.:FALCONMYST:. Creations

BLOG

2011-09-21T09:24:00.001-05:00

I want to re-envision this picture in Photoshop.

(I have used the idea in my story already).

WEB LOG = "Blog" Guess that makes scene. I have gotten too addicticed to silly Facebook and really really need to get back to not only Blogging more, but to finishing up my novel. The years, months and days are ticking away and I anint getting any younger and this tale needs finishing up. I have allowed myself the luxuary of way too many distractions as it is.

Elvish

2011-09-20T13:32:00.000-05:00

Quenya Course

THE WATCHER'S SCROLL

2011-08-30T09:35:00.002-05:00

{ The Original Version }

“Beneath that evening star dome, lead
Lord Elrond with his people shed
the woes of a war torn land
healed by a fulfilled king’s hand.

5 Aboard their swan-carved ships
with praises high on ruby lips;
one - with Halflings dressed in vests
rewarded for a legendary quest.

Yet some later said by folly of pride
10 those brothers fought and lied
their bonds they broke and took
all loyalties of oaths forsook.

Shelda`Mar pleaded for we few to come
aboard Valithnor’s ship, Cirdan’s drum;
15 unto those undying lands of hope and grace,
yet outraged, Vendu`Mar abandon his place.

On faded docks did Vendu`Mar argue
against his brother’s command he drew
harsh words like a bitter sword that bites,
20 though Shelda`Mar in sorrow took flight

The wizard Gan`Mereith admonished us
to be wary against our growing lust;
Sal`Gilvan and Veth`Dema barked back
with their own words of black.

25 We stayed like an anointed remnant,
who saw it our goal to rule as imminent,
teaching a new lore to lesser men
with a diverse tongue, Sinenya I penned.

[click to enlarge original Elven Script]

{My Fonts}

Like unto Sindar was Sinenya made
30 with new characters and words I laid;
letters designed for new purposes crafted
for initiated secretes were they drafted.

For the greed of some soon railed apparent
as our original cravings became too variant;
35 instead of being counselors to students in need
many wayward misguidings did breed.

Celegreth of the elven Crystal Caves,
and Kwandol the dwarven mason, made;
a Great Hall like greeting hands
40 domed six hundred years, still stands.

Close to the bay a watchtower stood
with a bell’s tolling alarm it would;
chime forth the hours of the Great Hall
for secret Brothers to heed its call.

45 In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met
among fireside rituals fussed and fret;
knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,
preaching failed expectations, we groped.

High in that Watchtower’s nest
50 its bell replaced we thought best;
with a pyre set eternally aflame,
for others to return without shame.

On the day the oil-soaked wood was lit,
by Fay`Symodare’s death all were hit;
55 the shadow that fulfilled Mereith’s woe,
the bane of mortal man became our snow.

From his ashes we gathered a portion
entombed in an urn with grave distinction;
the rest we scattered upon the sea
60 and swore our own would mix free.

Crafting an Original.

2011-08-27T08:11:00.000-05:00

I'm still writing on my novel, pecking away. I am also working on a craft item: A Scroll Box; right now just the box for the scroll. Thinking that if I can manifest this literary concept as a three dimensional object maybe I should be able to better understand my novel's character who created the Original one.

THE SWAN

2011-08-23T22:02:00.001-05:00

In my novel: THE WATCHER'S REQUIEM, the elves left Middle-Earth at the end of Lord of the Rings; however, (in my tale) some of the elves stayed behind. Writing that continued history, their descendants then built upon it a tradition which developed into a tyrannically cultic religious society. The main character of my story leaves this controlling belief system and therein lies the conflict.

3D-RaMore

2011-08-21T11:11:00.000-05:00

The Great Hall of Mithar

FROM ASHES (By Mike Cope, and others...)

2011-08-10T12:51:00.004-05:00

I created the idea of ADD A LINE story on Face Book. THIS story first appeared on my friend's account, and most of it was written by MIKE COPE, the comments that were posted increasing the tale was done by the following people: (me) David Snow, Liz Rowe, Randy Sites.

___________As it originally appeared_________________

He picked me to go next. I'll start us off and you are all invited to contribute. So here goes...

The landing craft bucked and pitched as it sped toward its destiny on Omaha beach. Nearby shell bursts sent sprays of water, drenching the occupants within.

Dr. Solomon crouched as near to the bucking floor as he could and flinched at every explosion and ricochet. He looked at the soldiers in front of him and felt sick knowing how many of them would not survive the day. The craft made a final jarring lurch and the big ramp went down, men charging forward into the bloody waves of Normandy.

Bullets pinged off the enormous steel crate beside which the diminutive Dr. Solomon sought cover.

"You're up doctor!" shouted the lieutenant.

"I should have just settled down and opened an ice-cream shop," he thought to himself. He was only supposed to observe these people. His Prime Directive was not to get involved in any way. But since the explosion and fire that had destroyed his laboratory and left him marooned among these people he had come to know and like them, even love them. Day after day he watched his friends and neighbors go off to war, never to return. His heart sank with every radio report. Against his better judgment he looked up his friends in the history database. He knew exactly where, when and how each of them would die. That was when he decided to violate his mandate, an act punishable by death if he should ever be found.

With trembling hands he threw back the bolt on the giant crate and swung open the door. His invention might save some lives. It would most likely change the course of the war. It would very probably change the course of history-- and that was unforgivable.

The crate shuddered as his invention came to life. It seemed the vibration would tear the landing craft apart if the Nazi artillery shells didn't do the job first.

High above the beachhead from the relative safety of a German pillbox an SS observer peered through binoculars with interest at the little landing craft and its occupants. He saw the door of the unusual box swing open. Something stirred within it.

"Mein Gott!" he gasped...

All guns turned. The redirection of bullets fired upon the craft as the newly deployed forces strived to engage the enemy. Though many were instantly mowed down before they could wade their third step out into the waters. The incoming rounds did not let up. The Lieutenant's horrified expression was not so much the direct result of witnessing the sudden loss of his men's lives, but because of the doctor's invention. With every ping of incoming rounds a pool of blue light ate up the bullet while it was still in mid-flight; about the stranger and his cargo. Like some kind of "force field". The doctor turned to the young Lt. and said, "--

"Get to a field radio as fast as you can, and tell your men to cease fire.Everybody on the beach must get down." [The] Lieutenant was looking at the crate in a trance. What the hell is that Doc? Lieutenant did you read me all your men must lay down there arms. I turn this thing on. I dont know how to turn it off. or if it knows the difference between us and the Germans.

?"Stand aside lieutenant, we've got work to do."

The machine lumbered forth, crab-like, incoming fire absorbed completely by its force-field. The more bullets it absorbed the larger and brighter the protective dome of energy grew. Soon it had expanded to enclose the landing craft and its surviving contingent of soldiers. It scuttled down the ramp, into the water and up onto the beach providing an oasis of safety for the ever growing number of soldiers who clustered around it.

Though the rippling screen of energy devoured the shells of every weapon directed against it, outgoing fire was not affected. The advancing American forces no longer in danger took their time and placed every shot with deadly accuracy.

Perhaps this is enough, thought Dr. Solomon as he and Lt. Hanley watched from the landing craft. If I only shield our boys, if I use only passive interference, it won't be so bad for me if the Council finds me, he told himself.

Just then a mortar shell exploded among a group of soldiers just beyond the protective dome. Bodies and parts of bodies were thrown high into the air. Solomon cringed.

"Watch this," he said, thumbing a toggle switch on the black control box he held in his hands. The machine reared up on its steel legs, doors within its chest swinging open, the barrels of some strange, unknown weapon emerging, pulsating with energy.

Dr. Solomon pressed a red button and a beam of blinding green light shot from the strange machine ambling up the beach toward the German defenses.

Lt. Hanley stared in disbelief. "Sweet merciful Heaven, the damned thing works," he said to nobody in particular. "I gotta hand it to you doctor, that's really something," he said, turning to face his companion. But Dr. Solomon did not hear him. His attention was fixed on a small indicator screen on his control box. He looked worried.

The mechanical beast swung its weapon wildly, as if it were confused. "Didn't you hear what I said?" Dr. Solomon implored. "The men must cease firing!"

The lieutenant keyed the mic of the field radio and screamed, "Cease fire! Cease fire! Pass the word. All units stand down!"

The orders were screamed through bullhorns, barely audible over the sounds of battle. Slowly firing from the American forces subsided and the infernal machine swung it's gaze back to the German lines.

But suddenly a shell from a naval vessel from somewhere in the English channel split the air overhead. Dr. Solomon's machine reared up again and swung to face the direction of the ship.

Feeling like the weight of the world up on his shoulders. Like a man who started something that he could not stop. Reaching in his pocket. The doctor pulled out what looked like a egyptian medallion. Doctor looking over it. thinking, I wonder if Moses new what the hell he had. 5 thousand years ago.

