boy and girl came from behind it with sticks and stones.

"What do you think you're doing," the boy said hitting his stick against his hand. He was Billy Conley, an eighth grader, and the girl was his younger, but meaner, sister, Brenda. She threw a rock at Brad who quickly dodged it and bounced behind Joey.

"I'm gunna climb the tree," Joey said trying his best not to look scared even though he was. The Conley's were bad people, his mom always said but he was determined to climb the tree.

"Bullshit, you are. Not without payin the toll," Brenda said stepping toward Joey and holding her hand out. She looked at Brad and spit in his direction and then reiterated, "money, dumbshit," looking at Joey.

"No," Joey said, but immediately regretted it when Brenda punched him in the gut.

"Not how it works," she said smiling.

"OK, OK," Joey said and pulled out the two cards from his pocket. He handed them to the girl who took them over to Billy. The two siblings looked at the cards, looked at Joey, looked back at the cards and then walked up to Joey together. Joey took a step back but stopped when he bumped into Brad who was standing too close.

"Where did you get these," Billy asked Joey, holding up the limited edition Mew Star Delta Series and Weezing Pokemon cards.

"None of your business," Joey responded hoping that would nullify the bullies.

"Alright, go ahead. Fall from the tree. See if we care," Brenda said and they parted ways to let the boys pass.

Joey and Brad stepped a few feet forward until they were a foot away from the tree and they both looked up.

"Doesn't look so bad," Brad said encouraging Joey, even though he knew he would certainly not attempt it himself.

Joey looked at Brad, nodded and then began his trek up the tree. He wedged his left foot into a crevice and raised himself up onto the first set of branches, pressing himself snugly to the trunk. He looked straight up and stepped up onto another branch and continued to pull himself up always looking at the next branch above. The higher he climbed the more he began the feel the tree sway back and forth causing him to take more time with each decision. Before long he was ten, fifteen and then finally he was twenty feet up the tree near the top. He stopped when the branches began so thin that moving up farther would be impossible and he looked out at the world from his perch.

Ahead he could see the expansiveness of his neighborhood and beyond were more sprawling endless neighborhoods stretching toward the haze of the city in the distance. All around the pavement continued and the houses never stopped. He could see the pools, play-sets and barbecues in the backyards. He could see people washing their cars and arguing with each other three blocks away but when he turned around he couldn't see his house. All he could see was an ever expanding landscape of hills, houses and patches of dessert.

Only when he looked down did the full weight of his actions hit him. He began to see the branches below spinning around the trunk as the tree itself began to twist and turn. With closed eyes he held tightly to the tree and when he opened them he could see a boy, on a bike, watching from up the block. It was Peter Baker looking up into the tree with awe and when he saw Joey looking his way he waved and then rode off down the street. Joey pulled out his knife and began to carve into the tree. He gingerly scraped out "JDG" on the side of the old bark and just as he was trying to fold the blade back it slipped from his hand and fell straight toward the earth.

Joey looked down and was shocked to see Brenda and Billy sitting on the lowest tree limbs right below him. He closed his eyes in terror and when he opened them he was relieved to see the knife sticking up in a tree limb just a foot above the girl's head. Then he made his way down the tree, gingerly feeling around with his foot as it dangled to find each new branch. Halfway down Brad and the others looked up to see Joey holding on with only his two hands, his feet kicking against the trunk but before he slipped they watched as Joey's foot found a branch and he was safe again. Soon enough he hung from a low branch a few feet off the ground and heaved himself off, landing on the dry dirt with what Joey could only imagine was a flourish befitting a gymnast.

On the ground he was greeted by Brad's praises and the two siblings looking at him in a way that indicated a reluctant but genuine respect. Joey walked home that day with Brad bouncing behind him and Peter following along side. They talked about how epic it all was and how he would be famous at school. Joey was filled with a sense of accomplishment and poise and had a smile as vast as the sprawling landscape he saw from atop the tree. The three parted ways one by one until Joey was at his door and when he opened the door to his house he was greeted by his mom sitting on the couch looking over at him with a concerned look.

"Jordan can't make it tonight," she said. "He has to work late and he said he's really sorry," she continued and stood up to comfort Joey. She hugged him and said, "I'm sorry Joey. I know you were looking forward to Jordan coming to your birthday but he has important work to do."

Joey pushed her away and ran to his room slamming the door as he entered. He fell on his bed and lay there for a few minutes thinking about what kind of a jerk says they will be at your party and doesn't show up. Why didn't Jordan want to come to his party, he thought. Joey wanted to tell him about the tree and how he climbed all the way to the top. He wanted to tell him about the knife, because Jordan wouldn't be mad or tell his mom about the knife and about the beautiful sight from the very top. Joey was mad but as he remembered his climb he remembered how he felt before he had walked in the door and he sat up in his bed. He was beginning to feel better and in the corner of the room he noticed the orange tip of his Nerf Auto-Blaster 3000.

Joey jumped off the bed and pulled the gun away from the mess of clothes and toys and examined it. On his dresser were a few Nerf bullets and he loaded the gun and looked around mischievously. He opened the door slowly and crouched down as he entered the hallway surveying the area for hostiles. His ears pricked up when he heard his sister talking of the phone in her room down the hall. He slowly made his way to her open doorway and looked inside. She didn't notice him until the Nerf bullet hit her in the side of the cheek.

"Oh my god," she screamed. "It's my stupid brother, just a second", she said and threw the phone on the bed. She turned and ran at Joey who turned down the hall running and calling for his mother. In the living room Jemma found Joey hiding behind his mom who was protecting him from her wrath.

"It's his birthday Jemma, leave him alone," June said sternly.

"Fine," Jemma said. "But I'll get you," she added and then smiled. Joey came around from behind his mom, with his head down, dropped the gun on the floor and gave Jemma a long hug.

Joey looked up at Jemma and asked, "Can I tell you about the tree?"

"Of course," she said.

"Oh, I wanna hear about the tree too," June said with enthusiasm.

June and Jemma sat on the couch and listened intently as Joey recounted his adventure taming the giant tree.

30 Days of Fiction: 14

As Wyatt looked up into the golden sky he wiped his brow and headed in for the evening after a hard day's work pounding posts into the dry land. He had purchased the land for only twenty dollars six months before but he was making quick work of the land in an effort to make it ready to grow his crops in the coming season. Corn, watermelon, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers and even a few apple seeds were his ticket to a good life in the untamed lands in the west. Although the rains had yet to hit he worked diligently everyday making sure his garden would be ready when they did.

A year ago Wyatt had been drinking in a saloon in West Virginia, where he was born and raised, when a man in a white top hat and matching white boots came up to him and sat down.

"You look like a smart young man," the man said with a smile. "Let me buy you a drink and tell you about a great opportunity," he continued and gestured to the barkeep who quickly brought over two tall glasses of yellow foamy liquid.

"Well, I'm not about to turn down a free drink," Wyatt said with the enthusiasm of someone who had never seen someone with such brilliant clothes. "Where'd ya get them clothes," he asked.

The man looked down at himself and said, "I got these fine linens and fabrics from the finest clothing maker in all of New York City. They fit me perfect and one day you can have clothes as fine as these, young man. I'm sure of it." 

"I doubt that," Wyatt said thinking about the five cents in his pocket, which was the sum of his savings. 

"Well, that's why I'm here. My name is Phillip Russell and I'm here to help young up and comers, such as yourself, make a better tomorrow for you and yours. Have you heard about what's happening to west of us young man," the white hatted man asked as he took a swig of beer.

"No sire. I keeps to my self mostly, when I'm not working on the farm," Wyatt said feeling stupid for not knowing. He took a drink anyway. 

"Well. That's fine. In fact that's perfect seeing as there's land out west. And it's dirt cheap if you know the right man," Phillip said. "And it just so happens that I'm the right man."

"Whatcha mean," Wyatt said with a confused turn of the head. 

"Let me explain," Phillip said excited to get to the good part. "I have hundreds of acres of land in Utah. That don't do me no good seeing as I'm here and it's just sittin there waitin for some hard working fellow to make use of it. That's where you come in. You see?"

"Utah," Wyatt asked indicating that he may not have understood much more than that. 

"Yes, son. Utah. It's a beautiful land. Has fertile soil like none other. I swear you'll make your fortune there and soon enough you'll be livin the American Dream," Phillip said leaning back in his chair.

"Well that sounds amazin. But I aint got no money for land," Wyatt said assuming he was defeated at the start. 

"Not a problem. You see. I can sell you a small portion of what I got. Let's say ten acres. And I'll sell it to you for," Phillip said and stopped to think about how much that might cost a man like Wyatt, "fifty dollars." 

