Book Excerpts Discussions - Authors.com
2024-03-29T10:53:02Z
http://www.authors.com/groups/group/forum?groupUrl=book-excerpts&feed=yes&xn_auth=no
Excerpt from novel, PIPELINE, Chapter 8.
tag:www.authors.com,2019-08-15:3798404:Topic:222248
2019-08-15T01:59:49.390Z
Hugh Harris
http://www.authors.com/profile/HughHarris
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Can you believe ole Zeke here didn't know that preacher's done skipped outa town?" said Bunk.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam shot a harsh look toward Zeke. "What you been up to? Ever'body knew about that." He laughed and turned playful. "Maybe you run 'im off. One look at you and he'd have wanted to get as far away from Strong's Creek as he could."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Zeke grumbled and walked toward the door.…</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Can you believe ole Zeke here didn't know that preacher's done skipped outa town?" said Bunk.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam shot a harsh look toward Zeke. "What you been up to? Ever'body knew about that." He laughed and turned playful. "Maybe you run 'im off. One look at you and he'd have wanted to get as far away from Strong's Creek as he could."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Zeke grumbled and walked toward the door. "Yeah, you th' one prob'ly run 'im off. I got work to do. See y'all later."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "No hard feelin's," Cam called after him.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Zeke slammed the door.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> The two men laughed, and Bunk decided to pump Cam for some juicy tidbits. "So, you got any idea where that preacher went in such a hurry--why he pulled out so fast?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "If I did, I couldn't tell you." Cam slapped Bunk on the shoulder. "Shoot, he didn't hurt nobody or commit no crime. Ain't none o' my business where he went."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> As he started out the door he stopped and turned back toward Bunk with a more serious expression of his face. "Listen, it's always possible somethin' else is goin' on. If you hear somethin' about that preacher I want you to call my office. I told the folks at the church that he probably went back to Richmond to get some stuff...maybe got snowed in. Still, I've got a gut feelin' there could be more to the story that we been hearin'."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Ain't heard nothin' so far," Bunk said. "Lotsa folks'll be comin' in here for gas and supplies now the storm's over, so I'll keep an ear out. Let ya know if somethin' turns up."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "You do that."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam went out to his Ford Interceptor and headed back into the village where he stopped at the diner. Evie was wiping off the tables and putting things back in order after the lunch crowd had left.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Hey, Evie, is Clete around?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "He just went to the bank. Be back soon unless he stops off someplace and gets to talkin'. Somethin' I can help ya with?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam walked over to where she was working, and she stopped. "What was all that mess o' sirens about earlier?" she said. "Terrible time to have to go out on a call."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Oh, that was Miz Fields...she had a heart attack. Didn't make it, I'm afraid."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Been expectin' that. How many is that now? She shoulda been livin' with somebody who could take care of her."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "I dunno--lost count. Listen, I'm tryin' to find out about that new preacher in town. He ain't been in here, has he?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Matter of fact, he was here...what was it," she counted on her fingers, "three, four...I guess Thursday mornin'. Didn't talk much to anybody, but I noticed his car when he left...got one o' them little Hondas same color as my brother's Chevy--<em>red</em>."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "He didn't come back in later that day, did he?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "No, but I noticed that same car goin' forty-leven miles an hour out toward the highway later. I was takin' my break. Didn't seem fittin' for a preacher to drive like that."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam laughed. "So, how are preacher's 'sposed to drive?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "You know what I mean. My friend Gertrude lives out on the main highway. She told me she saw that same car bustin' a gasket headin' toward the mountain just a while after that. Then I heard people from the church talkin' in here at lunch...said he done left town. What do ya make of that?"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Don't know that I make anything out of it. Man's got a right to drive out of town in any direction he wants. Sounds to me like y'all ain't get enough to do if ya go around tryin' to figure out where somebody's goin' when they drive outa town."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Evie put her hands on her hips. "Cam Bordain, you got a lotta nerve talkin' to me like that." She sputtered, "You know I work my tail off around here and...."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam threw his head back and laughed. "Okay, okay you're right. I didn't mean nothin' personal." He put his hat on and turned toward the door.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "So, you gonna come in here and get me all stirred up and then walk out the door. Just like a man."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Cam paused. "Do me a favor? You hear anything more about that preacher, let me know? I ain't sayin' they's anything wrong, but ain't sayin' they ain't neither." He gave her a wave.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> "Yeah, I will. Now you git on outa here."</span></p>
<p></p>
<p></p>
Surviving the Threat
tag:www.authors.com,2019-02-26:3798404:Topic:218699
2019-02-26T15:18:33.992Z
Antaeus
http://www.authors.com/profile/Antaeus
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Instinctive Reaction</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>"Situational Unawareness in the private marketplace or on the battlefield will cost you your livelihood or your life." — Michelle Malkin - American conservative blogger, political commentator, and author.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Quickly answer this question. What do you do before you cross the street?…</span></p>
<p></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Instinctive Reaction</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><em>"Situational Unawareness in the private marketplace or on the battlefield will cost you your livelihood or your life." — Michelle Malkin - American conservative blogger, political commentator, and author.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Quickly answer this question. What do you do before you cross the street?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You probably answered: I look to my left and then to my right, to make sure there isn't a car coming.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's something you do without thinking. You do this for the sake of survival because if you didn’t, you might die. The knowledge you've acquired tells you that someone getting hit by a car going 50+ miles an hour usually doesn't survive the encounter.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">You knew the answer to that question immediately (I hope) without even thinking about it. You were able to do that because the knowledge was passed on to you in some form. What was once a precautionary act to our grandparents, has become an instinctive survival technique to us. You did it almost every day growing up because you were told to by your parents. After a while, it became a habit, and after that it became instinctive.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">We all need this type of knowledge to survive in these modern times. It’s a part of the society we live in, so when we cross the street, we check for that car. We probably do it every day of our lives, and we don’t feel the least bit stressed about doing it. We don’t become paranoid about checking for cars, it’s something we do automatically without thinking about it.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">There are a lot of precautions which we take, and other actions that we perform, every day, to survive. We do most of them automatically and without a second thought. Think about what you do on a daily basis to protect yourself, and those you love, from being hurt or killed.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When you're driving, you, automatically do what is necessary to avoid a collision. You don't think about it; you do it automatically. When you put your seatbelt on, you do it without thinking. You don't panic because you could be killed in an instant by a careless driver, you get in your car, put the seat belt on and go.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Two hundred years ago, there were no cars. Our ancestors looked out for wild animals, stampeding buffalo, horse dung, and I don't know what else. No one thinks about stampeding buffalo anymore. Because nobody in the United States is being killed by stampeding buffalo.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now we look out for cars. It’s part of everyday living, part of our daily survival routine. The world has changed again, and now we citizens need to start performing some other acts automatically to survive. We now need to start learning how to look out for active shooters and terrorists, like we learned how to look out for cars without thinking about it.