As the mechanical Turned and began firing towards the naval vessel, the Doctor studied the glowing image in his hands. "Do I let it change history, will this add to my mistakes, or do I stop it all now? How do I decide?" He looked desperately around him, as the Nazis again fell before his invention. He needed a sign, something to tell him what to do....

He felt a sharp sting as if a bee stung his neck and swatted his hand to his throat. He nearly dropped the precious control box and barely managed to grab it with both hands before it smashed to the deck. His eyes widened as he looked down at his blood covered hands and realized the strange bubbling noise was coming from him. He sank to his knees and pitched forward onto the hard steel plating. With his waning strength he tugged at Lt. Hanley's leg.

"Holy crap, Doc!" Hanley yelped, turning his attention from the amazing machine to where Solomon lay crumpled on the dirty deck in a rapidly growing pool of red. The lieutenant dropped to his knees and pressed his palm to the hole in the other man's throat. Solomon shoved the control box at him.

"I don't know how to drive that thing!" screamed Hanley, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. With his final reserve of strength Dr. Solomon sputtered, "History is... in... Your hands. You must contact... The Council... The Council..." His voice trailed off. A gold medallion with the image of a scarab minted on it rolled from his twitching fingers and clattered loudly on the deck. The mysterious Dr. Solomon was no more.

"jimminey Christmas, son-of-a..." Hanley growled through gritted teeth, not completing his thought. He grabbed up the control box and stood, completely dumfounded by the array of knobs, dials and switches. He swung back towards the battle, his panic academic as the mechanical beast was no longer on the beach. From atop the cliffs of Normandy great green flashes could be seen and with each flash more Nazi guns fell silent. The monster was headed inland, toward the villages of France, an uncontrolled and unstoppable juggernaut.

Hanley bent down a scooped up the medallion. He turned it over in his fingers, examining it. "Solomon said to contact the council," he thought. "Council of what?"

In the fading afternoon light of Omaha Beach, Lt. Jordan Hanley was a man in over his head.

A radio static squawked nearby. Without the immediate cover of the mechanical beast and the nearby German forces seemingly defeated; the Americans that were alive along the Beach of Normandy gathered their wits, and aided the wounded. Sporadic, makeshift camps began to emerged within minuets of the silence. The young blonde hair farm boy from Indian, Jordan James Hanley had done more growing in the last hour than he ever experience his entire life. He began yelling orders for his remaining men to advance forward in an effort to locate the dead doctor's invention. He knew his mission, he was uncertain of the Beast's course.

Looking at the blood smeared control box and its array of switches took a gamble and depressed a small red button on the side. Scanning the horizon before him no longer saw the green flashes of light illuminate the darkening skies overhead. A small ping began to sound as a yellow indicator blinked with three second intervals. "Darn thing's got a homing devise on it." The Lt. said aloud. Next to him a Sargent came up, stopping his own near salute looked around, "Sir, Sargent Bakerson reporting - what the hell was that thing?" Trying to come up with a credible response, the Lt. said,"-

?"Our best hope of winning this thing, Sargent - a new weapon. Gather your men, we're fixing to move out in a few." "Aye, Sir." After returning his salute, Bakerson began directing sixteen men. As they gathered themselves and gear into a formation, the Sargent took point. Hanley stood post, "At ease. Men - follow me." Causually he passed them, heading up the steap embakment in search of the mechanical device, he now refered to as "The Beast".

?"Mike Six Four Charlie. You copy? Over." Belched another squawk of static from a radio. The reluctant private who had assumed the mantel of Radio Telephone Operator noded to the Sargent at his left shoulder. Bakerson called up ahead to the Lt., "Sir, call coming in." Again it squawked out, "Mike Six Four Charlie, Do you copy? over. This is Delta Six Tree Sierra. Copy? over."

Taking the handset, the Lieutenant answered back, "Delta Six Tree Siearra, this is Mike Six Four Charlie, reading you loud and clear, over."

?"Mike Six Four what is your location? Over." "Delta Six Tree, I am one click above entry point Alpha heading northeast." "Belay that Mix Six Four you are to link up with Echo Company's Charlie at point Brovo Two. Do you copy that? Over." Looking a little pissed, the Lt. replied, "Rodger that Delta Six Tree, we are to link up with Echo at Bravo Two. Over and Out!" Shoving the phone reciever back at the Sgt. Hanley barked, "Change of plans men." Then pointing down the cliff line they started heading dew south.

An hour later they came upon a crater. The area way a mess of gear and body parts, men were slaughtered everywhere. Picking through what could be salvaged and arranging what bodies they could for burial, the Lt. made preparations for camp as the day edged toward nightfall. Getting the mike from the RTO, Hanley called out, "Delta Six Tree Siearra, this is Mike Six Four Charlie, you read? Over."

A moment later he was answered, then replied into the handset, "Rodger. Look Delta Six Tree, Echo is a zero here. You copy? Over."

A long stretch of silence. Then a moment or two later, "Mike Six Four you are to link up with Lima at rally point Foxtrot Two. Do you copy? Over." "Delta Six Tree - Copy that: Foxtrot Two; link up with Lima Company's Charlie. Over and Out." Looking at his men desiring so much to rest, could only nod at his Sgt. who pointed at the sky and made a circling motion then pointed out. With slumped packs, re-geared up and moved out following the Lieutenant. Changing course once again they headed northeast.

After about forty-five minuets later they again came up on yet another slaughtered group of American soldiers. A young man was placing a makeshift cross of sticks on a grave as the new platoon arrived behind him from the south. Ignoring them he continued patting the cross headpiece into place. The Lt. approached him asking, "What happened here, Private?" "Do know, Sir." After dropping his salute, added, "This spidery looking tank sprayed everyone with a green light and most of them just exploded or lost limps. Sorry, Sir I hid scrambling for my radio and things. My Lt. is dead, Sir - they're - they're all dead - Sir." The young man before Hanley was beginning to take on a distnt stare.

"You did good, Private; nothing else you could have done, son." Then, "What's your name?" Without missing a beat, he came to attention replying, "Private First Class Patrick O`Reilly, Sir - RTO!"

?"You playen me, PFC?" The Lt. looked at the young colored soldier's blood and dirt smeared face with a wary smirk. "No fool'en, Sir. Named after my grandfather, Boston born and bred, Sir." And then a bold, proud grin came over the Private's face as he added, "I take after my mama's Georgian roots, Sir." Shaking his head, the Lt. exhaled, "Too long a tale, Private. Go hook up with Sgt. Tracy for some rations, look like you could use some." Naturally relaxing to At Ease, Patrick began to walk away, then a step of two returned to the Lt. with, "Thank you, Sir."

?"-omon - ooou." Break of static, "no means -" Whistle and squelch, "ever" static noise, "age" then the radio called out again in a distant voice, "jet! Do you understand me!" Patrick was standing over his radio trying to angle the antenna just right as both Sargent Bakerson and the Lt. came up. Hanley strained a bewildering look at the speaker trying to descern the speaker's voice that suddenly repeated itself clearly.

"Do you hear me? Solomon, you are by no means whatsoever to engage the Phoenix Project! Do you understand me!"

By then the Lt. was trying to contact the voice, "Who is this? What is your call sign, over?" But only silence answered in return, not even static - the radio just went dead. Feeling a chill run through him as he listened Patrick's words all he could do was stare, "Sorry, Sir - Nothing." Then facing the Lt. the Private continued; standing up, "Sir, yesterday at 2300 hours, my Lieutenant, Marlowe received a call from that same voice, Sir. An hour later a messenger approached him with a package, and I overheard him tell the Lt to link up with your unit and give it to a Doctor Solomon who was attached to Mike Company." Unwrapping the brown paper package, Jordan marveled at what he now held. A flat silver ring about five inches in diameter inscribed with photographic symbols topped and bottomed with letter esk characters. The ring itself could move within another ring clamped with four squares: north, south, east and west. The North clamp was large with a "window" where a letter/symbol appeared perfectly matched up. Northeast, northwest, south west, and south east were talon like nails that reached toward the middle without touching, almost forming a "window" at their tips.

As if hoping the private had more information about the mysterious medallion shaped ring, the Lt. looked up. Patrick hadn't a clue. Dismissed, he returned to his coffee as the men had began to bed down for the night. A fire watch sentry stood guard over them all pacing back and forth with weapon at the ready.

From his place in the tree, the young boy looked over Jordan's shoulder at the amazing disk. It was pretty, and kind of scary - but it had to be imoprtant. Why else would so many men die? He decided to move higher into the tree to keep a watch on Jordan and then men, so he could take that shiny, bewildering disk. It just might feed his family for a while, if he could find the right buyer. Silently, he inched into a more comfortable position, and waited.

?"THAT's IT, Stop there!" The Sentry yelled out while aiming his rifle at the young boy up the tree. He began kicking at the feet within the sleeping bags, "On your feet, intruder alert!"