"That's more than a year's work mister. Thanks for the beer but you're barkin up the wrong tree," Wyatt said.

The man in the white hat leaned over the table to tell Wyatt a secret, "For you. Twenty dollars."

Wyatt's eyes went wide with excitement and he said, "I can't pass up a deal like that. Shit. But I don't have it now."

"That's fine, son. Just pay me five dollars a month until it's paid," Phillip said with a grin on his pale face and the two shook hands.

For the next five months Wyatt worked harder than ever on the farm and helping people whenever he could. He saved every bit he could until he finally paid for his plot of land all the while doing his best to learn everything there was to know about farming from his grand father and others in town. On his final day in his home town only his mother and Phillip Russell wished him well and he set out to claim his new land with little more than a map and a paper deed. The next few months were arduous but he made it to Utah and started building his new life. 

He had managed to cobble together a meager wooden hut with enough room for a wood stove and a bed but he loved it. With just enough saved to purchase food and a few supplies he made himself a breakfast of bacon and eggs every morning before getting to work. The summer was hot in Utah and he wasn't quite sure how he was going to get the land tilled properly without a horse and as he thought about how he might accomplish more with less he noticed riders coming up over the hill toward him. Wyatt grabbed a shotgun, the one his father owned before he had died, and walked out to greet the riders.

Five men in black round hats, black vests and white shirts galloped up with their rifles trained on Wyatt. They circled Wyatt until he put his shotgun down and then the leader dismounted and walked up to him. 

"Who are ye and why are ye making camp on this land," the man in a black vest asked.

Wyatt was stunned and furious and tried to explain,"I bought this land fair an square from Phillip Russell not six months ago. I have to deed an everythin." He turned to get the deed but was struck down by the butt of a rifle. 

"That be a lie. This land is owned by God and the Mormon church," the leader said standing over a very confused Wyatt. 

"No, no. That can't be," Wyatt pleaded and added, "I have the deed. I paid fair and square."

The leader of the riders turned to the other men and said, "Burn it down," and then began kicking Wyatt repeatedly in the stomach. All of his seeds, tools and wood burned up in a few minutes and he was left there to die in the dirt. After a few hours Wyatt managed to get to his feet and he walked the few miles to the nearest village. It was the same village he had purchased supplies from and it was the same village that had informed the Mormons that "a new one" had came in looking to take their land.

Wyatt had thought it strange that there had been no saloon but now that he had no money and could barely walk it didn't seem to matter so he just sat against a building and waited. After an hour of unsuccessful begging a man with a tall black top hat and matching black boots came walking up and stood in front of Wyatt and said, "Well, you seem down on your luck, young man."

"I've had it worse than ever sir, spare a coin," Wyatt said wincing from the pain in his side. 

The man in the fancy black hat and boots took a cigar out of his mouth and said, "I've something better than a coin, son. I have a once in a lifetime opportunity for ya. Have ya heard of what's happening in California?" 

30 Days of Fiction: 13

There are times in one's life where one decision creates a multiplicity of potential outcomes. Some outcomes are good and some are bad.

I pulled into the parking lot of the skating rink to pick up my sister, Sharon, around 10 o'clock at night and waited for her to finish her sock hop dance. When it was over she got in the car and we talked for a bit about the event and drove out of town. At the time we both lived about 5 miles out of town in a rural part of North Bend, Oregon. We traveled across the large green bridge that marks the small town and pulled onto the old highway road now covered in darkness. Ahead of me was a huge black truck that was so new that any light coming off it shone brightly.

I was driving a 1985 Honda Accord hatchback with a couple hundred thousand miles on it but I had driven that road so many times that I knew I could take the truck so I decided to pass it. I pulled into the oncoming traffic's lane and stomped on the gas but so did the truck. I stayed on the side of the truck for nearly a mile along a straight stretch where I could at least see the lights of any oncoming traffic but soon the road would turn into a winding snake of darkness and danger. As the visibility of the oncoming road began to dwindle I had to decide whether or not I would continue in the lane or admit defeat and slow down to get back into the right lane.

I decided to keep going. Staying in the oncoming lane we both rounded corner after corner. This was where my knowledge and commitment began to come in handy. I knew how fast I could take each turn and the truck began to slow. My little car could handle the turns better and my commitment to the endeavor was unwavering and eventually the truck allowed me to pass and in the rear view mirror I saw it turn off down a dark side road. My heart was racing and I looked over to see my terrified sister holding on for dear life. She looked over and immediately I realized what I had put her through and I was ashamed but part of me was happy. The part that only cared about my ego and pride and I felt as if I had accomplished something. I showed that brand new truck that I was better than it.

*I decided to keep going. I stayed in the oncoming lane around the first corner going near 60 miles an hour when it was hardly safe going 30 miles an hour. Tight turn after tight turn I continued until out of the left side of my vision a bright light appeared and grew brighter than the sun. I slammed on the brakes but it was too late. The truck to my right had also slammed on their brakes and I had no where to go. With a crash the oncoming lights collided with the front end of my small car as metal, glass and flesh were ripped apart at the seems.

I woke up with blood pouring out of my head and looked over to see nothing in the passenger seat. I looked up to see the windshield in shreds and a body lay on the street a few yards up. The sun had dimmed as the other car had fell into the ditch to the left. My seat belt was pressing into my chest but I struggled and broke it loose. I exited the car out of the mangled door and walked up toward the body lying lifeless on the road. Seeing the long dark hair and small stature I knew what I was seeing. My sister lay there bleeding and as the adrenaline began to subside my body began to shake. I ran to the nearest house to call an ambulance but it was too late. My ego and pride had done it's duty and my sister had paid the price.

*I decided to keep going. Still in the left lane as the first turn came I could see the truck slow down. My car was better at the sharp turns and I knew them so well I could push my speed to the max. Just as I thought that I would overtake the truck a bright light appeared from ahead. Without thinking I stomped on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left launching the car into the forested ravine that lined the dark road. The car flipped onto it's back and tumbled over and over until it was stopped by a large fir tree with a crash. When the ambulance finally came they were unable to save the driver but the passenger wasn't so lucky. My sister was taken to the hospital where, after a brief coma, she was left with severe brain damage and would never speak again.

*I decided to slow down. I slowed to the consternation of my pride and pulled back into the right lane. I turned to my sister, who was relieved at my decision, and said, "I could've taken it." We talked and laughed about how my car was such a piece of shit and arrived home safely. I was never haunted by my decision that night.

30 Days of Fiction: 12

"I don't know anything about this but I emailed my grandson and I couldn't get that to work. So I had my janitor help me with the email.  But then my grandson, he's 14, he said he wanted the new army game, Call of the Battlefield, or something," the old woman droned on.

"So, your grandson wants Call of Duty," I asked starting to lose patience.

"Yes, yes. I think that's it," the old bag continued.

"Ok, What system is it for?" I asked, hoping she would not deliver another diatribe of nonsense.

"What do you mean?" the old one said not knowing what I was talking about. 

"Is it Xbox or PS4?" I asked.

"Oh...I don't know," she said staring into space. 

"Ok. Can you call someone to find out?" I asked noticing a line forming behind the oldest lady ever. 

"Um, I don't know. I don't have my phone on me," she said looking like she'd never thought about solving this type of problem before. 

"Ok. I have a bit of a line so if you can ask your grandson exactly what he wants we would love to help you with that," I said as nicely as possible.

"Yes, thank you so much for your time," she said looking back at the people staring at her not accomplishing anything. 

The old lady waddled out and the next customer came forward. 

"How are you," I asked with a forced smile.

"I'm looking for Leap Pad mini, where is that," a 30 something female, with long black hair, asked. 

"We don't sell that product, unfortunately. I think you can get them at Wal Mart," I responded looking behind her at the line continuing to grow. 

"No, you sell it because I saw one the other day. Or maybe I was online. Just a sec," she said putting her finger up and pulling out her phone. 

She tapped on her phone a few times and then turned it over to show me my error. The screen showed a Leap Pad mini for $129.99 indeed but the website was Toy R Us. 

"That's the Toys R Us website," I said with a twinge of righteousness. 

"Oh shit, OK never mind," she said and turned around and made her way out. 

Next in line was a greasy looking white kid with a superman t-shirt. 

"Do you have the new Tenkei Ichi Domo Cha Cha," he said assuming I knew what that was. I did not. 

"What is that for," I asked preparing to type the name into the database.

"It's for 3DS of course. You work here and don't know Tenkei Ichi Domo Cha Cha," he said adding a laugh to his smugness. 