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I don't mean we should do it fearfully, and certainly not in a paranoid way either. Our forefathers instinctively looked out for the dangers of their time, and they survived. We, their descendants, are proof of that. Now we must develop the instinct to look out for the dangers of our time.</span></p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-size: 12pt;"><strong>As a Society, We've Become Lazy</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Americans have become too complacent. Citizens sit in front of the TV or computer and watch reality shows that aren't real. Most people know more about their favorite football, baseball, hockey, or basketball team than about how to stay alive during an active shooter or terrorist attack. It's been my experience that, most of the time, people don't even know what's going on in their own neighborhood.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If my mentor Nunzio were alive today, he would probably pull me aside and say something like, "The majority of the people I meet on the street are ignorant and oblivious."</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Thinking back on our time together, he would say that most of the people we observed on our walks together were either ignorant or unaware.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">The average citizen needs to learn to keep his head out of the sand. People need to be awake and aware if they want to survive a violent or lethal attack.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Acting Instinctively</span></strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When a bird flies too low and gets too close to your head, your instinctive reaction is to duck. It happens in a nanosecond. You don't consciously think about it, it just happens.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If someone throws something at you, your reaction is to move out of the way. You don't stop to think about what you are going to do; your body just reacts instantaneously.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That’s your bodies survival instinct kicking in. It perceives there is a danger, and it reacts automatically and accordingly without conscious thought. However, humans are not born with this knowledge, these and many other "automatic" reactions are not instinctive, they are learned responses.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">If an animal has never seen a car before, it can be run over while crossing a road that it has crossed a hundred times before without incident. A human being who has never heard a gunshot before will react a lot slower than someone who knows what a gunshot sounds like. When it comes to an active shooter or terrorist attack, it's the person who reacts the fastest that has the best chance of surviving.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As an example, the other day I was watching a show on TV, where someone had been dressed up to look like a bear statue. People would walk into the store, and the "statue" would roar and lunge at them.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Most of the people jumped or cringed in fear, except for one young man. He instinctively threw a punch at the bear. It was obvious to me that the young man had been in a scary situation before and learned that it was safer to react than cringe in fear. That’s what survival is, responding to a situation quickly and instinctively.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">That young man is who I want by my side if there is an active shooter or terrorist in the building.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Do I know what to do to increase my chances of staying alive in an active shooter or terrorist attack? Most definitely. I wasn't born with that knowledge, but I spent a lot of time and effort in learning how to react.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Do I know what to do if a home invasion happens?</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'd bet my life on it!</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Again, I wasn't born with the knowledge, but I learned what I have to do. I have a firearm, and I am trained on how to use it safely. I'm not afraid to use that gun to defend myself and those I love, be it outside or inside my home.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Be honest with yourself. Do you want to be the person who will cringe in fear or the person that acts instinctively?</span></p>
Excerpts from "Seslatero"
tag:www.authors.com,2017-04-02:3798404:Topic:207049
2017-04-02T19:30:09.156Z
K.E. Strokez
http://www.authors.com/profile/KEStrokez
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="font-size-2"><strong>(Some background: the book is a series of journal entries written by a woman with Multiple Personality Disorder. It is meant to be a light read: I produced it in one weekend to force myself out of a nasty bout of writer's block. Also contains coarse language. Apologies if that's not your thing.)…</strong></span></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;"></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="font-size-2"><strong>(Some background: the book is a series of journal entries written by a woman with Multiple Personality Disorder. It is meant to be a light read: I produced it in one weekend to force myself out of a nasty bout of writer's block. Also contains coarse language. Apologies if that's not your thing.)</strong></span></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="font-size-5"><strong><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272110050?profile=original" target="_self"><img width="220" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272110050?profile=RESIZE_320x320" class="align-left" width="220"/></a>Chapter 1</strong></span></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I stole someone's wallet when I was 12.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Some rich guy who kept trying to get my mother's phone number. Even though she <em>really</em> didn't like him.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">One of my other <em>selves</em> was “in charge” that day.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">The <em>bad</em> one. The troublesome one. The kleptomaniac.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">She made me steal the wallet. Then did the <em>dumbest thing ever</em> afterwards.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Waited until we got home, were having dinner, told my father everything about the rich guy...</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">And dropped his leather wallet on the table.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Right on top of the meat loaf, cos it made sense to have all parts of a cow reunited after death.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">That's what was going through <em>her</em> mind.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">My parents had <em>other ideas</em> about what was right.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">My father bundled me into the car and drove me to the police station.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Turns out he had a problem with stealing things too when he was my age, and one trip to “the city's finest” cured him of that.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;"><em>Yay, Grandpa. You raised a good one.</em></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Looking back, I think they paid the police officers to be stern.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“Name,”the desk sergeant insisted.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“Maxine,” that self declared.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“Stop lying!” My father insisted.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“I am Maxine! Just cos it doesn't say so on my birth certificate doesn't mean I-”</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“What <em>does</em> it say on your birth certificate?” The officer asked.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“<em>E</em>li<em>za</em>be<em>th</em>,” that self stated with bile in every syllable.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">So...my official name is Elizabeth. Most people call me Eliza, though. Because “Liz” was the cool girl down the street everyone knew, fell for and wanted to sleep with.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">No one wanted to get “the wrong Elizabeth”. And that's who I was.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">“<em>Boring, plain, boring, wrong”</em> Elizabeth.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Until the day I stole that guy's wallet and named myself Maxine.</p>
<p class="western" align="center">***</p>
<p class="western">So I was – sorry, <em>am</em> – Suzie. And I have to tell you this awesome thing that happened on my ride home from work today.</p>
<p class="western">It was so exciting that I didn't even go to therapy.</p>
<p class="western">I've skipped a few sessions when I have enough pills. It's nothing new. I don't even think Doctor F gets angry about it anymore.</p>
<p class="western">Sometimes I have to be <em>“normal”</em>, you know? Sometimes I have to be Suzie, or Elizabeth, or Maxine. Without declaring it to a paid professional with a <em>super-comfy</em> couch.</p>
<p class="western">So my vehicle of necessity is the train. Crowded, smelly and suffocating. Not so crushing outside of rush hour, which is when I like to travel at the end of the day.</p>
<p class="western">Moving slowly that day. Accident ahead or something. The driver even apologized. I don't think I'd ever heard a train driver's voice before.</p>
<p class="western">But we were going relatively slowly, and I decided to pay attention to the city in the dark for the first time.</p>
<p class="western">And that's when I saw it.</p>
<p class="western">The graffiti on the wall of one of the tunnels: in <em><strong>MY</strong></em> secret alphabet.</p>
<p class="western">It didn't say much. Just a series of numbers.</p>
