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Waiting

Time is drawing close
Each day gathers the future to its brow
Seeking solace in the promise
Beyond the towering horizon

How near the zenith
Reach and touch the apex of the mount
The future and past mingle
Just beyond the reach of Man

A welcome pull of fate
Ever marching forward, up the hill
Stumbling toward the mark
Time is drawing close

The Choice - Novella Ch 1

      
This is my first attempt in years at a longer story.  This is chapter 1.  I will be working on the rest over the next couple of days.  I have several ideas for the story, but would welcome any comments or feedback offered.  


      When you think about it, a red pen is just like a sword.  Usually it sits in its sheath, only to be pulled as needed.  Both draw blood, but only one metaphorically.
      As James sat with the red pen dangling from his fingers, he thought of each student as he read and re-read their work.  He hated choosing to swipe the pen.  Each swipe brought the student down, but he knew they were hurt more when he was unwilling to do the right thing.  It seemed like each passing year made it harder and harder to make the choice.  When James began teaching seven years before, he and Natalie had just gotten married, it was a clear line for him.  All mistakes must be pointed out and fixed.  His stance had softened after he realized that some kids needed the grace to help them learn from their failure.
     James gave up for the evening and packed away his notebooks and his students work.  He placed it all into his satchel, closed the lid on his MacBook, switched off his desk lamp, and walked to the door.  He glanced out of the window as he walked and was greeted with the sight of the full moon over the parking lot.  He had to find a way to start getting home to Natalie and the girls earlier.  It wasn't fair to Nat to expect her to deal with work all day and cranky five year old twins each night.  He loved his family and wished he could do more than just spend weekends and summers with his girls.
     His eyes were again drawn to the sky as he reached his old, rusty Ford.  He was pleased to see a shooting star and silently wished for his daughters to grow into beautiful, smart women.  The old wives tale gave him comfort, even if the thought of teenage daughters made him shudder with apprehension.  He got into the truck, turned on the motor, and began his short journey to his home.

*****

       It stooped, shriveled and bent, waiting for the rusty, old Ford to make its appearance.  The size and shape of a large man, it seemed to absorb all light in its vicinity.  With each passing second, its agitation grew.  The trucks lights cut swath though the darkness, passing over the motionless form of the watcher and stopping when James reached his drive.  As he parked and walked inside, he had no idea of the choice the night would bring.

Next

As the four sat around the table, each man kept his eyes on the pistol in the middle of the table.  They could smell the tinge of gun powder and feel the empty chair more than they could see it.  The tall one on the end spoke first, but none of the rest could make out the words he muttered.  It was soon clear from his actions that he intended to go next.  He rose, grabbed the gun, and with a trembling hand prayed for forgiveness as the barrel found its target.

Wander

To walk the middle of the path is to keep a keen eye on the future.  When the eye strays from the horizon, we wander away from the goal and descend into a mindless trek into the desert of lost dreams.  Anonymous

Jeremy realized that his mind had begun to wander again.  He tried to focus on Professor Melbon's lesson, but each effort at grasping the importance of Upton Sinclair to the Industrial Age left him feeling drained and lifeless.  When Melbon finally finished Jeremy bolted the room and without a glance at anyone else headed back to his dorm for the peace and quiet it afforded.  

As he crossed the quad, he was deeply disappointed to see a bum sitting at the base of the quickest stairs to his room.  He debated on taking the longer path, which would require a conversation with the coed working the desk, or to try to squeeze past the vagrant who would without a doubt, beg audaciously.  He chose the latter as the girl working the desk today was always wanting to talk about another girl who was looking for a date, a conversation he would gladly have put off forever.

The bum stared at him as he approached.  Jeremy could not tell if the look was evaluating or judging.  He held his hand out and as he began to speak Jeremy cut him off with a glare.

 "Look buddy, I don't want to hear it.  I have had a bad day, I don't have any money, and go find some other place to beg instead of outside my dorm," Jeremy said with a finality he hoped would stop the bum in his tracks.

The guy just sat there and continued to stare.  His gaze never wavered as Jeremy squeezed past him and grasped the door handle.  Jeremy smiled inwardly as he twisted the handle and began to pull on the door.  The feeling of a hand on his shoulder froze him in place.  He hadn't heard the bum even move.  How could he have gotten a hold of him so quickly?

Jeremy heard the whisper at the same time he felt the breath brush past his ear. It carried a smell that was fetid and carried an undercurrent of rotted meat.  Jeremy's legs almost collapsed, both from the uttered phrase and the  nausea that flooded his body.

"You have lost the path and your time is nearly finished."

Jeremy spun to confront the man, but when he looked over his shoulder all he saw was air.  The man was no where to be seen.  All that remained were the feeling and a faint whiff of carrion. Jeremy shuddered and chastised himself for letting his imagination run.  The bum must have slipped off while he wasn't looking.  Too many late night sessions with Mr. Koontz and Mr. King were beginning to mess with his mind.  He jerked the door open, and forcing his heart and feet to move more slowly, climbed the stairs to his single room.  