"Nope, I'm not seeing it in the system," I said looking up at the overweight teen. "It might not be out in the US yet. Sometimes these kinds of games get released in Japan well before they come out here."

"I don't know. I could buy it on Amazon but I wanted to buy it from you," the genius said. 

"Yeah, sorry. Maybe check back later or check our website," I said as he turned around in a witless huff. "Thanks," I added as he left. 

Then, a man is his mid to late 20's came up and I hoped it would bring some normalcy to the conversation. 

"Hi, How are you," I asked.

"I'm fine, how's it going," he responded in kind.

"I'm well, what can I help you with," I asked starting to feel like the world wasn't a complete shit hole.

"I'd like to pick up the new Diablo 3 game, I heard it's really good. What do you think," the reasonable man asked.

"I think it's great actually," I said turning around to grab it from the shelf. "I played it when it first came out and it's really fun. Lots of action and good graphics. The best thing is four person couch coop," I continued.

"Couch coop, what's that" he asked.

"Oh, it means that up to four people can play on the same screen at the same time. Or you can play online or any combination. It's pretty cool and not a lot of games have that nowadays," I said happy to inform someone of something. I decided to give the man a break so I found the used version of the premium edition and put it on the table. 

"Oh that's great," he responded.

"So, I happen to have a pre-owned version of the premium edition with all the ad-ons and it's only three dollars more than the new one without the ad-ons. Do you want to go with that," I asked showing him the cases to emphasize the difference. 

"Oh yeah! That's awesome. Of course," he said with jubilation.

"Great, anything else coming out your looking forward to," I asked as I rang up the purchase. 

"No, not really. I don't play a lot anymore but my friend said I had to get this one and I loved the older one, so," he remarked.

"Cool, well if there is anything else you're looking forward to you can pre-order it and get some bonuses and what not. Just something to keep in mind," I said finishing up the payment and handing him the bag with the game. 

"Cool, well thanks and have a good one man," he said as he took the bag, turned and walked out. 

"Next please," I said noticing that the person in line was standing back and talking with their friend. They were middle aged hillbilly looking white trash folk so I assumed it would be a fun conversation. 

"How can I help you," I started it off friendly enough.

"Well, I bought these games last week and they don't work. Also, I bought this headset and it's broken already," the man with the dirty white shirt and not so many teeth explained. 

"OK, so none of this worked," I asked looking at the perfectly fine items on the counter. 

"Nope, and I want a refund," the beer bellied man retorted.

"Alrighty, do you have your receipt," I asked cordially.

"Nope. Can't you look it up," he asked, the smell of cigarettes, booze and something else emanating from behind his cracked lips. 

"Unfortunately without a receipt," I began but was quickly interrupted.

"Nope. I've done it before here and it was no problem. I bought it from some girl yesterday and she said I had 7 days to bring it back," he said his rehearsed line. 

"That is normally the case, but we can't do a refund without knowing how much you paid and how you paid," I explained looking the man in his shit colored eyes. I could see he was about to respond poorly so I offered, "But if you just want an exchange for something in the store I can do that."

"Oh, well I don't want to do that, is there someone else I can talk to," he said looking around. 

"Nope. I'm the manager and without a receipt I can't give you a refund. I'm sorry," I said sternly. 

"Fine, Fuck," the man exclaimed and grabbed up the items on the counter, bagged them up in an Wal Mart bag and walked out mumbling to his equally dissatisfied friend. 

I looked up to see my replacement walked in the store as the next person came up to the counter. This time it was a young boy who had a game and some cash in hand. I took the game and began finding the disk for it when I asked,"Do you have a parent or guardian with you because this game is rated M."

"They are out in the car, I can go get them," he said meekly.

"Yes please, can you go do that or else I can't sell this too you," I said holding the game up. "I'll hold it for you," I said and put the game on the back counter as he left the store. 

The next person came up as my replacement came up to clock in and said, "Hey, what's going on?"

I stepped back and turned to say hi. "Not much, same old stuff," I said. "Are you clocked in," I asked.

"Yup," he said.

"Ok, this game here is for a kid who is getting a parent, otherwise just stay on till and help customers. I have to go in the back and get something done," I said.

"Hello!"

My associate and I turned to see a large, gross looking woman at the counter staring at us. 

"I'm waiting," she continued with her fat face.

"Ok, Sorry about that. Just getting him caught up. He's heading over now," I said looking at my associate with wide eyes and then walked into the back room. 

I sat down at the desk and ate a granola bar deciding what projects needed to get done that day, making notes on a pad of yellow paper. A few minutes later my associate opened the back door and asked with a somber tone, "How's it going?"

"Fucking stupid," I said. "These fucking white trash retards come in here and fucking don't know what the fuck is going on," I said while my associate started to smile. "I had a lady come in and say we had something and when she looked it up it was from fucking Toys R Us. Not us you fucking idiot," I continued my rant. 

"Yeah, people are dumb. That kid never came back by the way and that lady who was in such a damn hurry left her credit card. So she'll be back, I'm sure," he said looking into the store to see if anyone had come in.

"Yeah. Well, whatever. Just a bunch of tards. I had one cool customer, though. We've got a lot of shit to do today," I said changing the subject. "Shipment hasn't come in but it'll be huge and we have a plano-gram to get done, but Kelly is in at one and I'm here till six so we'll just keep getting it done one thing at a time," I explained. "How are you, John" I asked remembering there was another human in the room. 

"I'm tired. Stayed up way too late playing Overwatch," he said looking tired. "Well, I'll get back to it then," he said and walked out to the front.

I got up and as I walked out the front of the store I turned to John and asked,"Want some coffee?"

"For sure, thanks," he said with pep before continuing to help his customer.

I walked out to get some coffee. 

30 Days of Fiction: 11

In a dark room, only lit by the forge fire, James Armstrong pounded his hammer against the flat steel that would later be an implement of death for the king's army. His first born son Jesse sat in the corner with stone cold attention on his father's work. He would soon be learning the trade and was already a happy helper fetching tools and steel even when they were too heavy and all he could do was drag them along the floor to his father. James had worked night and day for months to fulfill the order but was still not quite finished the night before the king's men were to come to pick it up.  Axes, shields and spear heads lay filling wooden boxes but one last box lay open and only half full as James sweated and toiled the night away. 

James woke up at dawn the next day to continue working but as he entered the shop the king's men were pulling up and dismounting from their horses. Their elaborate armor and swords shimmered in the sun and faded as they walked into the shade of the dark shop. The leader of the pack, Sir Garth, disregarded James' cordial welcome and walked past him examining the boxes and counting the items in each box. 

"Lookin' good so far," Sir Garth said, "But I'm still countin'," and looked over at James with a crude smile.

James looked down hoping that Sir Garth's counting abilities were not as adept as his swordsmanship. As Sir Garth made his way around to the front he noticed the half empty box of swords. James made a glance at Sir Garth but averted his eyes quickly. 

"Looks like ya missing some, aye," Sir Garth asked with a wry smile. He then kicked over the box and began to count swords as they strewn about the dirt floor.

"I've been working non-stop since I been given the order Sir," James tried to explain his position but as he attempted to continue another man, in full knight's armor, punched him in the gut.

"You shut your mouth," the man said as James gasped for air. 

Sir Garth finished his counting and walked over to James until their faces were within inches. 

"The king ordered you to make 25 axes, 25 shields, 25 spear heads, and 50 sharp swords. I only count 35 swords here," Sir Garth said as he pulled out a dagger from a sheath behind his back. 

"I'm sorry sir, I will finish the rest in no time," James pleaded as Sir Garth smiled and brought the dagger up the his chin. "I swears to ya," James continued. 

"NO!"

Just then a cry came out from behind the door to the home attached to the shop. Sir Garth walked over to the sound and opened the door revealing young Jesse Armstrong, who had been watching from the crack in the door. 

"No," James whelped as Sir Garth grabbed the boy by the arm and pulled him into the room and as he attempted to make his way toward the boy he was punched in the gut again. He doubled over and the now man that had hit him twice held the back of his neck. 

"Well, this is perfect," Sir Garth said looking at James' worried face. "No one makes the king wait," Sir Garth explained and then put the dagger to the young boys neck and slid it across effortlessly until blood poured violently down the boy's dirty brown shirt. 

"No!" James exclaimed and struggled to free himself of the large knight's grasp who eventually let go. James crawled over to his dying son and held him in his arms. 

"Come get this shit," Sir Garth said and waived over two peasant men who promptly ran over from their cart and began hauling the boxes and filling up the cart. James sat with his son in his lap while they finished up and as they walked out to the street Sir Garth turned around and said,"You owe the king 15 swords. You have two weeks or I do the same to your wife." Then he turned and they all rode away. 