<p class="western">And I'm so excited by that. I don't know what they mean, but I realized if I add the city's address-code digits in front of it, the graffiti becomes a phone number.</p>
<p class="western">And I'm going to call it. Because why not?</p>
<p class="western">Curiosity is human, right? And if there's someone else out there who can read my alphabet...I want to meet them. Talk to them. See what they're about.</p>
<p class="western">Maybe I'll finally make a friend.</p>
<p class="western"></p>
<p class="western"><span class="font-size-5"><strong>Chapter 2</strong></span></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">So Suzie made me promise I'd say who I fucking was before I wrote this. I guess I've defied her in my first sentence. Whatever.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I'm Maxine. And calling that number was the biggest waste of time. Ever.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Do you know how <em>annoying</em> it is to listen to <em>“muzak”</em> while someone repeatedly reassures you that a human will be on the line shortly?</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Fucking <em>LISTEN TO THIS:...</em></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Okay...I realize you can't hear it cos this is a text-only book, but you get the idea.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Fuck, I can be so dense without my meds. Which Suzie forgot to fucking take before she went to fucking sleep last night.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Fucking slow-ass dumbass holier-than-thou-ass bitch.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I swear sometimes if we didn't share the same body I'd kill her.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Fucking Suzie. Fucking Eliza. Fucking phone number.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Yeah, yeah I know. I should stop complaining, hang up and go do stuff. Like go to work or whatever.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Bitch: do you know how <em>AGONIZING</em> data entry is?</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Bad enough we started that job with Suzie in charge. Fucking OCD-ass, accurate-to-the-letter Suzie.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">She set a standard, now everyone at the company expects better of us everyday. And I HATE the work. HATE IT.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">But it pays for the apartment.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I should get ready. Maybe have some breakfast or something. Bills go with checks, right?</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">And we're on probation. If I get us arrested again we're going to jail. And not “normal” jail. Psychiatric ward jail, where prison sentences don't count and the meds are kinda okay.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I'd go there for the meds, I really would. But fuck...would I be okay with being stuck in there for the rest of my life?</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">No.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">But I'll take this fucking diary with me today. If I don't write I'll hit someone. And this body ain't built for fighting, <em>believe me</em>.</p>
<p class="western" align="center">***</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">So I'm on this train and it's going through the tunnel again. Looks like someone edited the graffiti.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I know what it means – Eliza taught us all of those annoying scribbles when we were kids – and yeah...someone added a time to the phone number.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">But didn't decide if it was am or pm.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Fucking asshole, like I have the patience to call <em>twice</em>.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">But...I did ring them up and listen to their damn muzak for like 30 minutes, so...</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I guess I can handle it.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">My watch alarm's telling me it's time for my meds.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Wouldn't it be great if I skipped them today? See what happens?</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I'm toying with the idea.</p>
<p class="western" align="center">***</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">So I'm writing this in the bathroom. Maxine didn't take the pills on time and we almost kicked the security guard for saying hi to us on our way into the building.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I came in here, hyperventilated and took the pills...blacked out for about 5 minutes.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">And I'm awake now. As Eliza.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">It's almost time for the phone call. I can do it: <em>everyone</em> is 5 minutes late for work at least once in their lives. I know it can't get me fired. But I also know I can't let anyone in the office worry about me.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Maxine forgot to practice in the morning. She <em>always</em> forgets to practice.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I say my name – no matter who I am – I say “I am Eliza [last name]” at least 100 times before I leave the apartment. Just so Suzie – or more accurately <em>Maxine</em> – doesn't get any ideas about “lying” to whoever asks.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Having to explain myself is tiresome.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">I am Eliza, and Suzie, and Maxine. Just not all the time.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">So I'm writing this to tell you – whoever's reading – that I'm about to call the number. At the appointed time.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">Here goes.</p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;"></p>
<p class="western" style="font-weight: normal;">The book is available here: <a href="http://www.kestrokez.com/books/solo-works/seslatero/" target="_blank">http://www.kestrokez.com/books/solo-works/seslatero/</a></p>
Excerpts from my book "Cryptic"
tag:www.authors.com,2017-01-15:3798404:Topic:206070
2017-01-15T18:38:55.084Z
Conrad Luznar
http://www.authors.com/profile/ConradLuznar
<p><b>Later, the young man stood and talked with a sheriff's deputy as the sheriff stood in front of the shack and looked at the bodies. The deputy questioned the young man.</b></p>
<p><b> “So you were walking with your dog and he wandered over to this shack?” </b></p>
<p><b> “Yes, he wouldn't come back so I walked over and found the bodies.” </b></p>
<p><b> “And you did what?” </b></p>
<p><b> “I grabbed the dog and ran toward my car, drove to a pay phone, and called you…</b></p>
<p><b>Later, the young man stood and talked with a sheriff's deputy as the sheriff stood in front of the shack and looked at the bodies. The deputy questioned the young man.</b></p>
<p><b> “So you were walking with your dog and he wandered over to this shack?” </b></p>
<p><b> “Yes, he wouldn't come back so I walked over and found the bodies.” </b></p>
<p><b> “And you did what?” </b></p>
<p><b> “I grabbed the dog and ran toward my car, drove to a pay phone, and called you guys. Then drove back here.” </b></p>
<p><b> The sheriff walked over to them. </b></p>
<p><b> “This guy tried to burn the shack down but it looks like the fire went out.” </b></p>
<p><b> He looked at the young man. </b></p>
<p><b> “You didn't see anyone around?” </b></p>
<p><b> “No sir, Sheriff, no one.” </b></p>
<p><b>The sheriff glanced all around and looked at the shack again, before he turned his gaze back toward the deputy. </b></p>
<p><b> “Get some guys down here and rope off this beach. It's obvious he killed them out near their blanket before dragging them to the shack.” </b></p>
<p><b> “Yes sir, the coroner should be here any minute.”</b></p>
<p><b> “Good, and don't forget, this is a sandy area, make sure you guys are careful searching it.”</b></p>
<p></p>
<p><b>But Gus was growing edgy. He would sit at the kitchen table in the morning as he ate breakfast, and then take his new coffee mug filled with coffee and retreat to his office closing the door. He did not pay any attention to the New Year being rung in. He was, in fact, trying to sleep, and at midnight, he had no feeling for celebrating. Seeing the children happy worked for a while, but the killer inside was starting to eat away at his gut. He always became edgy when this was happening. When the killer came forth, he was actually thrilled and filled with high anxiety for another murder. But leading up to it, he was moody. He still smiled at the kids and talked decently, but he tried to avoid the family as much as possible. Finally, he could not deny the monster within; so he instead welcomed it.</b></p>
<p><b> Toward the end of January, he started riding around in his car. He visited other counties, desolate places, and looked at people. As he drove down a little-used road, he noticed a hitchhiker, a young man maybe twenty years old, with longish hair and the looks of a college kid. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw no traffic and none up ahead either. As he passed the kid, he took a snub nose .38 revolver from his coat pocket. Stopping the car, he backed up some for the hitchhiker, who ran up to the car. As the kid opened the door, Gus said.</b></p>
<p><b> “Happy Holidays.” </b></p>
<p><b>Then he shot him in the chest. The hitchhiker grabbed his chest and slumped backwards into the weeds. Gus moved over and looked out the open door at him. He was dead, but to make sure he shot him in the head. Then he closed the door and drove off. At the next side road, he turned and sped away toward another highway. While he drove along he realized that even though he had enjoyed that, the kill wasn't really all that great; he knew he could do better. So he drove to another county, stopping for gas and a cup of coffee along the way. Then, he headed for an area where he knew there was a lake. </b></p>
Hi eveyone, I'm looking for a little help.
