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
Descent
Monday, August 11, 2014
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.
Friday, August 8, 2014
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?"
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?"
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