That night James and his wife, Mallory, wept as they made their way to the plot of land, on the outskirts of the village, where the peasant folk were allowed to bury their dead. James dug the hole, placed his son inside and covered the boy in dirt. Mallory placed a large stone at the head of the mound. Etched in the stone read Jesse Armstrong, 9 Years. As the two forlorn parents looked upon the mound of dirt that covered their beloved son, James turned to Mallory and with a look of pure hate and determination said,"They will pay for this." She looked back at James not with glee but with sadness knowing that there was no convincing him otherwise and that soon she would likely be burying him as well. 

The next day James went back to work hammering and shaping steel with more determination than ever. He didn't stop to eat and only stopped for water when his body forced him to. He kept on like that for eight days until the 15 swords were completed and then he went to work on a 16th. He spent the next five days perfecting this final sword making sure to fold into each layer a measure of hate. Back and forth into the flame it went until it was stronger than any sword he had ever made before and as the sun came down on the 13th night he sharpened it to an edge that could shave a pig's belly clean. 

In the morning James was roused from the sound of clomping hooves coming up the path by his house. He turned over and gestured for his wife to stay where she was and be quiet. Instead of going through the door to shop to meet the king's knights he went to the back door and climbed up the ladder to the roof. On the roof awaited his new blade resting on a pile of fresh hay. He clenched the sword firm and walked to edge of the roof where he saw Sir Garth was already inside the shop who  began pound on the door to the house. 

"Hello!," Sir Garth yelled into the door but no one answered. 

Below James were two other men standing on the cobble stone street peering into the dark shop. Without delay James dropped onto the one that had held him down and made him watch his son die and drove his blade downward through the top of his helm and into his torso to the hilt. The man fell to his back and as James pulled the sword out of him the other knight turned and drew his sword. James turned just in time as the knight swung over his head but as he did James held his sword to block and the knight's sword was cut in half, the top half of which sliced a shallow cut across James' face. The knights eyes went red as James thrust his sword through the knight's sternum and as the man fell blood sprang out from the hole in his chest. 

Sir Garth made his way to the fight and just as he swung sideways James rolled left and got back to his feet. They faced each other on the street, the blood on James' face glistening in the morning sun. Sir Garth sprang forward lunging at James but James knocked the sword to the side and swung back striking Sir Garth in the shoulder causing a grunt of pain. Sir Garth turned and swung sideways but James jumped back just in time to miss being sliced at the waist. They both stepped toward each other and as James swung downward with all his might Sir Garth tried to block the hit but found that his blade was not strong enough and was struck deep where the shoulder meets the neck.

Sir Garth fell to his knees with the sharp sword sticking out of him and as he stared into James' eyes he knew he was finished. James walked up and leaned down to whisper into Sir Garth's ear, "Your first born will not live to see the morrow," and pulled his sword out with a flourish. Sir Garth fell to the ground and as blood spewed from his neck two men pulling a cart trotted by and as they passed James they gave him a nod. 

30 Days of Fiction: 10

It had been three years since Ethan Stanton had tapped on the keys on his laptop but on that cold day in April he decided to get back to what he loved the most, writing. As he sat staring at the blank canvas on the screen he was consumed with the memories that led to his journalistic sabbatical. He remembered the news he had received while on assignment in Afghanistan informing him of his wife's sudden and mysterious death. He would later learn that there were no signs of a break in or struggle when the police had found her lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor. No weapons were found either but they determined that she died from a single blow to the back of the head by a blunt object.

Upon hearing this news Ethan had left for his home in Montana immediately. After the funeral he was determined to find out what had happened to his wife. The police had no leads and no suspects so he started asking around. He started by questioning friend's and acquaintances but no one could imagine why someone would want to hurt his Samantha. Then he tried to go undercover with the local drug dealers and in so doing developed a nasty meth habit and learned nothing of what happened to his wife. Later, he went into rehab for meth only to replace the habit with alcohol and in the end no where closer to finding his wife's killer.

After three years of torment he put the bottle down and typed, not knowing what might come of it. But in no time he had five pages written about his wife and their life together. He wrote of how they met in a creative writing class at the University of Montana and how they were instantly in love. They had planned on traveling the world, he as a journalist and she as a novelist. After that they would settle down and have children but they had only gotten as far as the traveling and writing part of the dream. She had published her first book not long after they were married and he had written noteworthy articles on the brutality of war in the Middle East. That was all over now.

The only light in the dank, dark apartment shone on his tears as he finished writing about his previous life and as he reached for the bottle of whiskey he began to drink until the screen was a blurry haze of white light. He passed out on the keyboard as tears and drool dripped into the keys and soon the room was completely black.

A bright beam of light peered in through a crack in the curtain and landed on Ethan's face and slowly he opened his eyes. He spent the morning reading over what he had written and out of instinct made corrections. 'There might be something here,' he thought and closed the laptop. He stood up and for the first time discovered the hovel his despair had created and was ashamed. He imagined his wife standing in the room, her beauty in stark contrast to the trash and filth that defined the room now. He walked to door and opened it. A consuming light engulfed him for a moment but when his eyes adjusted he looked out at the beauty of the open Montana landscape that surrounded him and with a sense of hope he walked out into the light.

30 Days of Fiction: 9

Thomas created a YouTube account when he was 14 for one reason, to get famous and it took five years before anyone really knew he existed. Those years consisted of him taking other people's work and re-cutting it for comic effect or filming himself going through drive-thrus saying pop culture catch phrases or getting away with calling people cunts and the like.  Needless to say it was not successful nor particularly unique and therefore he gained little attention from it. Five years in, with only a few hundred subscribers, he decided to make one last video.

He pulled up to the intercom at Taco Bell and with his two Go Pro cameras semi-disguised he started his usual and now lackluster witty repartee, "Can I get the supreme butthole."

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that," a female voice responded.

"Yeah, the supreme burrito," he clarified.

Just then his car door opened and a man jumped into the passenger seat.

A shocked Thomas looked over and exclaimed, "what the fuck?"

The white haired man looked at Thomas with worry on his face and said, "you have to help me. They're​ after me. Please."

Feeling the excitement of something actually happening to him Thomas pushed on the accelerator and rushed toward the road, not knowing where to go. After a moment the dread of ignorance hit him like a stone in his stomach. He looked over at the stranger and asked, "who are you?"

"My name isn't important right now", the stranger explained. "What is important is that I have information that people do not want me to have. Information they would kill to get back," the man said said frantically looking back and forth around the vehicle.

"OK," Thomas said concerned about what he had gotten himself into. "So, what now," he asked hoping it wouldn't involve the police.

"Now we need to get to a computer," the man said.

"The library then," Thomas suggested.

"Don't you have a computer," the man asked.

"Yeah, but it's at home and my mom is there, so," Thomas explained.

"Well, I guess the library it is," the man said with excitement.

Thomas was perplexed but still somewhat intrigued at what this was all about. He hoped that his recording of the event might yield some click worthy content and so continued toward the public library with his new companion. He noticed that the man was dressed too shabby for such a distinguished looking face with his green hoody and plain blue jeans. 

"Who is after you," Thomas asked.

"Don't worry about that," the man continued. "All I can tell you is that there are people in this country that want to take your freedoms, start unjust wars and deceive you into thinking that they are helping you. But they aren't. It's all bullshit and someone has to do something to teach them a lesson."

"OK," Thomas said unenthusiastically.

When they arrived both Thomas and the man with no name walked up to the library, past the metal detectors and headed for the computer section.

"Looks like you need a library card to login," the man said to Thomas looking at him expectantly.

Thomas leaned over and typed in his library card number into the login screen. The mystery man pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and put it in the computer.

"Do you mind," he said looking over. 

"I'll go to the bathroom," Thomas responded and walked off toward the restroom.

A few minutes later he returned to the computer to find that the man he had helped was no where to be seen. Curious but defeated Thomas went home and started uploading his footage to see if he could use any of it. He stared at the man's face on the screen feeling a sense of recognition that was hard to place.After the watching the mostly uneventful footage he decided to leave it for the day, played video games for a while and went to sleep.

The next morning his mother heard a loud rapping on the door and as she walked toward the sound the door burst open along with ten armed men in black swat gear.  "FBI, is there anyone else in the house?" Someone exclaimed.

Thomas's mom dropped to the floor and with her hands behind her head she yelped,"Just my son, upstairs. Don't hurt him!"