tag:www.authors.com,2016-04-12:3798404:Topic:199433
2016-04-12T00:15:11.776Z
Christopher Tiller
http://www.authors.com/profile/ChristopherTiller
<p>I recently pulled out some early short stories which I want to put together for an anthology. </p>
<p>I'm putting this one up titled 'Joy Ride' and hoping for some feedback on it. It may still need a little polishing but please be ruthless if need be. Any suggestions will be welcome.</p>
<p></p>
<p></p>
<p>Joy Ride</p>
<p>Northern Ireland: Nineteen Seventy Three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Cortina sped off with such force it threw me hard against the seat. Liam Delaney was drivin’ like a feckin’…</p>
<p>I recently pulled out some early short stories which I want to put together for an anthology. </p>
<p>I'm putting this one up titled 'Joy Ride' and hoping for some feedback on it. It may still need a little polishing but please be ruthless if need be. Any suggestions will be welcome.</p>
<p></p>
<p></p>
<p>Joy Ride</p>
<p>Northern Ireland: Nineteen Seventy Three</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Cortina sped off with such force it threw me hard against the seat. Liam Delaney was drivin’ like a feckin’ lunatic, like a kid possessed. He swerved so hard I smashed me head against the side window. Mickey’s manic laugh washed over Abba’s Waterloo comin’ out from the eight track; shite music for a shite day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We thought it was the Peelers, the way they swung their car in front of us, forcing us to pull over. Two men got out, balaclavas covering their heads. One pushed Liam Delaney across to the passenger seat taking his place. The other got in the back with me and Micky. He told us not to try to run or he’d feckin’ shoot us. The Cortina pulled away with the other car following behind, and not a word being said. I smelled shite. Wondered if it was comin’ from me.</p>
<p>Micky O’Donnell’s face turned albescent. His look terrified me and I knew that somethin’ very bad was gonna happen, was happening. I heard somewhere you could smell fear. It’s true; I smelled it, mixed with shite seeping through someone’s pants.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The cars turned down an alleyway, shaking and bouncing as they travelled over wasteland before coming to a stop. Engine and ABBA died together and – it was all so quick. Liam Delaney, he got dragged from the car and thrown to the ground. That’s the first time I saw the gun, a quick glimpse in a gloved hand. I glanced at Mickey next to me – tears and snot staining his face.</p>
<p>Two men were shouting, telling Liam to keep still, that he’ll make it worse for himself if he didn’t. One of them was kneeling on his back pushing his face in the dirt while the other pointed a gun. Then I heard it. The noise – a loud bang, a scream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Passenger doors flew open. Mickey disappeared, pulled from the car kicking and screaming, then I’m on the ground, dragged around to where Liam and Mickey lay in the dirt; a gun pointed in my face, told to turn on my stomach and shut my eyes. Another loud bang, more loud screams.</p>
<p>I couldn’t see, it was all so fast. Something smashed on my ribs, again and again. I curled into a ball begging them to stop as they beat down my legs, then my knee. When they finished, I felt nothing, then pain, pain like I’d never felt before.</p>
<p>Mickey was clutching his leg, screaming. An acrid dark stain seeped through the arse of his wranglers. Crimson crept across the ground. Liam lay groaning, his head moving side to side – and his foot, twisted, facing inwards as if the bottom of his leg had shifted direction from the top. A dark patch spread around his knee in the fading light.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An ambulance came, so did the Peelers. Someone must’ve heard the gunshots, and our screams.</p>
<p>I remember the words spoken before they left us there; coming from a hidden face – ‘If you breathe a feckin’ word to anybody, you’ll be taken away from your mammy and shot in the head – Catch you again, you’ll be shot in the head. Yea can thank me for being lenient with yea this time.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>My knee swelled twice its size, couldn’t walk on it for days, it hurt when I breathed and multi-coloured bruises appeared all over. I ached for weeks, couldn’t sleep and when I did, I woke soaked in sweat and piss drenched pants. I’d started pissing the bed at sixteen. Every time I heard or saw a car pull up I’d panic, hide under the bed, not that’d stop ‘em, ‘cause if they want yea they’ll find yea. Yea can’t hide. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I was X-rayed and released from hospital several hours later. Nothin’ broken; a cracked rib and bruising around the knee, thigh and back, but Mickey and Liam were kept in. Micky had emergency surgery and Liam was scheduled soon after. It was a long time before they came out. If I’d’ve been sitting where Mickey was, that could’ve easily been me. Shot in the back of the leg, cap shattered, several operations, pins, and casts for months.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I had to attend the peelers station the next morning. Ma and Da helped me down the path and into our car. I kept looking around, something I did every time I had to go out afterwards. I’d be expecting to see them waiting nearby, watching me.</p>
<p>What was said that day kept goin’ through me head over an’ over and feckin’ over. The man who had me meant business - The way he towered above, dark eyes through slits of the balaclava, the way he spat out his hate – ‘If you breathe a feckin’ word, you’ll be shot.’</p>
<p>The Peelers wouldn’t stop, kept goin’ on and on. What was I doing in a stolen car? Where did I take it from? Who shot the boys? Who beat me? What were they driving, what car, what colour, what make? What did they look like, sound like? How tall, five eight, five nine? Short, tubby? Were we taking drugs? What clothes were these men wearing? Had I stolen cars before? Tell us the truth, there’s no point lying. We’ll find out. Do you realise someone could have died last night? Someone nearly did. Your friends are going to be maimed for life. Does that not bother you?</p>
<p>They kept going on and on. Told ‘em I didn’t know the feckin’ car was stolen, that I didn’t know the older boy, Liam, that well; thought it was his car, that I didn’t see what happened, that it happened so fast, was pulled out backwards onto the floor, that I curled up to protect myself. That’s all I could remember. I felt numb, panicky and only felt the pain after; was too scared to look up. That was the truth. I was. Was too scared. Was told not to look at him.</p>
<p>I stuck with that, stuck with it and stuck with it as they tried to pick little holes in me story. They eventually let me go, told me they’d not finished with me yet and that I may be charged with auto theft. Feckin’ ‘ell... Ma and Da’s faces! Couldn’t believe what’d happened, what I’d got myself mixed up in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I dreamt again, same as before; cold steel of a gun pressed to me head. A loud bang, then I’m in this hole. They’re shovelling dirt on me, covering me over an’ I’m screaming, watching soil cover my waist and legs, and I can’t move, like I’m paralysed and they keep covering me in this shite until I can’t see their feckin’ masked heads. They cover me till it all goes black.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Happens a lot, this dream, and the first time I had it I shite myself. Felt like shite all the next day, and the next. Then I had it again, and again. It comes and pisses me off about once a week; comes to visit me, likes to remind me it’s not goin’ anywhere. It still messes with me, but now I just think of something else as soon as I wake. Sometimes, it works, but it stays with me all day still, in the back of me head, like. But it doesn’t consume me as before, not as much anyway. I don’t panic about it now, don’t let it shite me up as much. Try not to anyway. </p>
<p> </p>
TRUTHSEEKER - FIRST 5 PAGES
tag:www.authors.com,2016-04-07:3798404:Topic:199783
2016-04-07T23:31:03.213Z
David John Weller
http://www.authors.com/profile/DavidJohnWeller
<p>I've posted the first five pages from Truthseeker and would welcome any comments.</p>
<p></p>
<p align="center">CHAPTER ONE</p>
<p align="center"> </p>
<p>Bad things always came in threes so it was going to end in disaster. Elisha was certain about that as she peered through the rain streaked window pane towards the Reciter’s Tower at the edge of the Village Green.</p>
<p>Lighting forked across the night sky above the Second Dimension, illuminating the tower with an eerie glow. She flinched.…</p>
<p>I've posted the first five pages from Truthseeker and would welcome any comments.</p>
<p></p>
<p align="center">CHAPTER ONE</p>
<p align="center"> </p>
<p>Bad things always came in threes so it was going to end in disaster. Elisha was certain about that as she peered through the rain streaked window pane towards the Reciter’s Tower at the edge of the Village Green.</p>
<p>Lighting forked across the night sky above the Second Dimension, illuminating the tower with an eerie glow. She flinched. A few moments later the distant rumble of thunder rolled in from the north.</p>
<p>‘Come away from the window.’</p>
<p>Elisha turned.</p>
<p>Jennifer lay stretched out on the quilt watching several blue lights pulsate in the darkness just inches from her face. ‘Can’t see any change yet.’</p>
<p>‘It happens all of a sudden,’ Elisha said rotating her bracelet three hundred and sixty degrees.</p>