?"Sarg over here!" Arriving Sargent Bakerson, said,"----------

?"Kid, just who the hell do you think you are? Dumbass, creeping up on soldiers!" The child looked at him, totally unfazed, as the Sgt began to express his displeasure in the most creative stringing of curses the soldiers had ever heard. When he stopped to take a breath, the boy said -----

?"Please sirs, I meant no harm. My family is hungry. The Bosch occupy my farm. They took my brother away. I have not eaten in two days."

The sentry hauled the thin, dirty boy to the tent where Lt. Hanley had set up his command post.

"Kid says he ain't eat in two days," Said the gruff-voiced sergeant.

Lt. Hanley looked at the sad faced boy practically dangling by the ragged collar caught in the grip of Sgt. Bakerson's huge, hard fist.

He scowled and said impatiently, "I don't have time for this. Bakerson, get the kid some chow and send him on his way."

He turned his attention back to the unusual package that had been delivered by Private O'Reilly. He was at a loss as to what it was or what it did or how it related to his runaway robot. He examined it closely in the lantern light. His thoughts were broken by his radio operator who suddenly appeared by his side.

"Sir, patrols report no contact with the machine and the fly-boys say the same thing. It's like the damn thing just disappeared. Too dark now to spot it from the air, they say they'll resume the search at first light."

Lt. Hanley squinted at his RTO. "You have any idea how far that thing might travel overnight Corporal?"

"No sir."

"Yeah, well neither do I, but from the way it got off the beach Hell bent for leather, it could be anywhere."

The French boy upon overhearing this twisted free from Bakerson's grasp and ran to Lt. Hanley.

"Sir! Sir! I have seen your machine not half an hour ago. At first there was only a horrible thrashing sound in the hedgerow. It split apart, but there was nothing there. Then some of the Bosch raised an alarm and ran to see what was happening. Suddenly the machine appeared, like a great silver dragon spitting green flames. It killed the Germans and then disappeared."

"What do you mean disappeared?" Asked Hanley.

"It is to say that one moment you could see it and the next you could not."

"You mean that thing can go invisible?" Marveled the radio operator.

"Yes! Invisible! That is the word." The boy seemed pleased at his mastery of English.

Lt. Hanely's frustration was growing.

"Well, swell," he muttered. "How are we going to track it now?"

"Pardon me sir," Said the boy, "The machine is-- what is the word? Invisible... but its tracks are not. It was headed straight for the village of Saint-Lô. I can show you!"

Hanley leaped to his feet and began barking orders.

"Bakerson, round up a jeep! Corporal, grab your gear and send for Private O'Reilly! Get back here on the double! We roll out in three minutes!" He clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Kid you really earned your chow tonight-- and there's plenty more where that came from!"

There was a voice in the darkness.

"Col. Schroeder?"

The flight from Peenemünde to Berlin had been bumpy and unpleasant. Verner Schroeder was not a comfortable flyer and this was his first chance for sleep since he was called from his work to meet with the Fuhrer.

His work, like Dr. Solomon's, was top secret, of a military nature, and quite likely to change the course of history. These were not the only things the two men had in common. Like Dr. Solomon he was supposed to observe this particularly tumultuous period of human history, and like Dr. Solomon he was trapped in this time-period when the explosion that destroyed Dr. Solomon's laboratory rippled through the entire network of portals and laboratories of the Council of Historical Reconnaissance, trapping any agents in the field wherever and whenever they might be. But unlike Dr. Solomon, the former Professor-- now Colonel-- Verner Schroeder's violation of his Prime Directive had not been of his own free will.

Schroeder was considered an oddity among the researchers of The Council. Strictly an academic, he hated field work, preferring to study history from the safety and comfort of his library, far from the bad food, poor sanitation, primitive technology and frightening medical practices of times long past.

The accident had changed all that and Schroeder, trapped in Germany, had been compelled to turn his considerable scientific abilities to the advancement of the Nazi agenda, a distasteful situation at which he continually balked. Unlike Von Braun, his colleague at Peenemünde, He could not in good conscience turn a blind eye to the party's outrages as long funds flowed for research.

As an SS colonel, Schroeder had influence and authority, but his Gestapo "liaison" was always close at hand and his contact with the world outside Germany was limited. He had tried to track Dr. Solomon, to keep him in check, but with the outbreak of war in Europe in September of 1939, that had become almost impossible. In the early Spring of 1942 Schroeder had gotten word from another field agent that Dr. Solomon had met with Vannevar Bush, of the Office of Scientific Research and Development. But from that last scrap of information Dr. Solomon and his whereabouts had disappeared into the fog of top secret black projects.

"Herr Colonel, I hate to disturb you," Said the timid voice again.

"What is it?" snapped Colonel Schroeder. "Any news from the French Coast?"

"No Herr Colonel. There has been no word at all, from any units on the Atlantic Wall. The radios have all been strangely silent since just after the first reports of the allied landings at Normandy."

"So much for the Fuhrer's impenetrable Fortress Europe, eh Hans?" Sneered the colonel, rubbing his aching temples.

"It is something else, Herr Colonel... A message."

"Well? What is it?" Snapped Schroeder.

"The Phoenix has risen."

Schroeder bolted upright in his bed.

"Mein Gott! What has Solomon done? He has no idea of the nature of the forces he has unleashed. Quickly, Hans! My boots! We must leave at once. Perhaps even now it is too late."

"Colonel Schroeder, what does this mean? What are we going to do?" Asked a startled Hans.

"We can perhaps save the world instead of trying to destroy it, but we have no time to lose-- machen sie schnell!"

Out there, in the darkness that covered the beaches and fields of France, under piles of rubble and in hastily dug graves, something unnatural was beginning to stir. The phoenix had indeed risen.

The full jeep was bouncing down the rubble scattered roads in the predawn hours with its headlights off - blackout. Silence was the mood as Lt. Hanley sat there thinking of the events of the day and how all the twist and turns lead him to his current actions. Taking the Ringed Compus out of his shirt pocket he again investigated the pronged points, and the movable outer ring as it slid soundlessly through the top "window". The strange markings fascinated the man. What could they mean? After a spray of creek water washed the jeep, another thought jumped through the Lieutenant's mind. Remembering the golden Egyptian medallion and its image of the beetle - scarab minted on one side and an Eye on the other; Jordan removed it from his other pocket. Strange. There was one symbol in the middle of the Eye, and the same three symbols on the Compus' East, South, and West locked blocks that held the movable ring in place. Puzzeling it all out in his mind, the Lt. grinned - looking at the driver, "Eyes on the road Sargent."

Hanley held the ring up in front of him with his left hand and in his right he held up the medallion. As the jeep raced over a branch in the road they all jumped in their seats. With that, the Lt. merged hands; sliding the medallion "behind" the ring with the compus "on top of" it seemed to make scene to him - somehow. There was a click. Like a magnetic feel to it. "Strange!" Came his audible whisper.

"Dam right it's strange." Bakerson blurted out, " Ain't nothing right about this whole mission - Sir." The Lt. smiled back and said, "------

THE STORY CONTINUES...

THE INSTITUTION

2011-08-09T16:40:00.001-05:00

I created the idea of ADD A LINE story on Face Book; these are the comments that were posted by the following people: David Snow, Lisa Crew, Liz Rowe, Mike Cope, Rodney Lynn Romero, Shawn Farrar, Tonnica Lathan, Tony Noack.

_______________________________________

The chipped paint was smelled like they had been dabbed in urine instead of being scrubbed with bleach; a fresh coat would have been better, and the floors - sore needs of replacing or least buffing. The yellow encased, blinking florescence lights lacked attention as well. If fact the entire building reeked for a demolition crew who cared. Moans filled the halls. Amid the muddle of shuffling house shoes, and odd inappropriate laughter a single, pitiful voice continued to be ignored, "Nurse." "Nurse." "Nurse."

The only nurse on the floor of the Institution at the time was Rachel Margret Littleton. Over worked, underpaid, seven years alone. The other staff who came did not seem to last very long.

Just as she was crushing up meds a dingy yellow gowned man shuffled up to Rachel's cart, and asked, " -------------
sweet that rocks!!!
"Okay, Mr. Stouthammer, I'm glad the music in your head rocks, but Miss Littleton has to give Becky her meds now." The man turned away as Becky Brownthers opened her mouth way back. Afterwards she -------
‎"Pardon me Nurse Ratchet, might I trouble you for an extra pill?" the man in the dingy gown jabbed a thumb at the empty air beside him. "Teddy has been a bit jumpy today. You see, it's his brother Harvey's birthday today and he had his heart set on an outing to see him."