The men rushed upstairs to take the stunned young fame seeker. While Thomas was being interrogated​ he learned that the white haired man was a Federal fugitive convicted of treason, terrorism and murder and that he had aided him in launching a computer virus that cost billions of dollars in lost banking information. Thomas was interrogated for two days before they took him to the county courthouse where hundreds of reporters were gathered to question the young man. As they walked up, the 19 year old man in handcuffs, his armed escorts staved off the swarm of microphone wielding squawkers and as Thomas looked around at all the cameras he smiled.

30 Days of Fiction: 8

Among the rubble of the fallen building one hand could be seen reaching toward the sky. Noticing the hand, a rescue worker rushed over and started digging shards of metal and concrete out from around the hand, that now lay limp. After an minutes of relentless work the body of a middle aged man emerged covered in dust and blood. By the time the rescue worker had started CPR more medical personnel had arrived to prep the ambulance ride should the man be brought back to life. The man's eyes opened suddenly and a gasp of air signaled a successful resuscitation. He was lifted onto a stretcher and placed into an ambulance.

Later that night the news would report that the building had been the victim of a terrorist bombing intended to disrupt the sale of religious texts and send a message to those that propagated Christian ideologies. No group had come forward yet to take credit for the bombing that caused the death of at least one shop worker and one customer and had sent one man to the hospital in critical condition. This had been the first terror attack in the small town of Medford, Oregon and the public wanted answers. "The religious community will not be intimidated or deterred," the woman on the news would explain. 

Bruce's eyes opened slowly to find that he was all alone in a quiet and brightly lit hospital room with an IV in his arm, bandages on his face chest and legs, and a pounding headache. A moment later a nurse walked in the room.

"How are you feeling today, mister..." she said hoping he would finish the sentence.

"Lenny," the man said cheerfully. "Lenny Bruce." He tried to lift his hand but stopped mid way up and laid it back down.

"That's alright, Lenny. Just relax and try to move. You've sustained a major concussion and some cuts and bruises but I think you're going to be just fine," the nurse said confidently. "Do you have anyone that we can call," she asked.

"No, it's fine. Don't want to worry anyone and I don't have family in town so..." Bruce said cordially. 

"OK, well if you change your mind just let us know. How do you feel," the friendly, young nurse asked as she checked his charts and monitors. 

"I have terrible headache," he said squinting and rubbing his head. 

"OK, I will talk to the doctor about what we can do for that," she responded as she started for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Your lucky to be alive," she said turning to him and then walked out of the room. An hour later the kind nurse entered the room where Bruce had been to find an empty bed and and opened window. 

Bruce glared at the screen of his computer that displayed the latest news on the bombing. Articles speculated that the recent attack was a response to the series of gruesome murders of seven prominent atheists in the past year. Or it could be a random act of violence perpetrated by Islamic radicals, one article explained. The next website on screen was a notice that Seth Harris would be in Medford to speak at the local community college on his Nationwide college tour debating the negative aspects of religious ideologies. This latest news interested Bruce very much.

A few days later Seth Harris was walking out of a gas station bathroom, just outside of Medford, when he felt the world slowly start to fade to black. He had passed out due to a build up of fumes that had been pumped into the bathroom from the outside. His limp body was picked up and placed into the back of blue Ford SUV and soon he was being brought back to consciousness by the feeling of freezing ice and water hitting his face. His eyes opened to see a sideways man standing in the shadows holding a bucket.

"What the fuck is this," Seth said, groggily. Looking around the cold concrete room he saw gardening tools and lawnmower but to the far right there was only a cloth covered bench, on which laid a golden dagger, a large hammer, a bag of four inch metal spikes and a plain old hacksaw. At seeing this he whined,"oh fuck," and started squirming around but the ropes around his ankles were connected to the ropes around his wrists which were connect behind his back and he wasn't going anywhere soon.

The man in the shadow came forward into the light, turned the bucket over and sat on it contemplating his new victim. Bruce stared at the man laying in the corner and patiently waited for the man to stop pleading, questioning and bargaining and when the man finally stopped Bruce stood up. He began kicking Seth in the chest and stomach and face all the while chanting over and over, "And have mercy on those who doubt. And have mercy on those who doubt. And have mercy on those who doubt." He continued chanting and kicking until the heathen fell unconscious and he was out of breath.

Minutes later Seth woke up in a pool of blood, his teeth falling apart in his mouth. He whimpered and moaned with no one to sympathize as Bruce sat in the light sat staring at him on his white bucket. Then, Bruce stood up and as he walked toward the tool bench he recited,"But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death."

"No, No, No," Seth stammered and spit.

Bruce, holding a dagger with a golden handle, walked to the man, knelt down, opened the man's neck and said, "For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it for you on the altar to make atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that makes atonement by the life."

The next morning was cold and dreary, with fog covering most of the well kept grounds of the Medford Methodist Church when the groundskeeper walked down the stairs to the church's basement to fetch weed killer. He opened the door like he'd been doing for the past 15 years but this time he was greeted by the horrifying scene of dismembered bloody body parts in the shape of a cross, each piece nailed to the wall.



Bruce was eating pie in a quaint San Franciscan diner when everyone around him turned their heads toward a TV set attached to a wall behind the counter.  A young female reporter was saying, "Yesterday, Oregon state troopers arrested a man they believe is responsible for the terrorist bombing of a small Christian book shop in Medford last week." The picture of famed atheist Darren Richmond showed on screen next to a photo of Seth Harris. The reporter continued, "The divide between the faithful and the faithless is ever growing as in the same town the body of renowned 'New Atheist' Seth Harris was found brutally murdered and nailed to a church basement wall."

Bruce looked back down at his plate and began eating again. 

30 Days of Fiction: 7

That morning the silence was wearing on me so as to become an incessant distraction. It stalked me in the bathroom as I brushed my teeth with the new Multi-Morning Brush and Comb, in the shower with it's low-flow hyper-efficient technology, at the sink, with it's patent pending vibration ending metal and faucet and in the dead silence the electric car produced on the way to work. There were no longer sirens or car horns. Music was only allowed in ear and only at a low level set by the government and only approved music deemed acceptable for the public was allow. Even if I wanted to listen to what passed as music now I wouldn't since it was all just the same slow beat accompanied by a whining overtone of boredom.

At work everyone sat in individual cubuals where they typed using Anti-Clacking keyboards and only looked up from their screens to see what time it was. The massive clock on the wall was the only thing in the room that regularly made any noise with it's dull throng each hour to help people remember who was in charge. I sat down in the soft chair, my fat roles bunching up above my waist, and looked at the list of tasks due that day.

1. Cross reference digital data collection system protocols, for all criminal databases, with current data backup and recovery protocols and identify potential errors and log associate ID responsible.
2. Report associate IDs for any above identified errors to upper management.
3. Recover lost data, if possible and create file backups and restore protocols where dissolved.
4. More tedious bullshit!

I clicked on the number 1 and the program began to run and indicated a four hour wait time. While that ran it was now time for the daily intelligence and information gaming procedure, which seemed to have no end of content for disseminating information and mini-games that tested and developed intelligence in every domain. The news of the day was about how city crime was at an all time low of .2%, depression rates were at .01% and China was finally adopting the progressive Noise and Other Pollution Prevention Coalition after ten years of sanctions from 25 nations. The mini-games taught advanced math, science and English lessons with the use of frogs, bunnies and other furry and non-offensive creatures. Today's lessons were difficult enough and in no time four beats of the dull clock had passed, the program was ready for the next step and it was time for lunch.

Everyone stood up and waited for the announcement which came via a text prompt on both screens and after it arrived it counted down from 30 minutes. If the eye sensor didn't recognize your presence at your station when the clock hit zero you would be flagged as insubordinate and face a disciplinary hearing the next day. I walked into the cafeteria where the slight sounds of rummaging humans was almost audible, although I might have been making the sound in my head as everything in the cafeteria had been designed to reduce sound from any angle. From the noise cancelling soft floor, plates and utensils to the absorbent walls. People chewed quietly, never coughed, burped or farted and no one talked. Sometimes they would look at each other with blank expressions but mostly they just looked down making sure to eat just slowly enough to not make noise but no so slow as to be late back to their cubual.

I wasn't hungry that day so I just started walking around the cafeteria wondering around, looking at the faces of so many silent people dutifully eating their pre-made lunch portions as a sick feeling came over me. I didn't know what to think about it all and as I looked at them I realized that the silence I really feared was the silence that had arisen in my own mind. My mind had become void of judgement and understanding. Had life always been like this? If so, then what is this sinking feeling deep in my body telling me to fight, to run, to scream?