Jeremy tried to re-read the assigned sections from The Jungle, but just could not seem to get traction.  Every time he wandered a little farther from his intended thought. He decided a night of TV and early sleep might help his mind keep from drifting so far from the task at hand.  He didn't give another thought to the bum from earlier and dozed off shortly after 10PM.    

When his eyes snapped open, Jeremy knew it wasn't the program on the TV that had awakened him.  He whole body felt as if he had been strummed like the wire on a guitar.  The hair from his head to his toes rose on end and he felt the eyes on his back.  Jeremy knew he had to be dreaming.  The whisper told him he wasn't.  He again felt the breath brush past his ear. It carried a smell that was fetid and carried an undercurrent of rotted meat.

"You have lost the path and your time is nearly finished."

Jeremy rolled off the couch and spun around trying simultaneously to stand and grab something to protect himself with.  He staggered backward, making contact with the wall at last, and grabbed onto the baseball bat he always kept behind the door.  As his eyes scanned the room, they saw nothing but his shelves, dress, desk, and bed.  He raked his hair out of his eyes and blinked, trying to see more than what was there.  He reached behind him and flicked the switch.  When the harsh glare settled throughout the room, he realized he was alone.  

Shaking as the adrenaline ran out, Jeremy looked to the mirror above the sink.  He dropped the bat and walked closer.  He barely recognized himself any longer.  His hair was shaggy and unkempt.  His face was pale and the rings under his eyes were enormous.  After a short time, Jeremy wandered back to the couch and sat down heavily.  His eyes found the paper he had been trying to take notes on before he dozed off.  There in his own handwriting were the words that he had heard in his ear over and over.

"You have lost the path and your time is nearly finished."

Jeremy closed his eyes and began to think.  He tried to focus on what the words could mean.  As was his custom, his mind began to wander.  He thought of anything but what the phrase could mean.  He was still wandering when sleep overcame him again.

The police were called when the smell was noticed by the other people on Jeremy's floor.  The forced the door, but none of them were prepared for what they saw.  Jeremy's body, emaciated and bloodless, was sitting on the couch.  Surrounding him, on every surface within arms reach, were copies of The Jungle.  The police would later discover that Jeremy had written in the margins of every single copy of the book, save one. The same phrase was written in each of those books; "You have lost the path and your time is nearly finished." In that final copy, someone else's hand had written a simple question.

"Would you like to get lost in a book?"

Insomnia

When insomnia takes hold, the human mind will sometimes settle into a rhythm of rotation between being half-asleep and fully awake.  It is during this ebb and flow that the thoughts of a sane man shift to those of the man who's very soul is a battle ground of good and evil.  It is during these periods of lucidity that man can glimpse the war between the demons and those sent to protect.  

When I first began to think I was seeing things, I chalked it up to my lack of sleep and unhealthy diet. The second time, I knew the cause to be deeper.  As I walked to class, the clanging of celestial swords filled my ears.  The grunts and strains of battle filled each doorway and alcove.  When I looked to the sound, I glimpsed the deep, blood red of the dark forces and the blinding light of the Host.  Now I more often see them everywhere I look.  My every step must split the combatants and provide each a temporary respite. 

I am sitting in my chair looking out of the front door and I catch a tear that has leaked out of the corner of my eye.  I cant really tell if I am awake or asleep.  I only know of the dread that is beginning to fill my heart.  Each night as I look out the door, I realize that the flashes of white and the song of the Host are starting to fade.  My tear falls in the night, not for myself, but in realization that the world will soon be lost.

The Clock

Tim slowly descended past his breaking point.  The old cuckoo clock from his grandmother's house ticked off each passing second, with every click reverberating like a gunshot.  He stared at the ceiling, knowing that eventually they would have to return.  He had heard nothing from the hall outside of his door in over a day.  The lights had come on automatically at 6AM like they did each day, but had flickered throughout the morning.  He knew, or at least he had convinced himself, that soon they would go off and he would end the day in total darkness. 

Tim rose from his cot and began pacing the short side of the room.  It was only 12 steps and he knew them well.  Tim had only been allowed to bring one book and one remembrance item with him.  He had been told anything more was definitely not allowed.  At the time, bringing the longest book he could find, "The Count of Monte Cristo," had seemed like a great idea.  He now realized just how much he hated the story.  In fourteen months, he had not gotten past the 30th page.  Each time he tried, his hands began to shake and he could not keep reading.  

The lights finally died out late in the evening.  His food had not arrived in over 30 hours.  As the hunger and darkness began to gnaw at him he grudgingly began to acknowledge the cold.  It had started soon after the lights flickered out the last time.  The heaters were no longer running.