<p>Jennifer winced. The stiffness in her shoulder had become unbearable and she lowered her left arm to ease the pain. ‘I always seem to blink at the wrong time and miss it.’</p>
<p>‘That’s your problem. Try and stare at it too long and you will.’ Elisha lay down on the bed and counted each segment, her unease growing more intense with each passing moment. Without warning, the fifteenth flashed blue. ‘Mine has changed.’</p>
<p>‘Mine too,’ Jennifer gasped, her eyes locked on her bracelet. ‘It’s taken me twelve years to see that happen.’</p>
<p>Elisha rested her head back on her pillows and sighed. ‘I’d give anything to be twelve again.’</p>
<p>‘The odds against are better this year.’</p>
<p>‘I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier. If it all goes pear shaped today promise me you’ll look after the others.’</p>
<p>Jennifer glanced at her guardian and hid her own apprehension well. ‘Nothing will go wrong.’ She stretched out her arms and yawned.</p>
<p>‘You need to get some shuteye, my girl.’</p>
<p>‘I suppose you’re right,’ Jennifer said, got to her feet and shuffled across the bare wooden floor to the door. ‘You try not to fret anymore and get some sleep too.’</p>
<p>Elisha relished the thought, but didn’t hold out too much hope. She pulled the quilt over her head and snuggled down hoping she’d drift into the sleep she craved.</p>
<p>Six hours later the cock crowed and anxiety, which had gnawed away at her all night long, was still winning the battle of wills. <i>If I don’t get some sleep, I’ll look like death.</i> She yanked the quilt back over her head as the rooster called reveille a second time. <i>Just one more time Henry and you’re going in the pot.</i></p>
<p>Oblivious to her threat, he voiced his wake-up call once more<i>.</i></p>
<p>‘Oh, this is futile,’ she moaned and threw back the bedclothes in frustration. A second later her legs swung over the side of the bed and her feet hit the floor.</p>
<p>She paused a moment to gather her wits and then slipped off her nightgown and pulled on a fawn, woollen dress. Its fibres scratched her back, reminding her why sheep always seemed happiest at shearing time.</p>
<p>Jennifer and the others would still be asleep so Elisha picked up her worn leather shoes and tiptoed across the room, her eyes raking the floor boards for the one which always moved. <i>It’s the one with the big knot.</i> <b>CREAK</b><i>. Oh bother, it’s this one.</i></p>
<p>Any attempt at being quiet now seemed pointless, but on the off chance she hadn’t woken anyone else she crept downstairs.</p>
<p>Set against a kitchen wall was a black cast iron stove. She opened its door, took logs from the hearth and pushed them inside to rekindle the flames. With so little light to see by, she left the door ajar and went over to a pine dresser where the crockery was stored. The plates and bowls she needed to lay out for breakfast weren’t there. They languished in a stone sink; unwashed.</p>
<p>‘Fiddlesticks,’ she cursed as her temper flared. ‘This isn’t going to be my day.’</p>
<p>Jennifer’s hands massaged her shoulders. ‘It’s down to fate so it’s no use worrying.’</p>
<p>Elisa toyed with her bracelet; all but one of its sixteen segments now an iridescent blue. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’</p>
<p>‘I heard Melanie get up.’</p>
<p>‘She’s not in bed?’</p>
<p>‘No. Isn’t she downstairs?’</p>
<p>‘Melanie.’ No response, so Elisha walked through to the living room. She scurried back, wearing a frown and shaking her head.</p>
<p>Jennifer headed for the back door. ‘Maybe she’s outside.’ A minute later she hurtled back into the house. ‘I can’t see her anywhere.’</p>
<p>‘Get Wilfie up and search the village, I’m going to the Lower Meadow.’</p>
<p>‘She won’t have gone there by herself.’</p>
<p>‘Four year olds are daft enough to do anything,’ Elisha shouted back as she hurried out of the front door.</p>
<p>With a racing pulse she dashed along the lane to the Green, passed by the Reciter’s Tower and made her way towards the South Gate.</p>
<p>When she arrived several watchmen were handing over their duties. Her feet scrunched on the gravel and alerted a ginger haired boy with freckles. He glanced over his shoulder and nudged his pint sized comrade in arms. ‘Here comes another one.’</p>
<p>Maggot looked round and shrugged. ‘It’s that time of year. Anyway as I was saying ---’</p>
<p>‘Melanie’s missing,’ Elisha panted. ‘Has she been this way?’</p>
<p>Abel Smith laid his staff over one shoulder. ‘Not so I’ve noticed. Maybe she’s around the village somewhere.’</p>
<p>‘The others are checking, but if she’s gone anywhere near the forest there’s no telling what might happen to her.’</p>
<p>Alarm bells rang inside his head. <i>Not another one.</i> ‘Steve, you take Maggot. Call out the Watch and search north and west. Phil, go with Joe and look east. Elisha, follow me.’</p>
<p>She didn’t need telling twice and hurried after Abel to search an area southwards leading to the Lower Meadow. This seemed the most logical place to check as she’d often taken Melanie there.</p>
<p>They came upon Rakia outside the palisade, gazing across the meadows at the forest beyond. Soft curls spiralled through her long auburn hair and for a moment their presence went unnoticed.</p>
<p>‘Rakia,’ Elisha said.</p>
<p>She turned round, grasped her bracelet and forced a smile, but her green eyes, so often sparkling with mischief, betrayed her anxiety. ‘You couldn’t sleep either.’</p>
<p>A few minutes earlier Elisha had shared her worries with a vengeance. At this moment the fifteenth segment changing colour and the implication this held for them both was her least concern. ‘Melanie’s gone missing. Have you seen her?’</p>
<p>Rakia’s jaw dropped. Had an unseen menace struck again? ‘No. But that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been this way.’</p>
<p>‘Come with us,’ Abel said in a firm, gentle tone. ‘We’ll fan out.’ He gripped his staff tighter, draining the colour from his knuckles. ‘Best we keep in sight of one another.’</p>
<p>Halfway to the forest, sunlight flooded the horizon and the dawn mist thinned. A moment later, Elisha glimpsed movement inside the tree line. ‘Melanie,’ she called out and sprinted away.</p>
<p>The others dashed after her. ‘Not so fast,’ Abel shouted. ‘It could be anything.’</p>
<p>His warning fell on deaf ears and she plunged into the undergrowth intent on reaching the little girl before something terrible happened to her. ‘Melanie. Come back.’ Elisha didn’t get an answer and so she halted beside a gnarled oak, leant against its trunk and drew breath.</p>
<p>Abel came alongside her, bent at the waist and grasped his knees. ‘Stay still and listen,’ he wheezed.</p>
<p>Minutes passed and an eerie silence filled the forest, broken only by a gentle breeze rustling the dense summer canopy overhead.</p>
<p>Tears burned Elisha’s cheeks.</p>
<p>Rakia placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you sure you saw her?’</p>
<p>A strand of brunette hair fluttered across Elisha’s hazel eyes and she swept it aside. ‘I don’t know. I saw someone.’</p>
<p>Abel leaned on his staff. ‘Maybe you spotted an animal.’</p>
<p>‘No. It was human.’</p>
<p>‘Maybe Scavvies are nearby. They haven’t visited for awhile.’</p>
<p>Rakia gave him a sideways glance. ‘Have you forgotten what day it is?’</p>
<p>‘Sorry. They never come here on Leaving Day, do they?’</p>
<p>They scoured the area for almost an hour, their voices bouncing off the trees and echoing through the dark, silent forest as they called out, hoping Melanie would reply.</p>
<p>Rakia turned to Abel as Elisha wandered away. ‘Do you think she’s been taken?’</p>
<p>He forced a small hopeful smile, wracked his brain for the reassurance she needed, but came up blank. ‘Come on, let’s keep looking.’</p>
James
tag:www.authors.com,2016-04-07:3798404:Topic:199509
2016-04-07T20:20:01.743Z
Christopher Tiller
http://www.authors.com/profile/ChristopherTiller
<p></p>
<div class="iComment-text content-text" id="iComment" style="border: 1px solid #bce8f1; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; outline: 0px; padding: 5px; vertical-align: baseline; color: #666666; word-wrap: break-word; border-radius: 7px; background-color: rgba(217, 237, 247, 0.498039);"></div>
<p></p>
<div class="iComment-text content-text" id="iComment" style="border: 1px solid #bce8f1; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; outline: 0px; padding: 5px; vertical-align: baseline; color: #666666; word-wrap: break-word; border-radius: 7px; background-color: rgba(217, 237, 247, 0.498039);"><p style="margin-bottom: 0px; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; outline: 0px; padding: 8px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In the hallway, her sons waited in anxious silence to see their mother, wanting to be with her, yet frightened from what they could hear.<br/>The boys sat on the landing listening to painful cries, the pleading for the pain to stop, the midwife’s firm encouraging words.<br/>James was sure his mother would die, not that he had any understanding of what death meant, the true meaning of loss. When Trudy died, the mottled cross collie they had for ten years, he learned she would never come back, that she was now in heaven, a place where all God’s creations go. The notion of his mother being with Trudy, and not with him, was something that crept into his thoughts since the collie’s death.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; outline: 0px; padding: 8px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">James listened to his mother’s screams, her every laboured cry, as the hours slowly moved by. Outside, the wind rattled loose windows, groaned under doors and crept across the wooden floor sweeping over his small bare feet. He slid across the boards pushing himself against his elder brother who threw an arm about his shoulder, telling him ‘Mum'll be fine, it’s just the baby coming, that’s all.’ The words didn’t ease James’ fear, didn’t stop him wanting to run into his mother’s bedroom and shout – Stop making Mummy scream. Instead, he sank deeper into his brother’s arms, placing his hands over his ears.<br/> <br/> <br/>Jane Delore settled the baby on her teat, quieting the newborn. The wind dropped to a low pitched whistle and the world calmed and slowed. The midwife stood in the doorway, her shadow gliding over the two small boys huddled in the hall outside.<br/>'You've a sister,’ she said smiling. 'Come on then, expect you want to see. Just for a while now as your mammy will be needing her rest. It’s been a busy night for both.’<br/>James pushed his back tight to the wall as his brother Peter stood and rushed past the tall women in the doorway. James shook his head, hands still clasped firmly over ears watching the midwife’s mouth move soundlessly. She took a few steps forward, stretching out an arm to lift him from his sitting position. He tightened every muscle as fat fingers circled his delicate skinny wrist, pulling him up from the cold floor. He relaxed his small body, allowed himself to go limp. His arm airborne, suspended above his head, trapped in the grip of the midwife’s hand.<br/>Released, he scuttled back against the wall, placing hands back over his ears as words fell from the moving mouth of the giant standing in front of him. The giant crouched down to his level. Red smeared over white cloth. A smile, a grin. He slammed his eyes shut and screamed to make her go away; to make his mother come.<br/> …<br/> <br/>James opened his eyes and wrapped his tiny arms around his knees. The hall was empty, bigger than he’d ever remembered. An icy draft blew across his back and the only noise was an occasional groan from the dying wind outside. He listened to the calm low voices coming from his mother’s room and slowly picked himself up from the cold floor. Taking small careful steps, he made his way to the door before pushing it slightly open. Peering through the gap, he saw Peter sat on the edge of his mother’s bed, stretching out slender fingers to touch their new sister. Jane smiled at her eldest son, her head resting against the pillowed headboard. She took Peter’s hand giving a gentle squeeze and asked, 'Where’s James?’<br/>The midwife cut in before Peter could answer.<br/>'He’s being silly, he won’t come in. I’ve tried. He’ll come to you when he’s good and ready mind. Right, my job’s pretty much done here, and you’ll be needing some help for a day or two. Just till you’re up on your feet.’<br/>'I’ll be fine. Peter will help.’<br/> </p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; outline: 0px; padding: 8px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">His mother lay on the bed holding the tiny bundle of cloth close to her chest. She called to James, offered out her hand. He stepped in and stood still, gripping the door handle until his fingers hurt. His eyes moved from his mother to Peter, then to the parcel of white towelling before turning to run out.<br/> <br/>He awoke to a darkened room. Rain gently patted the window and a watery moon danced its light across the bedroom floor. His brother Peter slept next to him; short bursts of warm sweet breath swept across James’ face.<br/>He sat up, cried for his mother, but the night stayed silent. The rain played with the window, and his brother slept on.<br/>Through the blue half-light, he crossed the hall, pushed open his mother’s bedroom door, and entered another silent room. The object that made his sleeping mother cry lay next to her wrapped in a shawl.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; outline: 0px; padding: 8px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">James picked up the white bundle. The delicate scent of washing soap and sour milk filled his senses. He quietly carried the sleeping child into the cold hallway, stopping at the top of the wooden stairs. ‘You hurt my mummy,’ he whispered, as his small slender arms went limp.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; outline: 0px; padding: 8px 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></p>
</div>
<p class="title" style="margin-bottom: 0px; border: 0px; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; color: #666666; line-height: 20px;">© Copyright 2016 <strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Christopher Tiller</strong>. All rights reserved.</p>
<p><span style="border: 0px; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline; line-height: 14px;"><br/>Read more at <a href="https://www.booksie.com/posting/christopher-tiller/james-462793#z7TDMH6eZyFsgxLk.99">https://www.booksie.com/posting/christopher-tiller/james-462793#z7TDMH6eZyFsgxLk.99</a></span></p>
Running Through Still Waters
tag:www.authors.com,2016-04-03:3798404:Topic:199404
2016-04-03T23:29:08.852Z
Christopher Tiller
http://www.authors.com/profile/ChristopherTiller
<p></p>
<h1 style="text-indent: 0cm;"><a name="_Toc443239575"></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Chapter Twenty-Four</span></h1>
<h2 style="text-indent: 0cm;"><a name="_Toc443239576"></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Newbridge: Leaving…</span></h2>
<p class="StandardCxSpFirst"></p>
<p></p>
<h1 style="text-indent: 0cm;"><a name="_Toc443239575"></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Chapter Twenty-Four</span></h1>
<h2 style="text-indent: 0cm;"><a name="_Toc443239576"></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Newbridge: Leaving</span></h2>
<p class="StandardCxSpFirst"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0cm; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">It was my thirteenth birthday. Mom bought me new jeans, and Dare, by The Human League. She’d heard me singing along to <i>Don’t You Want Me</i> on Top Of The Pops. Billy gave me a cassette recorder he’d got from someone down the pub. The record button wouldn’t work but it didn’t matter ‘cos it still played music.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">I was winding the tape forward, searching for <i>Don’t You Want Me</i>, when Mom called me into the living room.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">A tall lady I hadn’t seen before sat next to my sleeping sister. Mom looked worried, her hands pressed to white cheeks as she searched about the room. She told me to go pack my things.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Pack what things?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Clothes and whatever else you need because we’re not coming back, and hurry up. Be as quick as you can.’ She handed over several large plastic bags.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Why Mom, where we going?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Never you mind, just move it. You’ve got ten minutes.’ Mom’s attention turned back to the tall lady she called Pauline and said she didn’t know what to take.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛That’s why I’m here. Come on love, just get what you need and grab what you can for now. I’ll see if my brother can collect your furniture when you get the keys to the new place. Is there anything in here you need?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Why have I gotta pack?’ I asked, ‛What’s happening?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Mom threw hands to her head and shouted, ‛Sam! Do as you’re bloody told and pack. Move it.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Squeezing the bags together, I headed towards my room unsure what should be packed, or why. I pulled out the box from under my bed, which was full of stuff I didn’t bother with anymore, only taking a few things before throwing my clothes from drawers into another bag. Mom called for me to hurry as the tall lady, Pauline, entered my bedroom.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛You don’t remember me do you?’ she said opening drawers, taking out Sissy’s clothes and toys. I didn’t and shook my head, trying to place her face.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛I’m Pauline. You were only a babe the last time I saw you. You must’ve been about five or six years old, the same as Megan is now, so you probably wouldn’t recognise me. But I recognised you as soon as I saw you. You’re just as handsome now as you were then.’ The tall lady smiled as my face warmed.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛You’ll all be coming to stay with me for a while. I have an eleven year old about your age. You should get on well together.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛I’m thirteen. It’s my b... Are we all going to yours?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Pauline continued packing a bag. ‘Yes, for a while.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Why are we moving, goin’ to yours? Is it ‘cos of Billy?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛You need to talk to your mom about that, love.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0cm; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">In the living room, Mom rushed around throwing anything within reach into a carrier bag, then lifted Sissy into her arms, telling me to start taking our stuff to the lift. I was aware of her urgency to leave the flat, the need to hurry. Rushing back, I grabbed another three bags as Mom and Pauline picked up the remaining ones. Shutting the door, I was told to run ahead and call the lift.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Mom paced up and down, Sissy was now awake and complaining about being hungry and wanting to know where we were going.