So I kicked a chair softly at first. The woman in the chair barely flinched so I kicked it harder. This time she stood up and opened her mouth but nothing came out. After a second of exchanging looks the woman sat back down defeated but I couldn't shake the feeling I had to do something. In my head I heard a voice say, "What are you gunna do about it?" Then, I kicked the chair again, only this time I hit the woman in the leg and a soft "uh," exited her mouth which she quickly threw her hands up to cover. Just then the silent doors to the cafeteria swung open and two men, in black jump suits, entered and made a bee line for me.

I stood there unsure of what to do but when they came close enough to grab me I was overcome with rage and yelled,"Whaaaaaaattt?" The two men stopped in their tracks. I couldn't remember how long it had been since I used my voice and it hurt to do so but it also felt amazing. The two men looked shocked as they probably hadn't heard anything like that before and didn't know how to act but they were resolute enough to start walking forward toward the monster that had asked a question.

I jumped up on a table and started to run toward the door, narrowly missing the grasps of the two men in black. In the hall, as I was running toward the stairway, I muttered the word, "what" over and over until all that I could do was cackle with laughter. The hysterical sound reverberated and echoed all throughout the stairway as I ran as fast I could could down the stairs until the outside world was only a door away. Stopping with my hand on the door knob I took a few deep breaths and then opened it and stepped out.

The world was quiet again. Only a few cars passed by, perceptible only by their bright blue or yellow chassis, with no one on the side walks as it was still lunch time and no one, except myself, looked up to see the amazing sun surrounded by a bright blue sky. I laughed until my neck and throat began to hurt from the strain from so such laughter and exuberance. With my arms spread out and tears running down my cheeks I felt a jerk as two men tackled me from behind, my face making a soft crash into the grassy sidewalk. The last thing I felt was a knee on my back and a pin prick in my leg and then the lights went out.

I woke up in bed some time later wondering why I felt so groggy and tired. Normally I felt refreshed and ready to go but now my back and neck hurt and I had slept in. I ate my normal pre-made breakfast portion, brushed my teeth with the amazing new Multi-Morning Brush and Comb and combed my hair with it and everything began to feel normal again. It was quiet as it should be and I'll just explain that I wasn't feeling well and they won't mind that I'm late, right? I made my way to the door when a notice flashed on the screen that normally just showed the time. It read:

1. You have been given a day off.
2. Please stay at home and come to work normally tomorrow.
3. Thank you for your service and get well soon.

In all my years I had never seen anything like that. Especially from the government and hoping I get well. I must be pretty special to get this treatment, I thought. Just then a loud, single knock came from the door. I'd never heard such a noise and it frightened me but I opened the door none the less. On the other side was a woman and man, both dressed in all black but with white hats that made them look like upside down exclamation points.

"Hello Jim," the woman said with a smile. "We'd like to talk to you about yesterday, can we come in," she continued as she and the man walked past me, my mouth agape.

The man sat down in the soft white chair in the corner and asked,"Do you ever feel like screaming?"

I couldn't answer. I couldn't even remember how long it had been since I had used my voice. I managed a tentative,"What?"

"Well," the woman began. "We are part of a different order of people who value freedom. Freedom of voice. Freedom of speech, freedom of expression and we want you to join us." Her smile was intoxicating and a ball of excitement started to boil in my belly. The recognition of something lost and important started to flood my mind with thoughts of a world that once was.

I stared at the two exclamation points for what seemed like an eternity, until suddenly, I found myself uttering the phrase, "Tell me more."

30 Days of Fiction: 6

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A black fedora skidded along the concrete street heading the opposite direction of it's owner, who was now stoically walking against the roaring wind heading toward a wooden door attached to a large home in an affluent suburban neighborhood. The lawn was immaculately manicured, the window shades were shut and the wind chimes were clanging uncontrollably. Her long black hair matched the long black trench coat in it's desire to join the hat but their owner held them in place as best she could. She knocked on the door and after a few minutes was greeted by a tall blond woman in her early twenties. She had french tips, perfect makeup, a pearl necklace adorned her clavicle and her long black dress had a deep V cut revealing much.

"Hello," the blond woman said in an airy, uninterested tone. "Who are you?"

"I'm detective Kelly Hirsch," the woman with black hair said with a smile. "I assume you're Karen Stuttles," Kelly said to the uninterested Mrs. Stuttles. 

"Yes," the modelesque blond responded looking back into the home as if Kelly wasn't there. 

"Good, I need to ask you a few questions. Can I come inside?" Kelly asked indicating the wind as a good reason to comply. 

"Sure, whatever," Karen said standing aside. "I'm not doing anything anyway." 

"You're dressed very well for someone not doing anything," Karen said while sitting down on the plush leather couch that sat in the middle of the expansive living room.

"I always look like this," Karen retorted with a wry smile. Kelly noted a bit of disdain in her voice. "What is this all about?"

"I'm investigating the disappearance of Jeremiah Hoffman," Kelly said looking for any recognition on the young woman's face. She didn't find any.

"Oh," Karen said with feigned interest.

"Yes. I understand you were seeing each other." Kelly asked as Karen started pacing around the room.

"Oh. Um. Yes. But how do you know?" Karen said much more interested now than when the detective had first arrived.

"We found your number on his phone under the name Baby K," so I assumed you were lovers. "Don't worry, I'm not here to upset your marriage. I don't really care about that. I just want to know when you saw Jeremiah last."

"Oh. Well thank you for that. We stopped seeing each other about a week ago," Karen said sitting down on the couch now facing Kelly. "He just stopped calling and I didn't think much of it. It wasn't serious so I just let it go."

"Alright. Well, if you hear from him or think of anything that will help us find out what happened please give me a call," said as she stood up and handed Karen a card.

"That's it," Karen asked surprised the conversation was over.

"Yup," Kelly responded and then walked to door.

"Alright, well I hope everything is OK with Jeremiah and thanks for being discreet," Karen said as she walked Kelly to the door. Kelly walked out into the windy world, the door slamming behind her.

Karen watched out the window as Kelly drove by and waited a few minutes before leaving, not knowing that Kelly had parked down the road and was watching as Karen drove away in her "not doing anything" clothes. Kelly followed the blue Jetta a few miles until it stopped at a run down apartment complex. Kelly noted an old, tan VW Bug parked out front and assumed it was a tenant's. She watched as Karen ran up the stairs and at the door she was greeted by a young man who picked her up and took her into the apartment. 

Kelly waited another twenty minutes until the two young lovers exited the apartment and headed down the stairs. He now matched her, in a sharp black suit and shining leather shoes. Following Karen's Jetta again, Kelly found that their end goal was the newly opened night club 'Hell Hole'. As Kelly watched the two enter the club and was about the leave she noticed the same tan VW bug parked across from her. As she drove by she looked inside to see an older man, dressed better than the car deserved, glaring into the club. She took note of the license plate. 

The next morning Kelly walked into the precinct with a coffee in her hand. 

"Where's​ your hat," Johnny asked from behind the front desk. 

"Fucking wind took it," Kelly answered smiling. She walked past the desk and tapped Johnny on the shoulder as she walked by. 

At her desk she began to look through files, discarding papers this way and that until she stopped on a photo. The photo was taken from Facebook and featured Karen and her gray haired new husband, Gary Stuttle. The man's face looked familiar and after a minute Kelly realized it was the man from the VW Bug. She frantically looked for her notes and found the license plate number she had scribbled down. She tracked the registration to the name Garfield Starling but no one by that name existed in any other database. Kelly grabbed her coat and made her way to the door. She had some questions to ask Gary Stuttles. 

Gary worked in the top floor of the tallest building in town, which wasn't saying much at ten floors high, but obviously he was a somebody. Kelly exited the elevator and asked the receptionist if she could speak to Gary but he was in a meeting she would have to wait. After thirty minutes Gary entered from a nearby glass door along with another man. One in Nazy blue and the other in all white. 

Kelly stood. 

"You must be Kelly," the man in the white suit said shaking Kelly's hand. 

"Yes. I was hoping to ask you about a missing VW Bug," she said looking into the man's eyes. 

"Hm. That's​ a weird question," he said with one eyebrow raised. 

"I can see why you would think that but the registration is under the name Garfield Starling. Do you know anyone by that name," she asked looking down at the note with the license plate number on it. 

He was staring down at the note too when he said, "Nope. Doesn't sound familiar. Why?"

"Well, I ask because while that name doesn't exist in any database the money used to buy the car was traced back to a corporate credit card that your company owns," Kelly said looking up to find Gary pacing around the room.

"Yeah? I don't know. I'll have to look into it," Gary said and then he stopped and looked at Kelly concerned. "You said this was about a missing car? Why would you be investigating that?"