Nurse Ratchet squinted at the empty space beside the little man and said,

"Sorry Mr. Jacobson, Teddy dosen't get morning meds. But - here's yours." Heading to the elderly man with a thin whisp of spiked hair who had been calling after her since last night, Rachel offered a small paper cup of stool softer and Lithium, "Okay now now Mr. Blackwater here's your morning meds." Trembling hands reached for the cup but at the last second instead of accepting his doasage, hit the nurses' hand away, flinging the pills across the floor he started screaming at the top of his lungs, " YOU! --------
"YOU! You are the one who stole my eyes last night!!! Give them back!" Nurse Rachel stepped back in fear, eyes widened. Mr. Jacobson had never given her much trouble in the past. She didn't know what had gotten in to him and she was more than a little frightened. She took a deep breath and a step back saying--------
"It's going to be allright Mr. Jacobson - Martin, if you open your lids you'll notice they are in - Oh, Okay?" Still screaming like his flesh was rotting off he suddenly stopped in mid yell, and said, " Thank you, Nurse." "Nurse." "Nurse...."
Sudden Rudy Finkler noticed the pills at his feet, edged down and scarfed them up without Rachel's notice; she had forgotten about them in the misdirection. Rudy eased back into his room and squatted on the floor.......
pulled his pants down, and took a big ole "wendy's frosty" dump, and said "yes master"... pulled up his pajamas, and smeared it all in his room, because he was pacing about.... The wretched smell filled the facility... {sounds like work, huh dave?}
Without missing a beat, nurse Littleton called down the dimly lit hallway, "Sanders - Sorry, but Mr. Finkler did his morning thing again."
Sanders was a huge black man. A retired Linebacker from some football team big in the 1960s. Sanders Graham Ellington, Jr. to be precise. His mop water was fresh hourly but smelt like it had never been changed. Sanders wore hospital scrubs and proudly displayed his plastic beaded Rosary outside his shirt. His hair had long since turned white and his back hunched from battles he bemoaned to himself while mopping. As he went down the hall to Finkler's room, he said, "--------
Getting him into the shower room was often a challenge that required a great deal of creativity. This morning's promise of extra pudding at lunch did not rise to the challenge. Finkler's counter offer was a handful of feces flung gorilla like out of his open door. It spattered the closed door opposite his with what Mr. Finkler considered a certain poetic wetness. He poked his head out the door with a satisfied grin on his face.
By way of reply, Mary Ann Riscenburger just smiled back at Rudy's brown smeared grin. She held tightly onto her precious dolly, remembering her own baby which she had accidently allowed to be burned in a house fire twenty-two years back. Actually it was one of her own dresses that she held; it was all rolled up in a bundle. From the dolly-dress she liked best but never wore; looked up into the questioning face as the nurse offered her a spoonful of pudding mixed medication.
She still talks to me you know; my baby that's is; smiling nervously to the nurse. She told me it wasn't my fault, that I didn't start the fire.
The nurse dropped the spoon as she gasped, realizing in all the years she had worked in this godforsaken place, Mary Ann had never spoken a word.
Mary Ann began rocking back and forth, back and forth, murmering to the dress dolly "It's OK, sweetheart, Mama's here" and pacing the floor. She looked up at the nurse and said lucidly, "It's so bad when the wee ones have the colic". Sanders, returning from the cessspool that was Finkle's morning game, almost dropped his mop. It was as if.....
He had seen the child himself. He stepped back with a horrid look on his face, not wanting to let any one know what he had just saw he quickly turned and walked away......
The child he had seen, was of the "paranormal", he has seen her walking next to Mary anns' bed, kissing her momma, on the cheek, and saying, " It's okay, momma" it wasn't your fault, and i love you".
Sanders made for the "break room" - a converted closet, that was the only place he knew of in the building that the patients avoided. He opened his thermos, and took a swig of his all Irish "coffee". He could NOT be seeing spirits - there were people locked up in here for just that! "Slow deep breaths, man", he told himself - and slowly began to calm down as he recalled his favorite episodes of Barney. The door flew open, and....
Their stood the little girl, he dropped his mug, with a despate look he said what do u want. The little girl replied with a screeching voice, you know what u did...
After another swig of "coffee" Saunders left the confines of the closet. He walked right through the little girl who dissipated as he did so. A chill ran through the orderly.
Saunders called out to the nurse, "Hey Rachel, you seen Kenny? How long does it take to take a break?"

TO BE CONTINUED.......

THE OPEN ROAD

2011-08-09T12:49:00.001-05:00

On FACE BOOK I started an ADD A LINE STORY, and thanks to the following people for their great comments it went wonderful: Carlos Ivan Sanchez, Liz Rowe, Mike Cope, Randy Sites, Rodney Lynn Romero, Ron Shiflet and of course myself David Snow.

--------As it appeared:--------

IDEA: BUILD ON MY STORY... The man walked alone on the open stretch of highway. Having just left one dusty god forsaken town, he headed north for better prospects of a job. Wearing his best blue jeans and button down shirt with back pack slung over his shoulders that contained all his belongings. His name was -----
stamped on his leather belt, and his boots were worn down at the heels. He paced along, steadily eating at the miles, ignoring the cat calls from the occasional trucks that passed. As he grew steadily closer to his desination, he began to wonder what he would find in the new town. "I really would like -----------"
a cold ass beer right about now." The heat of the road was getting to him and making him angry. A few more miles he thought to himself. But the road would seem like it would never end. More trucks hissed on by untill one happend to pull over. A sight of relife loomed ahead on the road. The blistering heat has taken a toll on his senses as he approached the truck. A fugure appears out of the truck------
"should I take this ride?" I was thinking to myself. It's so hot out here, and can't walk no more. " My feet are killing me." So i walked to the driver and said "Man I need a ride really bad , as you can see, can you help me out?" He said, "Sure hop in" , so i did , and was thinking maybe we should at least have a conversation, so i asked him_______?
His name was Ralph by the way.... Lol
"So, Ralph, thanks for the lift - where ya headed," I asked. "Utah." His one word grunt followed by an extended silence began my reevaluation of having accepted this ride. Ralph was a huge man whose unswerving gaze was upon the unending road before him was beginning to make me uneasy. His next words did not falter," Where you headed in this blistering heat?" Looking out my side window as the sequoia cacti began blurring by with the bearded driver's speed gaining on the blacktop, I said,"-------"
Not heading anywhere. More like running away from something. By the way have you ever heard the story about Large Marge.

"I guess all of us gear-jammers have heard that one," he answered. "Whatever you're running from is your own damn business just as long as it don't cause me trouble."
"Nothing illegal," I said, continuing to to watch the bleak terrain pass by.
"What are you hauling?" i asked, eager to change the subject.
"Drill bits," he replied. "For one of the oil field operations out of Midland."
"wow" drill bits, he replied. "you must have a pretty darn heavy load." so how long have you been drivin" trucks
not very long i keep missing my loads. i keep putting them in the wrong places
Trying not to show my growing grin at such a ridiculous comment, Ralph continued, "Since the accident with the nail gun fourteen years ago my thinking ain't as sharp as it use ta be."
"So, where you headed, and why?" Ralph said daring me to make a wisecrack about his damaged brain.------
Remember back in 02 the big blackout up and down northeast coast. Well that was me. I was working on a invention, Free cable t.v. useing only a hairdryer, car battery, and a cordless telephone. going real good. untill I added the depleted uranium. missed up not adding the ceiling fan coz the sh@t needed something to hit
‎"That was you, huh?" he replied. "My cousin got mugged during the blackout and ain't been right since. Just sits in her apartment and has covered all the windows with aluminum foil."

Is your cousin hot? sounds like my kinda woman. Hey can we make a stop up here i go see if my package got delivered.
Ralph looked at me, and asked "What kind of a package? And just why would I want to stop? Especially for someone who caused my cousin some hurt? In fact, the more that I think on it..." He paused to rub at something I had taken to be a large guage piercing, but now realized was the head of a nail. "Ummm, looki at the smugmobile trying to pass you. Darn hippies!" Ralph, distrracted by his favorite prey, ------
I am receiving something that i would rather not talk about, If i told ya i would have to kill ya. sorry to be so blunt, But you just don't understand my situation. If you can't help me out, just either drop me off their and you can ride on, or just trust me. Whataya say?
"Ralph, guns the big ole semi truck, diesel fumes, filling the sky, trying to catch up with those damn hippies..... "
Whoa Ralph stop! You going to kill them. Slow down. Ralph said, tell me whats in the package or it's Hippies dead on the road. ok ok i will.
Ralph pulls the truck over the side of road. Ok boy Whats coming in the mail thats got you on the run. Well let me put it this way. It's going to get really crowded in texas in a few weeks. Need to get as far from Dallas as soon as posible
In the package is two very rare insects. Well now their very rare. But in about 10 days going to change that.
Whatever you do ralph, do not let them drink buttermilk..... that is what the chinese guy told me... i don''t know what will happen, just hope they never drink that stuff......
There called Syberia albino snow chiggers. Their the only insect that can live in below freezing temp. Good thing to cause that keeps the reproductive system down. They are the fastest breeding creature in the world. They breed every 2 hours and hatch up to 18 thousand eggs a time and have a 99% birth rate.
And if they get any milk products mainly buttermilk. they will grow up to 10 times their normal size. oh yeah I sent the package to the bigest dairy process plant in the country. opps mybad
‎"So, how'd you end up in the snow chigger biddness?" I asked nervously. Ralph shot me the hairy eyeball, then glanced around nervously as if he thought somebody might be eavesdropping on a truck flying down the highway at eighty-five miles an hour. Satisfied that we were not being spied upon he began to speak in a hushed tone (just in case.) "The doctors said if they took the nail out of my brain it would kill me so I was better off just to leave it in. Well, about a month later I started wakin' up in the night hearin' voices. I thought I was goin' nuts. But it was signals. This damned thing is an antenna." The look on his face told me Big Ralph wasn't kidding.