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘That taxi better be here, I don’t want to be left hanging around downstairs waiting. What if he comes back early? It’ll kick off, Pauline. You know he won’t let me go.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Stop worrying, Jen. We’ll be away before he comes. Well away.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">The lift doors rumbled open and I asked Mom again, ‛Why are we going?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Because I’ve had enough. That’s all you need to know.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0cm; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Outside, a man with a fat round face sat in a black cab as we carried our stuff to the roadside. He struggled out of his seat asking. ‘How much stuff you ladies got then?’ before walking to the boot and loading bags. His hands look too small for his arms.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘Right, that’s the lot is it? Where’d you ladies want to go?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘Twenty two Morrison Street, Kingston,’ said Pauline guiding me into the cab.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0cm; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">We pulled up outside number twenty two. Mom gently pushed me to get out while waving money in her hand towards the driver. She hadn’t stopped talking in a fast high voice the whole journey. I tried loads of times to find out why we were leaving, but she ignored me, until she finally got angry and slapped me across the head telling me not to interrupt. I know it was because of Billy, but why did We have to leave, why not Him?</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0cm; punctuation-wrap: simple;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛You’ll have to share with Toby,’ said Pauline, handing over two bags from the boot, ‛It’ll only be for a while.’ I followed her up the path with Mom walking behind holding Sissy’s hand, who still complained about being hungry.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Inside, a big black dog ran toward us barking. I stepped back bumping into Mom.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Shut up, Sampson. You’ll have the neighbours complaining again. Take no notice of him; he’s as soft as a brush.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Sampson came closer, sniffing my leg. I slowly put a hand out then pulled back.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘Sampson, away ... Go lie down ... Go on,’ demanded Pauline as she rushed back into the hallway shouting for Toby to come downstairs.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘Right. I’ll put the kettle on. There’s only a single bed in the back room. Will you be alright in there with Megan?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘I’ll be fine,’ said Mom. ‘Feel awful about bothering you. Are you sure you don’t mind putting us all up? It’s a lot to ask.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Don’t be daft. You’d do the same for me.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">A boy, younger than me but taller, appeared from behind the door then stood next to Pauline.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘This is Toby, my lad. Sam will be sharing with you for a while, son.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Toby screwed up his face. ‛Why, Mom! Why’s he gotta share with me. Why can’t he go in the back room?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Because he can’t,’ said Pauline. ‛Help him up with his things and show him your room. I’m putting chips on, I’ll call you when they’re done. Go on love, follow Toby. He’ll show you.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Pauline turned to talk to Mom as Toby disappeared back into the hallway. I followed, running up dimly lit stairs to keep up then walked into a bedroom.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Model aeroplanes hung from string fixed to the ceiling circling a dull light bulb. Stuff scattered the floor, bits from a Meccano set, a Dukes of Hazzard Scalextrix and He Man next to a headless Skeletor. A massive grey battleship lay smashed in pieces.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛You ain’t sleeping in my bed.’ Toby scowled, his eyes sunken, black, and narrowed. ‛And don’t touch my stuff. It’s my room so don’t mess with anythin’. Why are you here anyway?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‘Mom didn’t tell me.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛How long you stayin’ for? Is it just tonight?’ Toby sat on his bed picking up a broken model plane; its tailpiece missing. It was a Spitfire.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Dunno, like I said, my mom didn’t tell me anything. Have you got the tailpiece?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Whah?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛The tailpiece, for the Spitfire?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">Holding out the plane, he dropped it to the lino then stamped on it. Bits of plastic spun across the floor. ‛It can’t fly now.’ He moved towards the door. Turning back, he asked. ‘What’s your name?’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Sam.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Sam! That’s a dog’s name.’</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">He walked towards the stairs; I followed him, wanting to get back to Mom.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">‛Don’t follow me and keep out my room,’ he called making his way down creaking steps, his hand juddering on the banister rail.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US">I sat on the top step, not knowing which way to go and wondered why Mom had brought us here, to this place, away from my friends. I wanted to go home. Hated that Toby, and his mom, and this crappy house.</span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpMiddle"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
<p class="StandardCxSpLast"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 12.0pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif';" xml:lang="EN-US"> </span></p>
Excerpt of Dark Morning by Christopher Sharp
tag:www.authors.com,2016-02-27:3798404:Topic:199343
2016-02-27T20:50:41.951Z
Christopher Sharp
http://www.authors.com/profile/ChristopherSharp
<p align="center"><u>Chapter 1</u></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bella got sick two months after the wedding. The first sign that something was wrong came on a Sunday afternoon while she boxed up her bright new dress for its long, silent rest. It felt like such a waste to wear it only once, but she hoped to have a daughter someday who would be able to slip into it for her own nervous stroll down a long church aisle.</p>
<p>She had it laid out across their bed and busied herself gathering all of the pieces…</p>
<p align="center"><u>Chapter 1</u></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bella got sick two months after the wedding. The first sign that something was wrong came on a Sunday afternoon while she boxed up her bright new dress for its long, silent rest. It felt like such a waste to wear it only once, but she hoped to have a daughter someday who would be able to slip into it for her own nervous stroll down a long church aisle.</p>
<p>She had it laid out across their bed and busied herself gathering all of the pieces that went with it. The paisley high tops she wore were still under their bed where she left them when she unpacked everything from their honeymoon. The sequin encrusted headpiece hung on the edge of her dresser mirror. The satin veil that she nearly forgot to wear was on a wooden hanger she put in the back of her closet and the flowing white train that one of the bridesmaids tripped on as everyone got out of the limousine.</p>
<p>Tom was busy in the garage fixing something or inventing something new, which was his favorite pastime, so he never heard a thing. When she reached for the veil, a wave of vertigo hit her so hard the she felt like someone yanked her feet right out from under her. Dazed and light headed, she fell against the wall and slid to the floor, knocking over a pile of boxes that were stacked much too high. When the topmost box hit the floor a dozen ornamental perfume bottles spilled out, covering the floor in the tiny space. The sound of breaking glass echoed off the walls and the last thing she remembered was the sweet smell of too much perfume stinging her nostrils as everything faded to black.</p>
<p>Moments later her eyes fluttered open as she came to, nausea replacing the vertigo as she righted herself. She felt like something had sapped all her strength and couldn’t remember why she came into the closet in the first place. Nothing she had seen or done in her twenty-nine years would prepare her for what would happen as the result of her mysterious condition.</p>
<p> In the beginning, she was able to tolerate the blackouts and memory lapses and hid them with ease from her new husband. He believed her excuses without question, but that didn’t last. Before the year was out, it got so bad that she couldn’t hide it anymore. When Tom finally found out the truth, the honeymoon came to an abrupt end.</p>