"Actually, I think it's important for a missing person's case I'm working," she responded. Kelly put her items against her side and reached out to shake Gary's hand. He took her hand and stared into her eyes looking for recognition. 

"Thanks for talking with me. I'll let you know what I find about that Bug." Gary said squeezing Kelly's hand until it started to turn white. 

"Your hurting my hand Mr. Stuttles," Kelly remarked. 

"Oh shit. Sorry about that," Gary said letting go and shaking his head as if being lifted from a haze. 

Kelly left the building and waited in her car looking through files, making calls and drinking coffee. An hour later she watched as Gary left the building, jumped into a yellow Chevy Charger and drove off. She followed him through the city, over the bridge and down an historic highway road winding through tall green trees.  Miles later he finally stopped at a small farm house where a garage door opened before him. Driving past, Kelly saw the Charger entering the garage and just as the door was sliding closed she saw a glimpse of a tan VW Bug. 

She drove up a ways, turned around and slowly crept back toward the farm house. As the house came into view she saw the tail end of the tan VW Bug heading back toward the city and she had to choose quickly: investigate the house or follow the man. She chose to follow the man and called in to have the house investigated, although, with no warrant it might not provide any additional evidence. She followed Gary much more cautiously as to not be found out but she was practiced at such things so he never noticed as she trailed behind him.

Kelly was less than surprised, driving through recognizable streets, to find that she was back at the apartment where she had seen Karen meet her sexual confidant. She stopped on the curb a good distance away and watched as Gary, now dressed in shabby jeans and a black coat, strolled up the stairs and knocked on the door. When the door opened he disappeared inside and the door slammed. 

A few moments later Gary was holding the now unconscious young man over his shoulder and back down the stairs. 

"We've got a possible 209 in progress," Kelly called over the radio. "Pursuing at distance. I think I know where they are heading." 

She followed long enough to confirm her suspicion and dialed her cell phone. 

"Are you guys still at the farm house I called in earlier," Kelly asked. 

"Yeah, didn't see much so we're going to leave," the voice of a patrol officer responded from the other side. 

"No, I need you to drive up a distance, park and get ready to meet me at the house. I'm following the suspect there and a potential victim. I'll let you know when I'm close," Kelly spoke fast and clearly. She dropped the phone on the seat next to her and continued her pursuit making sure not to let her adrenaline affect the heaviness of her foot. 

Gary arrived at the garage and disappeared behind it's door as Kelly parked in the driveway, partially blocking any retreat by way of car. She was greeted quickly by two uniformed officers. One officer had a shotgun while the detective and the other officer had only pistols. 

"Take the back," Kelly said gesturing to the officer with the shotgun who quickly started moving around back.  Kelly and the other officer started for the door. Trying the handle Kelly found it locked so she used the handle of the pistol to break the small window above the handle, reached in, between the glass shards, and unlocked the door. She opened it quickly and they both entered the dark room pointing their weapons at the hallway, kitchen and back again looking for danger. 

Kelly gestured for the officer to follow her and they both made their way down the dark, dusty hallway until they reached a hanging string attached to an attic door. Looking at the officer knowingly she pulled the string down swiftly stepping aside as it made a loud crash toward the floor. Two gun shots rang out and two holes erupted at Kelly's feet. She shot back knowing it would be no use but then heard a struggle, then glass breaking and finally a blast from the shotgun out back. 

"Stay here and don't get shot," Kelly remarked to the officer, who looked stunned, before running out the back door. She opened the door to find Gary laid out in the tall grass bleeding from the chest. The officer was breathing heavily, calling in the incident on his lapel radio. Kelly and the officer exchanged worried glances and then Kelly turned around and went back through the door to meet the officer at the bottom of the attic stairs.

"What the fuck," the officer said looking at Kelly and then back up at the hole in the ceiling.

"The suspect jumped out the window up there, pulled on Justin and Justin shot him in the chest," she responded. "Let's go see what horror lies up there," she said pointing upward with her pistol.

The officer led the way and as they made their way up the stairs the smell of putrefying flesh made them cringe. Looking around the room they both saw the bodies. One tied up to the rafters hanging by the arms, with flesh from the neck to the chest flayed open and the head slumped down. Another body lay in pieces in two plastic bins, one bin with the body and legs, the other containing the head and arms. Kelly assumed this was the missing Jeremiah Hoffman but there was no way to know just from the carnage. Just as she began to walk forward the man hanging by his arms, skin swaying in the breeze, spat blood onto the floor next to her shoes, lifted his head and screamed.


The next day Kelly got out of her car and headed up the road toward the Stuttle's home. This time she was accompanied by the two officers that had helped her catch the man who had let his jealousy and rage destroy the lives of at least two men. Just before she stepped onto the curb a black fedora came tumbling by and stopped just a few feet away. She walked over, picked up the hat and slowly placed it on her head.

Rant: Inequality is Not a Problem

Wealth inequality is not a problem. Poverty​, violence, force, coercion, child abuse. Those are problems but the fact that Bill Gates has a billion dollars in his bank account and I have a thousand dollars in my bank account isn't a problem. We are both doing fine. The only way for anyone, other Bill Gates or myself, to even out those two statistics is to use force.

So what are you willing to do to force equality? After you create this universal policy of wealth distribution will you feel the same when they come to take your earnings and property to enact your "just" prescription? Or are you only happy to take from other's?

What makes people think that they are capable or qualified to solve other people's problems? How is it that twenty year olds, who have never had a job, think that they have solved anything in the way of social prosperity? Why do people think that their way should be forced onto others and if only they were in charge it would all get better? Why is everyone so interested in forcing others to do and think their way?

Freedom depends on people not using force to solve their problems. Freedom from coercion, violence, theft and fraud allow people to thrive. Free trade and capitalism, in spite of corruption by the government, has led the western world to a level of prosperity like none other in history and yet so many demean it's values and deny it's by-products. 

30 Days of Fiction: 5

"Customer service scores dropped 3% since last week," a man in a blue tie was speaking but Kevin wasn't listening. He was staring out the window at the kids playing in the park below. "Each of you are responsible for holding your store managers accountable and I want to hear how each of you are committing to bringing these numbers back to standard," the man continued and then looked around the room to see who would speak first. The room was silent until the man saw Kevin staring out the window. "Kevin! If you don't mind, can you tell us what you're doing to motivate your store managers?"

Kevin continued staring out the window for a moment and then finally turned his head toward the man in the blue tie and then around at the other district managers in the room that were now all looking at him. "I plan on sitting down with each of them, over the course of the next two weeks, one on one and asking them questions. Find out what they think leads to actual customer satisfaction and how to translate that into actionable steps for their employees. I will reiterate with them that it is their job to train and get their employees, that they chose, to do their jobs," Kevin responded calmly and with confidence.

"Well," the man in the blue tie began to speak when Kevin interrupted.

"I know that there are a few managers that like to hang out in their offices and never actually show what good customer service looks like to their employees," Kevin said looking into the blue eyes of the blue tied man.

"Well. That sounds good enough. Does anyone else have anything to add?" The sooner Kevin stopped talking the better.

Kevin turned around to look out the window but the kids were gone and so were his hopes of distracting himself from the dull meeting. Maybe there was something he could do to end the boredom? He began looking around at the parking lot and thought about what might happen if one of the cars were to just blow up. But which car? He looked around and saw a particular distasteful yellow Hummer and closed his eyes tightly. After a minute of intense mediation he heard an enormous BOOM and gasps from all around him. He opened his eyes and to his surprise and excitement the yellow Hummer was engulfed in twenty foot flames. People in the room and in all the rooms, in all the buildings near by, gathered at their respective large windows to see what had happened.

Kevin was filled with a sense of joy for only a second when a sense of guilty fear started to creep under his skin. What if someone found out it was him? Was it him? How did he do this? He stood up and briskly walked out of the room and as he left he heard someone behind him saying,"Where's Kevin going?"

He walked down the hall, past the empty desks, into the elevator and out of the building. As he made his way to his car, which was not that far away from the inferno that was once an over sized gas guzzler, he looked up and saw his fellow managers staring down at him with confused and angry faces. Kevin got into his utterly practical sedan and drove home passing a few fire trucks on the way.

When he arrived at home he turned the news on but no channel was covering the explosion. Must be too soon, he thought and decided to put on the next episode of "Game of Thrones" instead. He had a normal evening which consisted of a sandwich for dinner, smoking weed after that and then playing video games until his eyes were so heavy his characters wouldn't stop dying. He went to bed barely remembering the events of the day. All he knew is that he felt good knowing he got to leave work early.