I started calculating the chances of survival of jumping from a truck moving eighty-five miles an hour. "And the bugs?" I asked sheepishly. Ralph grunted and shrugged. "I was told to take them to Dallas, Denver, Detroit-- ever' big town that started with the letter D-- and stash 'em, to prepare the way." I felt a little sick. "To prepare the way for what, Ralph?"

Just as he opened his mouth to answer a strange warbling hum filled the cab of the truck and a shadow passed over us.

"Crap, they found us!" Ralph snarled as he gunned the big rig and ground the gears for all he was worth. I glanced in the mirror and was astounded to see behind us _______
Three Texas State Trooper vehicles, an Oklahoma Hummer all flashing lights as a helicopter flew over head in the mix. Suddenly...
Ralph pointed to the nail in his head - "It wasn't really an accident. Aliens..." I looked at him, "You mean?" "Yep" he whispered, "I've been tagged, and them chiggers are going to be tagging people as they get loose." I took a deep drag on my cigarette, and pondered this for a while. After about 15 miles had passed ----
I was blinded by a flash of green light and the pursuing law enforcement vehicles were gone. They were just gone!

Everything looked different. The road was not familiar. The landscape had changed. Even Ralph looked different.

We had caught up to the car full of hippies in front of us. In fact, we were smashing into its back bumper at well over a hundred miles an hour. The truck began to jacknife. It was if everything was moving in slow motion. The truck and the car full of hippies rose into the air. Whatever had us had them too.

I could do nothing. I was paralyzed. I watched the vehicle in front of us. A passenger in the back seat was staring at me intently. He looked so strange. It began to dawn on me that his face did not look human. It was the face of ________
"It was the face of an alien" , As soon as everything was going in slow motion, it was like a movie theater reel that was set on a slower speed. We were all transported into some sort of alien "Mother Ship" . "We were all abducted......
‎"By Aliens
The hippies were there with us. but they weren't hippies anymore. I looked over to see if Ralph was still with me. he was and Ralph was grinning back at me. Dorothy were not in Kansas anymore
Wiping sweat from his brow, the man walked alone on the open stretch of highway. Having just left one dusty god forsaken town, he headed north for better prospects of a job. Wearing his best blue jeans and button down shirt with back pack slung over his shoulders that contained all his belongings.
/////////// THE END ////////////////////

Simply Wise

2011-07-30T16:56:00.001-05:00

When I woke up this morning, I asked myself, "What is life

about?" I found the answer in my room. the fan said, "Be

cool." The roof said, "Aim high." The window said, "See the

world!" The clock said, "Every minute is precious." The mirror

said, "Reflect before you act." The calendar said, "Be up to

date." The door said, "Push hard for your goals." The floor

said, "Kneel down and pray".

=From a Facebook friend...

Ra`More of EUL

2011-07-30T11:45:00.004-05:00

This is a photo shopped picture I created. It is made up of over 157 layers and more than 37 pictures I lifted from various surfed web sites. Countless hours surfing the web, about 6 hours creating this pic. The Tree-Shrine is Ra`More on the island of Eul, with the divided Mount Ipstha in the background to the right. The scene is from my novel: THE WATCHER'S REQUIEM.

A Really Big OUCH!

2011-07-24T09:30:00.003-05:00

When I was twelve years old I fell out of a tree breaking both bones in my right arm; that took "forever" to heal in a cast up to my shoulder. Last month I had a jammed middle finger that swelled up with infection.
I must have been bitten by a spider or something; because I developed this horribly painful pimple that didn't go away after eight days. I finally broke down and went to the doctor who said I should have come in seven days ago. He numbed the pain with a huge gauge needle, then lanced it open with a scalpel by an inch and a half, but it was the 10 minuets of squeezing to ooze out the infectious pressure that overwhelmed the experience in pain. The doctor that did the procedure was an 18 year military veteran, who told me many of his soldiers would have been yelling out. I didn't make a sound which impressed him; my waiting so long didn't. Believe me, my side hurts, even though I haven't been to the Doctor in years - this was a really big OUCH!!!
As of today, Sunday, I'M feeling better with all the pain reliever and antibiotics; called in to work (sorry guys), but all the bending and stretching can't be dealt with - doc's excuse will have to do, and FMLA.

FAMILY Headstones

2011-07-22T08:01:00.000-05:00

Sea Side Memorial Park, Corpus Christi, Texas.

Alice's Mother (Betty) and Grandmother, (Wilma).

THE PLANCHETTE

2011-07-20T11:47:00.003-05:00

(Apartment 667)

A Short Story

David DeLane Snow

“How neat. Look, Steven this was the first book I ever read as a kid: Journey to the Center of the Er-”
“Ha! That was a cheesy Brandon Fraser movie, Mom.”
“Movie? No it’s a classic son -.”
“Wow, how cool!”
Half hoping he had changed his mind, Rebekah’s brief smile dashed into a smirk, “Don’t think so, Rick.”
Her older son was investigating a warn game box that had been marked .25 cents in red ink on a masking tape label, “Oh come on, Mom don’t be a stick in the mud. It’s just an ’ol Ouija Board for a quarter.” Then before she could protest any further the fifteen year old fished out the coin from his own blue jean pocket, and paid the elderly woman behind the rickety folding table who smiled toothlessly back.
She spoke to them for the first time, even though they had been the only ones rummaging through her garage sale for the last thirty minuets, “Wonderful choice young man, wary who you conjure. The fifth will point out the Four, who are waiting already.”
With that Rebekah Fairfield hurriedly paid for her other items: a book, lamp, and baseball bat; then uneasily gathered her two teenage boys, and headed down the long driveway back to their family’s mini-van.

[SEE ALSO: Dead Secrets]

DEAD SECRETS...

2011-07-19T16:19:00.002-05:00

(Apartment 105)

A Short Story

David DeLaine Snow

A week had gone by before the Coroner finally released her husband’s body to the local Funeral Home; a single gun shot to the head confirmed what she had seen for herself -- a suicide. Jillian would never forget finding George slumped over on the blood soaked couch with brain matter splattered against the wall. Nor would she be able to erase having to clean it up herself.
Next to a pile of bills and collection notices on the coffee table lay George’s final note; which simply read: “It all got out of hand and I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop.”
George’s gambling debts had drained their joint bank accounts, and now Jillian was left holding several unpaid Payday loans. She lost her land line, Cable, and her utilities were being threatened with getting shut off as well. Now, she had to wait for his Insurance policy to arrive from the Post Office just to pay for his cremation. Their eight months of marriage had not seen them do anything more than verbally plan for their future “old-aged” deaths. Hence the waiting.
Two days after they took George’s body away, Jillian still could not stomach staying at home by herself. She had yet to go through all his belongings or decide on what to do with his personal papers that were pilled up on the corner desk; so, she took another long walk instead. Spencer, her Brittney Spaniel was more than eager for his walk.

A stone’s throw from their Lake Cliff apartment complex was an undeveloped wooded area near a community park, and that’s where Jillian found herself heading. Spencer excitedly tugged at his leash wanting to be released, but Jillian smiled, “Hold up, boy.”
Upping her stride to keep pace with him, they continued along the curvatures of the winding sidewalk’s path. Three nanny’s with strollers watched their children at play on the ground’s equipment. At the other end of the park a group of men began the game of frieze bee golf, as a middle aged woman was being pulled along by her own pack of twelve dogs. Crazy dog-walkers, go figure, Jillian thought to herself as Spence sniffed for a place to do his own business.
Jillian came here every evening to walk Spencer after work. It was the very place where she first met George, and where he had later proposed marriage to her. The woodland trails had been their special place. But now that he was gone memories was all she had left, and a few of the gifts he had lavished on her in the last few months.