A sound somewhat between a sob and a chuckle escaped into the darkness.  The realization dawned on Tim that he had just been granted a reprieve.  He would not longer have to serve his life sentence, handed down on earth, to be served in the mines of Saturn.  Soon the sob faded away as the welcoming, cold darkness allowed only the ticking of the clock to mark the cell's rebirth as a tomb.  

The Drive

The vibration of the rumble strip brought Susan's eyes back to the road.  She had been drifting again.  Three hours into the nine hour drive and she couldn't keep her focus for more than a few seconds at time.  The call had come after she was already laying down for the night.  She needed to come immediately, tomorrow might be too late.

It was now after 3:00 AM and each mile brought her closer to her daughter.  Lacey had been crossing the street, headed home from a sorority party, when the drunk ran her over, never stopping.  She was now connected to several machines.  Susan imagined the beeping and her mind began to wander.  Each imagined beep, brought a snippet of memory from Lacey's childhood.  A quick glimpse of pigtails trailing as she ran.  A tear sliding down her cheek, when her first date stood her up. The night they had sat up together crying, when the cat had been put to sleep.  Each memory replacing the last until the rumble strip again broke the spell.

It was a little after 9:00 AM, when Susan pulled into the parking lot of the University Hospital. Her mind screamed for her to run for the doors and to fly up the stairs, but her body just didn't respond.  She felt every one of her forty-three years as she gingerly walked to the information desk.  She was given a room number and a sad look.  She followed the signs, blind to the directions she was going, until she realized she had reached her door. As her eyes finally focused on where she was, she realized someone very near her was screaming. As the darkness came, the last thing she saw was the word "Morgue," stenciled above the door.

The Friends

Best of Friends

Josh and Nick are the best of friends. They love to laugh, both at and with each other.  They spend time outdoors and playing every sport under the sun.  The kids they go to school with seldom see them apart and no one else is close to either boy. Not that Josh and Nick want to be left alone.  The other children want nothing to do with them.  The boys hear the whispers and things said when no one knows they are listening.

It all started at the end of the previous school year.  Josh and Nick had been part of a large group of friends that always spent time together.  They all ate lunch together and played on the playground at recess.  One day, all of the other kids but Josh just quit speaking to Nick.  They wouldn't even acknowledge he was around.  Josh tried to keep the circle together, but no one else seemed to care.  So he made his choice and Nick came first.  

Now in late September, the leaves are beginning to change.  Its colder now and Nick seems sad to Josh.  They still laugh and play, but both boys feel like something is missing.  They both try to ask the other about it, but they stop when the tension becomes more than they can bear. 

            Nick misses two days of school and when he returns Josh can tell something has happened.  Nick won't hardly talk to him and looks at him like he isn't even there.  As the sun begins to fade into late afternoon, Nick sits down on one of the swings and just stares towards Josh and the building.

The deputy who drives through this corner of the county feels a little more sad each day he passes the burned out shell of the school.  Little Nick Cartwright, always sitting on the same swing, staring at place where all of his classmates died on the last day of school, the previous year.  Nick had been home sick and was the only one to survive.  The deputy turned his eyes back to the road and said a little prayer for Nick hoping he would realize its ok to be the one to survive, but knowing in his heart Nick just couldn't say goodbye.

The Dream

The Dream

The dream always began the same.  The heart pounding feeling of being watched along with a mild case of unease. She knew before she even moved that she would look over her left shoulder and the shadow would be there.  She didn't know why, but she never looked over her right shoulder, her subconscious seemed to choose her left without fail. As usual the shadow grew larger as she began to walk down the tree lined path.  She increased the tempo of her steps until their matched the quickening beat of her heart.  As the shadow descended upon her back she awoke, covered in sweat staring at the slowly swirling blades of her ceiling fan.  She glanced at the clock and noticed she had only slept for 20 minutes this time. The red numerals, 2:38, shone in the darkness reminding her that sleep would not come easy the rest of that night.  

She rose quickly from the bed and padded to the kitchen.  A quick drink and she would resume her battle with the sandman.  She filled her glass and gazed through the kitchen windows on the path that stretched from her back porch to the small copse of trees behind her house.  The light of the moon painted the path in silvers and grays that seemed to shimmer before her eyes.  She felt the first pull of sleep returning as she stared, trying to catch a glimpse of the water beyond the trees.  Finishing her water, she pulled her eyes from the night's beauty and made her way back to bed.  As she lay back down, her eyes beginning to droop, her eyes rested on the clock that shone, 2:18.

The dream began the same it always did.  The heart pounding feeling of being watched along with a mild case of unease. She knew before she even moved that she would look over her left shoulder and the shadow would be there.  As usual the shadow grew larger as she began to walk down the tree lined path.  She increased the tempo of her steps until their matched the quickening beat of her heart.  As the shadow descended upon her back she awoke, covered in sweat staring at the slowly swirling blades of her ceiling fan.  She glanced at the clock and noticed she had only slept for 20 minutes this time. The red numerals, 2:38, shone in the darkness and she thought she might like a glass of water.