The next day Kevin woke up in a great mood. He made the breakfast he only made on special occasions, blueberry pancakes and hummed while he ate. When he was about to grab his keys to leave for his office his phone rang.

"Kevin, it's Larry. We need to have a conversation about yesterday. Come to my office when you get here," said the man with no emotion and most likely a blue tie.

"Okay," Kevin said and hung up the phone. A sense of dread was making it's way through his skin and settled in his stomach. How would he know I made the car blow up? Maybe they were mad because the cops needed to interview all the witnesses. Or was it about the meeting or something else? Before he could think about driving he was already walking into the office building.

As the elevator doors opened a slew of concerned faces greeted him and he knew something terrible was in store. Kevin walked to Larry's office slowly, struggling to will each step forward. He knocked and was told to come in. He opened the door to see Larry and another man waiting for him. Larry spoke first.

"This is Henry from HR. He's only here to observe. Sit down," Larry had on a red tie this time. Kevin sat down in the leather chair. "What were you thinking yesterday? You can't just leave in the middle of a meeting. Did you think that I wouldn't do anything?" Larry was starting to get angry.

"I thought," Kevin started.

"You thought that you could just leave in the middle of my meeting and go home," Larry asked now standing up. The man from HR looked up and then started furiously writing in his note book.

"I was distraught, because of what happened. Maybe I just needed some time," Kevin said while looking down. He hoped this would appease Larry and his red tie.

"Well. Your getting a formal write up for this and no more bullshit from you," Larry said beginning to regain his cool. "You get that down Henry?" Larry said looking at the man from HR who was still furiously writing in his note book. "Get out of my office," Larry demanded.

Both Kevin and Henry stood up.

"Not you Henry," Larry said angrily.

Kevin left the office feeling like he had dodged a bullet. He was making his way over to his office when someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Susan but she had never spoke to him directly before.

"It was pretty awesome how you just got up and walked out of the meeting yesterday," She said smiling at him, he dark eyes piercing his soul. "Bad ass," she added and walked away from him looking back and smiling as she did.

Kevin was dumbfounded and smiled all the way back to his office. When he got there he ran straight over to the window and looked out at where the yellow Hummer had exploded and smiled to himself when he saw another yellow Hummer parked in the same spot, completely untouched. It had worked. His imagination had created a reality that suited him and next time he was stuck in a boring meeting he would close his eyes, meditate on that yellow Hummer and make something happen.

30 Days of Fiction: 4

In all his years Albert had never seen something that was at once so exquisitely beautiful and so completely terrifying. He was only nineteen but he was convinced this was a one of a kind experience. He was right. It wasn't every day that a lowly blacksmith's son stumbled upon the lair of a sleeping dragon.

He had been playfully chasing after a beautiful young damsel up a hill and as they rounded the top the girl stopped abruptly and turned to Albert with a look of disgust. He ran to her smiling and held her tight not noticing her look and lack of enthusiasm for the game they were playing.

"What is that awful smell," she asked him.

"What smell," he responded and sniffed the air a few times. He looked around and then they both fixed their gaze on a nearby cave at the base of the jagged mountainside lining the shoreline to the east. They walked together toward the cave and as they drew closer the smell increased in potency and filth until soon they were at the mouth with only darkness ahead. 

"Go tell the others what you've found," Albert said to the nervous young maiden. "I'm going in."

She nodded and started to run toward the village. Albert found a branch and wrapped swathes of the long dry grass around the end until he had a tight bundle and a then lit it by striking the back of his knife against a stone of flint. He walked slowly into the cave unsure of what he might find. He traveled through a maze of winding tunnels until he came to a ledge the revealed a large opening where a single beam of light shown through a crack in the ceiling. One hundred feet down, at the other end of the beam, the light illuminated a glistening shimmer coming from a dark spot near a large reservoir. Was it gold or silver? Albert was going to find out. 

He made his way down a winding narrow ledge that lead down to another cliff about fifty feet down. When he made it to the plateau he noticed that he was not the only one who had been there. Laying in the circular outcropping were the remnants of a campfire and near the edge Albert saw a long bow. He made his was to the edge and picked up the bow and examined it. He wondered what it was doing all the way down there and then he looked down where he noticed something large moving. The light shimmering in repeating patterns of gold, silver, blue, green, and red. His eyes widened as they adjusted to the dim light and the beast distinguished itself from the environment.

It huffed as fire spurted out of it's nose and then thudded back down onto the ground like sleepy wolf resting up after a long day of hunting. Albert dropped the torch on the ground, put the bow around his back and grabbed the few arrows lying on the ground. There was a thick vine on the side of the plateau and he used it to climb down to the ground where the dragon rested. He landed next to a edge of a small pond with the dragon's curled tail just a few yards away. His eyes fixed on the dragon he stepped to his left and stumbled on something that crackled loudly as he stomped on it finding his balance. He looked down to find the long decomposing remains of a skeleton, a small ax lying just beside it. Albert now had an ax. 

Making sure not to make any more noise he slinked toward the rear of the sleeping beast. Soon he was close enough to climb on it's back but suddenly it reared it's massive head, raised it's back and rose to it's feet. Albert jumped back just missing it's left leg as it rose and slamming himself into the wall of the cave. The dragon took a few steps and laid back down with it's face half one in the pond. It started lapping up water like a lazy animal that couldn't be bothered to move more than just just it's mouth and tongue.

It was now or never, Albert thought and then ran to it's left side and started to climb the protruding glimmering scales of the dragon's short leg. The dragon stopped tonguing the water, jerked it's head around and looked directly at Albert who was making his way up it's back. The dragon wasted no time and bellowed a furious wind that forced Albert to his knees as it spoke.

"Where did you come from," the dragon spoke with a deep echoing voice. "Get off my back!"

"No", Albert responded as loud as he could muster. "I'm going to kill you and feed my village for a year!" He yelled triumphantly. "I'll make armor from your skin and weapons from your bones!"

"Oh," the dragon was unconvinced. "And how do plan on doing that," the dragon said and, as it let out deep drums of laughter, it stretched out it's enormous wings filling the space with wind and tremors. Albert stood up and began running toward the dragon's head. The dragon began to take a deep inward breath, it's chest inflating with air and its body beginning to rise up off the ground. Albert was almost to the part where the wings meet the back when the dragon belched out it's flame over it's back. Albert slid under a small crevice in the cleavage of it's right wing and the flames singed the end of his dirty hair.

The dragon turned it's head toward the sky and they both rose higher toward the rocky sky. Albert climbed up the back of it's neck and when he reached the top of it's head he slammed the ax onto the top of it's scale armored head bouncing off so quickly Albert always released it but he held on. He climbed a few more feet and now he could see the dragon's eye sockets. He pulled the ax from his belt and slammed the blade down striking the top of the eye and causing the dragon to wince and struggle, it's head leaping back and forth. Albert couldn't hold on much longer when he saw his torch lying just a few feet away. He leaped onto the rocky plateau and rolled breaking the bow on his back.

The dragon struggled to fly and bellowed once again,"You dirty human! You've blinded me!" It twirled to the ground and landed with a thud with it's face in the black water below. Albert looked over the edge to see the dragon lifting it's head out of the water and he heard the sound of it breathing in deeply. Before he could think Albert hurled himself off the cliff edge straight toward the ground and the dragon. As he neared the dragon's head he raised his ax with two hands ready to drive it into whatever part of the dragon he landed on. Just before he could do that the dragon began to blow it's orange fire up into the air engulfing Albert but it came too late and Albert plunged down onto the dragon's head burying the spiked handle into it's eye two feet deep. Albert's face skimmed off the blade as he fumbled into the water which put out any flames attached to his clothes. The dragon's head fell just a few feet away with it's tongue out resting peacefully at the water's edge.

On the shore Albert felt his face which stung as blood poured from the slash going down his cheek. He looked over to see the glimmering body of the dragon lying there not much like it was just minutes ago when it was sleeping. Albert wondered how many people it had killed and what everyone back at the village would say. He would be a hero.

He climbed onto the top of the dead monster and laid on his back in the middle of the dragon where the wings meet the body and looked up at the beam of light and the crack in the ceiling. He thought of his love, Mary, and how they would have to get married right away. A few moments later he saw a light coming from the ledge high up the rock face. Then another light and another light and soon there were twenty people making their way down the cliff side toward him. He stood up, raised his arm to the sky and bellowed, "I am Albert and I have slayed the dragon!"

He heard cheers and singing as the others came closer and soon they were all looking down at him from the plateau where he had leaped onto the head of a dragon. He stared up at them and knew that nothing would ever be the same.