Suddenly something out the corner of her eye caught her attention in the woods. Glancing back, she could have sworn she saw George himself!
She had. He was quickly walking away from her along on a parallel pathway far in the thicket of the woods. Jillian found herself shouting out his name. Even more astounding was when he turned around in response. It was George!
With wide eyes, Jillian felt herself drained cold and yelling out, “Why the hell did you do it, George!?”
He was silent.
Whining; Spencer looked up at her cocking his head, questioning his owner’s tone of voice. Checking her dog for any validation that she wasn’t going crazy, Jillian found herself looking back into the now empty woods. Feeling like an idiot she began questioning her own sanity.
The dog-walker came up from behind Jillian and asked, “I’m sorry - what did you say?”
Blushing Jillian quickly replied, “Sorry. I -- Just thought I saw someone I knew.” Then abruptly turned away and headed home crying.

Jillian stood in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready for work. The gospel music coming from the living room’s Bose sound-system usually embraced Jillian’s soul with a sense of warmth and peace. But somehow the baritone-quartet vocal’s seemed to change into tiny distant-voices coming from a tin can. The spiritual message suddenly lost all meaning and offered nothing but annoyance. As Jillian slowly reached for her favorite hair barrette, a torques Dragonfly, the insect blurred to a frozen halt in mid-flight. Cocking her head slightly with widening eyes, Jillian’s swift thoughts were transported to the very moment when her husband had gifted it to her. It was the day before their seven month anniversary, and came as a total surprise like the news of his job promotion.

George came in tired, obviously preoccupied with thoughts of work, and abruptly double locked the front door behind him. He did not seem to take notice of his wife’s new hair color; and after a long while of fishing for a compliment, Jillian’s disappointment didn’t seem to matter. Then, George’s smiling mood suddenly changed on a dime, like an afterthought he produced a beautiful torques hair barrette from his pocket. As she inspected the details of the Dragonfly’s blue-glass wings, Jillian listened to her husband stilted tale of a job promotion.
Dropping the brush she almost ran to the living room and retrieved the journal. Trying to calm her quaking hands, thumbed through the warped pages scanning for February third, and read: “… the black girl was a perfect tone of creamed coffee, but her voice…”

When she slid into the passenger seat the cabin filled with the suddle scent of her sweet perfume. Not quiet overpowering but it masked well the muskiness of his Toyota’s need for detailing.
“You have no idea how much I’m sweating to death out there.” He almost melted at the angelic sound of her voice, the African America lilt with a touch of University learning. She placed her back pack on the floor between her feet, then added, “Oh that A/C feels great. I’m Brandi by the way.”
Never with a look in his direction as she retrieved a nail file from her bag immediately devoting attention to her finger tips, “Thanks for the ride; you know where the rail station is, right? You’re such a life saver.”
The dismissive tone in her voice lost him. From there on everything she said numbed into background noise; “life saver” - if she only knew, George thought to himself as the adrenaline pounded through his heart. His mind raced through scenarios with every intersection he passed of ‘what if at this turn we…’ Her inescapable need to ramble was beginning to grate on his nerves and that overly sweet fragrance was turning his stomach as he suddenly injected, “Let met check in on a friend of mine real quick, just want to see if his truck is in the drive - I’ll call him later - it’s on the way.” Without missing a beat George made a right hand turn going down a street he had never been down before. All the while Brandi played with her nails and continued with her rambling story that George gave no interest to.
Trying to wind his way back to the abandon baseball diamond he had seen three weeks earlier, George meandered down several side streets ignoring his passenger’s voice. As if he had recklessly slammed on the brakes she suddenly asked the question that changed the tempo of the adventure, “Where’s your friend live?”
Looking up from filing her nails and having rummaged through her bag since having enter his vehicle this was actually the first time she had even laid eyes on at George’s middle aged face. Whirling for an answer, he causally smiled as his eyes ignored her youthfully round face, darting over her shoulder to an empty driveway, “Well - guess he’s still out-of-town.” The exhale of pretended disappointment was excepted fully by the unsuspecting passenger.
Brandi politely turned her conversation to her host, “I’m sorry your friend’s not home.” Then with his attention fully back on the road re-adjusting the scenario in his head an electric jolt shot through him as the girl’s hand gently touched his right elbow, “Hope everything’s alright with him.”

[The story is a work in progress...]

THE HOBBIT - Coming Soon!!!

2011-07-14T19:39:00.002-05:00

THE HOBBIT

December 14, 2012

DEAD SECRETS...

2011-07-14T18:01:00.003-05:00

(Apartment 105)

A Short Story By

David DeLane Snow

Nasil

2011-07-14T13:26:00.001-05:00

http://www.spanishdict.com/translation
Written in reverse, with vowels exchanged;
NASIL
A=e
E=i
I=o
O=u
U=a
NASIL FONTS:
http://www.acondia.com/fonts/assorted/index.html

THE OBIT

2011-07-08T10:26:00.001-05:00

[Apartment 409]

A Short Story by

David DeLane Snow

He had always joked that he read the obits just to make sure he didn’t read his own name in the paper; strange thing was - that morning his name was in there and it suddenly didn’t feel like a joke. His light headedness came into clear telescoping focus. Whirling thoughts of who in the world would have gone to such lengths to pay for such a prank ran through his mind. Funny. A lot of names came to him but none stuck for long as his interest pulled him back into a second reading of the article.
Other than the lower case typo of his middle initial, Thomas freaked at the brief but concise details of his short life. For starters thirty six was too young to die, and secondly - how could he be dead?
Looking up from the newspaper it suddenly dawned on him that he was standing in a wholly different apartment. It was the same tiny one bedroom economy, but the furnishings and décor were obviously not his own. He now had a 42” flat screen, a huge 55 gallon aquarium took up space along one side of the wall; and two black recliners were lit by one of those nude figure lamps he had always wanted to buy. The walls were hung with photos of family members he had never met before, and inspection of the bedroom quickly let him know that there was defiantly a female presence about. Thomas relished the idea of being a bachelor, so the ruffled skirt about the bed was almost a bigger jolt than reading of his own demise.
Feeling like he had just woken up in someone else’s home, Thomas went outside to the patio. The numbers on the front door still said 409 and the complex area was the same, with the tennis court to the right and parking lot on his left. Another wave of panic rolled over him as he stood in his vacant spot wondering where his Jeep was.
It was then that Thomas noticed a younger couple laden with groceries heading for his apartment, fumbling for their keys. Going over to them he called out, “Excuse me.”
The young man in his mid twenties and curly brown hair turned about in reply, “Yes sir?”
Wondering what he was going to say, Thomas blurted out, “How long have you been living here?”
The thin brunette smiled, “We got married yesterday and moved in two weeks ago.”
“I’m Sergio and this is Rebecca.”
Extending his hand to return the shake, “I’m - Thomas Reed. I use to live here - awhile back.”
Their smiles changed with a look of sympathy as Sergio conveyed his condolences, “Ah - sorry to hear about your friend. We were told someone had passed away in the apartment ‘bout a month ago.” Rebecca entered through the door leaving the two men on the patio. Thomas couldn’t help his side glance inside. “Were you close?” Asked the new tenant.
“Uh, yeah, yeah we were very close - friends, and it was a shock.” Stammered Thomas.
“You want to come in for a glass of tea?” Rebecca invitingly asked after having dropped off her load of groceries on the counter top. Sergio’s eyes bounced between his new bride and the stranger, questioning Thomas’ awkward pause, “Sure come on in, you can tell us about your friend.”
Catching himself staring wide eyed passed Rebecca, Thomas blushed, “Oh, thanks.” Then edged back into his old apartment.

{Still working on this one...}

THE HAIR CUT

2011-07-05T07:37:00.003-05:00

[APARTMENT 123]

Beethoven Adolf Bryan woke up in a panic. Beethoven was named by his schizophrenic music loving mother, and his bi-polar history-buff father; needless to say he went by Bryan. Bryan had scrambled headedly gotten up that morning thinking he was running late, when in fact it was his day off.
Three weeks ago he had finally gotten around to replacing the cracked mirror on the cabinet door above his toilet. He had mirrors of every kind, shape and size on every wall in his small, heavily cluttered one bedroom apartment. There was just something about the illusion of a larger place that appealed to him, besides, the idea of a different world possibly lurking on the other side of the glass was an intriguing idea as well.
On that morning as he took a leak, the image staring back must have surely been from the world on the other-side because it was not his own. How could it be? With those overly wild eye brows and uncombed bushy tuff of scariness staring back at him were of someone who had gotten old and out of shape. Bryan returned a grimace to the image. His thoughts snapped.

At the mall’s Supper Cuts a young lady with a huge bust and tiny body attempted to turn Bryan into one of the celebrity want a bees in the photos framed beside the mirror that held the image of a man draped and ready to be sheared or executed. As the overly top heavy girl worked on her captive the image slowly evolved into a thick lipped, glazed-eyed, chubby faced man whose thinly, water-down bangs shouted, “Look at me world, I’m a freaken idiot!”
That’s when he snapped. Politely thanking and paying the anorexic cashier, Bryan left. Sat outside the shop nonchalantly looking at magazines and waited until the girl who had fleeced him got off work. He would follow her home, go through her back-ally garbage and learn all her secrets, discover who her friends were and collect their garbage as well. After the eighteen bags had been dumped on Thin Girl’s front porch, Bryan would leave a “just-as-polite” note reminding her of the cost for butchering someone’s hair.