<p>Even with his constant attention, she never let on to what was really happening to her. She just let him believe that the fourteen doctors she saw over the course of the next year were incompetent because none of them could find a medical reason that would cause her symptoms. The endless tests she had to take and all the nights in the hospital away from her beloved would have broken a lesser union of two people, but not Tom and Bella. Deep down, she knew they must have been together in a previous life, the way he stood by her through her suffering. He never wavered an inch, no matter how bad things got.</p>
<p>When most people get to the end of their rope and there’s nowhere left to turn, they give up and accept their fate, but not Bella. Her family was from the Ukraine and had suffered some of the worst hardships in the last two hundred years that man could muster. They were rugged people, and never accepted defeat. So when Bella was finally diagnosed by someone who had never gone to medical school, “Someone from the old country” as her grandma always said; she was hardly surprised when she found out the true source of her pain.</p>
<p>Her great aunt, on her mother’s side, came to the US to visit Bella’s grandmother. When the old woman heard what was going on she asked her sister to invite the girl over to visit. Her grandmother lived in Connecticut and she and Tom lived in Rhode Island so it took some doing for her to get there. When she finally arrived on a Saturday morning the women were sitting in the kitchen eating some pastries and drinking tea.</p>
<p>“Whatever causes these symptoms my dear,” her great aunt said with a thick Russian accent. Her boney, ash grey fingers were busy unfolding a small piece of red silk cloth as she spoke, “Is not within you, but around you. None of those silly doctors you have seen were able to help you except to help you out of your money.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean Auntie?” Bella replied as she watched the old woman pull a small, clear obelisk shaped crystal from its covering.</p>
<p>“In your life, you have met someone that takes your goodness, your strength, your energy and feeding on it. In the old country, long time ago, my grandmother gave this to me.” Auntie put the stone into Bella’s hand. She felt the smooth sides of the pendant, and then held it up to a beam of sunlight shining through the kitchen window. The crystal cast a tiny rainbow that shimmered on the polished oak table in front of her, splitting the colors perfectly across the grain of the wood.</p>
<p>“Wow, look at that.” She said as she ran her fingers through the tiny light show.</p>
<p> “There is a hole in the top, I used to wear it around my neck, but this old woman doesn’t need such things anymore. My energy is long gone along with my beautiful blonde hair and sexy figure.” Bella laughed. The black and white photos she’d seen of her aunt as a young woman told a different story. She always wore a billowy sundress and babushka that hid her robust figure and plump cheeks.</p>
<p>“You wear it now; it will protect you from this person and anyone else you meet.” Bella reached around the back of her neck and undid the clasp of the silver chain she always wore. Then she slid the small end through the hole in the crystal and put it back on her neck.</p>
<p>“Thank you so much, Auntie, are you sure this will work?”</p>
<p>“Of course it will,” Auntie said, raising her voice as she slapped the table with her hand. A steady stream of Russian burst from her lips and Bella’s grandmother intercepted the barrage and responded in kind. The two women went back and forth, arguing. She understood enough Russian to hear her Auntie say something about Bella moving and never coming back… </p>
Read Book Excerpts From New Book Published ~ Treasure Your Marriage By Cherishing Your Spouse Author Suzanne Uzzell
tag:www.authors.com,2016-01-04:3798404:Topic:198523
2016-01-04T01:56:20.236Z
Suzanne E. Uzzell
http://www.authors.com/profile/SuzanneEUzzell
<p></p>
<div><a href="http://www.authorsden.com/WorksCover/68576.jpg"><img align="left" alt="See larger image" border="0" hspace="15" src="http://www.authorsden.com/WorksCover/68576.jpg" width="200"></img></a></div>
<p align="left"><font face="Arial" size="2"><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size="2">Price: <font color="#C70043">$4.49</font><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size="2"> (eBook)<br></br> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B019CWA3A8/authorsdencom" target="_blank">Download to your…</a></font></font></font></p>
<p></p>
<div><a href="http://www.authorsden.com/WorksCover/68576.jpg"><img width="200" align="left" alt="See larger image" src="http://www.authorsden.com/WorksCover/68576.jpg" border="0" hspace="15"/></a></div>
<p align="left"><font face="Arial" size="2"><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size="2">Price: <font color="#C70043">$4.49</font><font face="Arial, Helvetica" size="2"> (eBook)<br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B019CWA3A8/authorsdencom" target="_blank">Download to your Kindle</a> (eBook)<br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/?ean=9781329711693" target="_blank">Download to your Nook</a> (eBook)<br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1329711173/authorsdencom" target="_blank">Amazon</a><br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://www.lulu.com/content/17850455" target="_blank">Lulu</a><br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/click?id=gbRBotjLEUg&offerid=239662.9781329711174&type=2&subid=0" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble.com</a><br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://http://amzn.com/1329711173" target="_blank">Treasure Your Marriage By Cherishing Your Spouse on Amazon</a><br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/treasure-your-marriage-by-cherishing-your-spouse-suzanne-uzzell/1123104333?ean=9781329711174" target="_blank">Treasure Your Marriage By Cherishing Your Spouse</a><br/> <a class="lnk" href="http://www.authorsden.com/link/1.asp?authorID=58395&ref=/visit/viewwork.asp?id=68576&destURL=http://http://treasureyourmarriagebycherishingyourspou.weebly.com/" target="_blank">New Book Promotion ~ Treasure Your Marriage By Cherishing Your Spouse Author Suzanne Uzzell </a><br/> <br/></font></font></font></p>
<p><font face="Arial" size="2">Beautiful Treasures for the Christian Marriage Union</font></p>
<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272110310?profile=original" target="_blank"><img width="450" class="align-center" alt="" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272110310?profile=RESIZE_480x480"/></a><span class="font-size-2"><strong>Author Suzanne E. Uzzell shares with her readers beautiful treasures for the Christian Marriage union that will cause them to value their relationship by cherishing their spouse.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>Suzanne Uzzell was inspired by God to write Treasure Your Marriage by Cherishing Your Spouse to</strong> <strong>impact the Christian marriage relationship by reminding couples who read this book to value the beautiful gift God gave them. This gift is valuable and of great price. Your union God created is dear to his heart.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>After reading Treasure your Marriage by Cherishing your Spouse you will grow into deeper fellowship of appreciation and gratitude for your union and your spouse.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>You will also learn how to stand in love with your spouse and treasure your Marriage covenant by honoring your commitment. You will find hidden treasures with in your own marriage relationship as you transform self and learn to cherish the one God has gifted you with while living on earth.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><span class="font-size-2"><strong><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272111467?profile=original" target="_blank"><img width="400" class="align-center" alt="" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272111467?profile=RESIZE_480x480"/></a></strong></span></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>Treasure your Marriage by Cherishing your Spouse is an inspirational book for Christian Marriages written by Author Suzanne E. Uzzell. This book was written to ignite the reader to learn how to Treasure their marriage by cherishing their spouse.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>This book is a reuniting and rebuilding of the couple in the friendship, lover, partner capacity within the marriage relationship.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>The reader will reflect on the care of the Godly union and their spouse. They will also learn the role they play within the marriage union is crucial and significant to the building of the relationship.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="font-size-2"><strong>This book will transform lives and cause the reader to revisit their wedding vows and learn the significance of their function in the Godly union. The reader will also have a new outlook on how cherishing their spouse will allow them to treasure their marriage union for a life time here on earth.</strong></span></p>
<p><span class="_5yi-">Visit the Website for more About the Author and Treasure Your Marriage By Cherishing Your Spouse New Book Promotion</span><a href="http://treasureyourmarriagebycherishingyourspou.weebly.com/" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">http://treasureyourmarriagebycherishingyourspou.weebly.com/...</a></p>
<p></p>
<p><strong><span class="font-size-3">Click on here to Read Excerpts from the Book~ </span></strong></p>
<p><span class="font-size-3"><strong><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/1272111701?profile=original" target="_self"><font size="2">Read Excerpts from Treasures Your Marriage By Cherishing Your Spouse Pages 1-22</font></a></strong></span></p>