After he had finished peeing, Bryan realized he had the day off and decided to go back to bed and dream of getting Thin Girl’s phone number instead.

The Apes are coming! IT BEGINS!!!!

2011-07-03T22:02:00.000-05:00

O_M_G!!!! And I don't use that term! Finally a prequel Reboot even I can look forward to seeing: RISE OF THE PLANET OF THE APES!!!! By the Gods my number number one favorite shows of all times, sorry Mike yes even before Star Trek.

Still in the Hospital...

2011-07-02T13:30:00.000-05:00

Alice continues in the hospital. A heat rash in tenderly personal areas developed into some serious bacterial infections that oral antibiotics alone couldn't easily resolve. After three days of IVs and observational treatments she's "turned a good corner".
For some reason, though the hospital is only a year old we were told they were shutting a wing down; she was moved in her bed to two then three other rooms. Staff were moved about as well. LOL crazy.
Now waiting, probably, until after the Independence Holiday - she'll be able to go home. I went to the apartment to pick up some items and check on our pets, but with all the things in the world we've collected about ourselves it didn't feel like home with Alice not being there. As bad and the food, small the area, and lacking of personal effects - the hospital felt like "home" because of her presence.

STORY PREVIEW...

2011-06-29T09:21:00.001-05:00

INSTITUTIONAL ME

A short story by

David DeLane Snow

The tall, wiry haired man, named Douglas had both outstretched arms pressing against the window as he was licking the glass, and giggling happily to himself. Suddenly he turned around and began violently screaming bloody murder, jumping up and down, waving both hands wildly in the air for no apparent reason.
“Douglas stop that!” Yelled a staff from across the room.
Then uncharacteristically, the client spoke out, “Eerey yehaa Ct-oot!”
“Shut it up, Douglas, now!” Admonished another staff who came running out of the dinning area, adjacent to the long hallway off the dayroom area. The first staff threw him unexpectedly to the ground binding his flying arms underneath him, while the other laid across his legs.
“Calm down, Douglas - and damn it, you know what that means!” Said Thomas, who bore across the pinned man’s shoulders.
“He probably thought that he saw you-know-who’s car.” Robert said as he
restrained the limp legs.
“Jason’s?” asked Thomas.
“Man, let him up.” Which they both did, assisting Douglas to his feet with earnest sincerity, then Robert injected, “Gessh, I’d have a behavior episode too if I saw him coming in this early.” They both laughed, then turned and began looking out the window with the glass-licking client in the middle, just to make sure it wasn’t a black Ford pickup after all.
I don’t know if I can last through the weekend. Five days had been tough enough to endure. Getting up at six o’clock in the morning after tossing and turning; chasing bits of sleep in between the screams and slamming doors of the night shift were beginning to wear on me. With a room mate like Douglas Edgar Milford; who laid astride his over-sized teddy bear as thirty other pair of stuffed animal eyes looked on in horror wondering when they would be humped next, had me on guard as well...

REMEMBER WHEN

2011-06-25T09:28:00.001-05:00

(Apartment 106)

David DeLaine Snow

Of all the Hollywood moments on film or the idealistic wishful thinking of tradition, they would always have the reality of their cherished memories.
He recalled how they first met. She was a beautiful young woman no more that 19 years old. She was walking from the back of the store to the front counter. A good looking young man was obviously eagerly waiting for her to be his casher. It was a strange metaphysics shop filled with all sort of oddities, stocked with the usual fair of scented candles, wind chimes and tarot cards, skulls and scarves. The youthful vixen wore a vale like purple dress, trying for that gypsy look - with the oversized hooped ear rings, bangles too many on her left wrist and rings galore on both hands. With a shy appearance that said look at me but don’t overly stare; she glanced at the young man, but let the other brunette clerk take over in her stead. The bait and switch worked for it made the eager male customer want to strike up a conversation with the red head all the more. What was her name? He barely made out the plastic name tag. That perfume? Her eyes. They - they were beautiful and he could not soak them in enough.
Sally, how could he forget a name like that, never in a million years, nor when they first met over rice and baked beans in the service line of his church’s Fellowship Hall. How he accidentally bumped into her, ruining her Easter dress with his weak red punch. Yet after the clean up she had hardly remembered it at all because of how they had gotten lost in conversation over their forgotten meal and each others eyes.
Really, they had met on their way to a friend’s house. A group had come by a week after his eighteenth birthday; in a friend of a friend’s old beat up ford pickup to be exact. As he piled into the bed of the truck along with the other gaggle of smiling wind blown faces, the young man locked in on her face. Brilliantly lit eyes, whose slightly round facial features were framed by an auburn Farah Fawcett hairstyle of the day. Softy pouting full lips that just beckon to be kissed, yeah that was his first thought of her grin in his direction. She turned out to be the younger sister of a newly made friend of a friend, but at that moment the young man just wanted to know her name. She seemed to have brushed him off into forgetfulness after that first glance, but for him it was love at first sight and he meant for her to know it too. The young man had taken over one of his dearest friend’s girlfriends, but this one here would be his the first time around. There was just something undeniably fascinating about her eyes, and that smile -- he could not get out of his mind. How could he have ever guessed that they would have gotten married and it would last over forty wondrous years.

Her father had offered him a Cuban cigar in the hospital’s waiting room, and as a gift to him for the arrival of the new granddaughter, a fancy promotion as head salesman at his radio station.
Sally never knew her father because he had never been in her life, but her mother and the rest of her extended family of uncles and aunts were there eagerly awaiting the birth of her first child, with balloons and presents to boot.
Actually, it had only been her young nineteen year old husband and just barely a handful to family that joyously greeted their red faced-pointed ear daughter into the world in that small town’s hospital. Taking their new bundle of love home for the first time was scary as hell for him, yet seeing the sheer delight in his young wife’s eyes and those full smiling lips made all the anxiety of how to deal with it all just melt away. Never was there ever a happier day for the two of them as that day when they began their lives so many years ago.

Then again there was the time he had surprised her with a new puppy to cheer her up from having lost her job as a secretary.
Sally had never worked outside the home before, well other than being a nursery worker in the local church they attended. But seeing her receive that singing telegram lit up her face more than he had ever seen.
Seriously, even though he had intended to a thousand times over he had never had flowers delivered to her at home. But seeing her glow at their daughter’s wedding rivaled that of her birth, and the joy with which she radiated.

The old man heard an ambulance round the bend entering the apartment complex’s maze of parking lots. Of all the regrets he had in not making her life better was that of losing her and not being able to have her longer in his life. As he slowly rose off the park bench, and unhurriedly began walking home, he felt content beyond fulfilled - though a little tired. The day was quiet as if someone had turned off all the sound in the world but crying.
Presently, standing outside the faded wood banister of their patio, the old man watched as the coroner loaded the covered body into his station wagon from the sidewalk he himself had paced a thousand times over on his way to work.
The crying that came from beyond the opened door of his own apartment was a deep sobbing gasp. A horrific mournful weeping no man wishes to ever hear from his wife. How would she make it on her own now that he had passed away? He smiled at seeing his daughter and her family gathered about, tough as it was, she would be alright.

***

OVER AGAIN

2011-06-25T09:14:00.001-05:00

(Apartment 92)

David DeLane Snow

Daniel Arthur O`Ryan lay silent beneath his hospital covers as the heart monitor intermittently sounded its annoying alarm. The eighty-three year old man had been stricken with brain cancer, and now faced his final moments with a barrage of silent noises. The mechanical whirl of his feeding pump began to tone its beep that his meal bags were empty. As per hospital procedures with all patients on a ventilator, Dan’s two middle fingers on both hands had been taped to the bed rails to prevent him from pulling the tube out of his throat. He was quite a sight to behold, all wired up.
Even after the neurologist had told his wife, Sally that he was brain dead, and had drifted off into a coma after having aspirated on his breakfast orange juice, Dan was somehow aware of everything around him. It was as if he had been standing in the corner of the room watching every gory detail to the bitter end, like some damn spectator.
Then, it happened. Just moments after Dan’s cardiologist and his two student nurses departed through the ICU’s sliding glass door, Sally froze where she stood at the foot of the bed. Aghast, in-between excitement and total horror, his wife was speechless. With lightening speed, Dan rose up on both elbows, leaned forward toward his wife’s direction and pulled the breathing tube out of his mouth in one swift motion. Abruptly coming out of his long coma, with eyes wide open, hoarsely told Sally, “To do it all over again --.”
Suddenly every alarm rang out along with his screaming wife as a medical team ran in, witnessing his flat lined computer screen. A second later they began to comfort the DNR’s newly pronounced widow.

A black, silencing moment later everything changed.

Dan found himself totally aware of everything that had just transpired at the moment he died, and yet, somehow -- afterwards as well -- almost. Yet the shock of his present state took him half a moment longer to recover.
Seeing Sally standing in her regular spot behind the teller’s counter of The Second National Bank immediately brought a smile to his now twenty-one year old face. Realizing that this was the very day they were to meet for the first time in their lives, and that a month later he would propose marriage to her made Daniel’s perfect brain race. Being the fourth person in line gave him enough time to compose himself, and figure out why he would have gone back in time to this very moment baffled him tremendously. For he had had no regrets whatsoever about his life with Sally.
Suddenly, his inner thoughts were interrupted as Dan turned about to respond to the tapping on his shoulder. A beautiful, slightly older than him, brunette stood behind him all dressed in black. Aggressively shoving an automatic weapon into his hands, she yelled, “Take it and get to work buddy.”
From that breath onward everything that followed was a complete blur: the chaos of gunfire, people dropping, Sally’s blood splattered against the back wall, the maze of police vehicles and lights, ever changing court dates, and the prison experience itself. As he lay there, all stretched out on the padded gurney, with an audience just beyond the bullet proof, wire re-enforced windows, Dan numbly watched in slow motion as the fluid of his execution edged its way up the tube entering his left arm. A moment later the guard standing next to the controls heard the prisoner say, “To do it all over again.”

Fighting against the waves as more loomed off in the distance, threatening to silence his gasping calls for help, Daniel saw Sally leaning over the side of their blue and white yacht. Holding her usual Long Island Iced-Tea, she was laughingly scolding him to stop his horse play so far in the open waters of the ocean. Suddenly, shouting and pointing to a fin slicing its way through the overpowering currents several yards beyond his bobbing head, they both screamed in unison. Bathed with thoughts of scenes from the movie Jaws, Dan spat out salt water while trying to say, “To do it all over again.” Out of a flash of red came a new realization.

Two men sitting under a covered bus stop grimaced a half smile to one another as a light drizzle of rain began to pour. Growing a little concerned that maybe his bus-stop companion was from loony Ville, the young man replied to the older gentleman as his looked at his watch again, “Wow, man. What in the world did you do to deserve all that?”
Interrupting the multiple stories of his fantastic life, Daniel O`Ryan stood up and cautiously approached the curb so as to hail a yellow cab. His worn expression answered back to his restless companion, “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, son.”
Suddenly, without warning the young man jerked back in shock as a FedEx truck jumped the curbed hitting the old man throwing him aside into the oncoming traffic like a discarded rag doll.

As the medical team quietly worked around them, turning off the life support machines, the Psychiatric Hospital’s Chaplain spoke softly to Sally as comforting as his could, “You know, my child only The Father knows the true heart of man.” Then, as the priest was making the sign of the cross over her husband's covered body, Sally slowly walked out of the room heading for her children and their families who waited down the hall.

The New and Improved Me

2011-06-08T10:44:00.001-05:00

I've shaved and cut my long hair to go along with my new dental work, and confident smile. Change is good, and re-inventing ourselves is something we do everyday whether we realize it or not. Though I thoroughly enjoyed my Colombian trip, it is great being back home. Even the mundane activities that make up living: laundry, dishes, walking the dog, and being back to work are revitalized with a new enthusiasm. These are the little things in life that add up to a fulfilled existence.

Vannah's CAR SHOW

2011-06-06T15:51:00.003-05:00

Here is a video I put together. My wife, Alice was ill and wasn't able to attend, so I wanted to pieced together a few little raw pics of the event for her to enjoy. Our Grand daughter, Savannah and her friend, Mya made some "box" cars and were in a show with their peers. Really cute memories. Everyone did a great job!!!

Reporting from COLOMBIA AMERICA

2011-05-09T20:05:00.000-05:00

One thing that keeps pounding in my thoughts while I am visiting here in Colombia is that I have to constantly remind myself to say: "The States", because let's face it I'm still an American in America, just in the South, okay, deeep south.
Sterotypes and prejudice reach a long ways, but I have not felt it against me here. Everyone has been nothing if not supportive, informitive, and willing to go out of their personal way to ensure my saftey and well being. I'm so sorry that my fearfulness overwhelmed me in the form of culture shock. If my wife's health and our resources were better, this would either be our winter home or yearly vacation spot. There is an awefull lot of bad in the world, my worldview and personal attitude does not have to be one of them. Gracias Nati, mi amiga.

From Colombia

2011-05-08T05:57:00.001-05:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wCgx8zM3woQ
While staying a John´s sister´s home, his neice showed me this funny video.

OSAMA IS DEAD - Finally.

2011-05-02T12:14:00.000-05:00

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42859770/ns/world_news-death_of_bin_laden/?GT1=43001

John and Diane

2011-05-02T12:04:00.000-05:00

If it wasn't for the generosity of a co-worker, John Velasquez I wouldn't have the once in a lifetime [for me] opportunity to visit Colombia. I am to be the best man at his wedding to Diane. This is a drawing I did for them as a present, I'm not drawn in quiet awhile, I see too many flaws.

The Wheel In The Sky Keeps On Turning

2011-03-31T10:28:00.001-05:00

   Life's a Blur sometimes....
   Looking over my Blog, which I've not written on in like - forever; wow, how things have changed. Change is a funny thing. You never think things will ever change then one day you look up from all the distractions of the mundane and the world seems so different.
   Alice is still using a wheel chair to go long distances, and occasionally walks out to the car from the apartment but mostly uses the chair; and continues with her quad-cane about the house.
   James, my son-in-law; recently had spinal surgery; fusing some lower disc - he's home recovering. He uses a mid-waist strap-on back brace and for now a walker; doing better and figuring out his ne normal. The grandkids are growing like weeds and Lizbeth is frazadled but well.
Funny - a thousand things in my mind but they evaporate when I think of things to be done. Today: we've got to go grocery shoping, and take the grandkids to the Dentist. I'm also developing an online scavenger game called Cyber-Quest HUNTERs and a neighbor (whose recently moved) is to assist me in some video filming for the game; after we finish our other errands.

COMING SOON!

2011-02-09T11:45:00.001-06:00

I've always liked challenging games, like Survivor or Amazing Race; and loved that movie National Treasure, but didn't ever think I could go on a show or be in a movie like them. So, I created my own. For More details, check it out, I call it:

Cyber-Quest HUNTERS.

For The First Degree?

2010-11-07T10:41:00.002-06:00

Circle of the Quill and Serpant; would be an active learning group.
After the 25 question application is returned; and the individual is accepted as a member, they have one year and a day in which to meet the following for their 1^st Degree Initiation: The object lesson here is for the "student" to become accustomed with researching, study, and writing and original thoughts, and sharing of ideas. The Quill is for study. The Kabala Serpant is for the Journey along the Path of discovery.
Attend at least 2 holiday Circles
Attend at least 2 Rituals
Compose at least 2 Spells of Coven BOS
Compose at least 2 Rituals of Coven BOS
Learn Theban and transcribe text
Write 4 essays:Your work must be referenced from at least one verifiable book source, and two web sites; or four web sites:
Must include: Founder, major leaders, dates, structure, doctrines of Deity, the afterlife, and scriptures used/ dogma.
1)TOPIC; pick one:
Jehovah’s Witnesses, Mormons, Scientology.
2)TOPIC; pick one:
Catholic, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Baptist, Seventh Day-Adventist, Pentecostals.
3)TOPIC; pick one:
Judaism, Muslim, Christian
4)TOPIC; pick one:
Hinduism, Buddhist, Confuses.

ALL of these written documents would be returned to the individual and make up part of their beginning BOS.
　
　
　TOPIC; pick one:

Questions?

2010-11-07T10:10:00.001-06:00

0 Degree
　
After an “interview” an accepted the new neophyte would answer the following and return.
Name
Today’s Date {Anniversary their acceptance}
Snail mail address
e-mail address
Phone number
DOB {happy Birthdays later}
Please do not write on this page. On a separate page, a 3 hole punched, lined page; please re-write the questions then reply in your own words. This assignment will be given back to you at a later date. [Part of their beginner’s BOS].
1. What brings you to be interested in the Wiccan Path?
2. Why are you interested in joining this group?
3. How long have you been solitary?
4. Have you been in any other group?
5. Why did you leave?
6. What do you hope to gain from our group?
7. What do you hope to bring to our group?
8. What do you hope to learn as a member?
9. What do you hope to teach as a member?
10. What makes a good teacher?
11. What makes a good student?
12. Should a man be over a woman?
13. Is it right for a woman to be in a leadership role over a man?
14. What was your religious background?
15. What does the word: “God/god” mean to you?
16. Does “salvation by grace” having meaning in your spiritual belief system; and explain why/why not?
17. If someone had been dismissed from another magickal group would you be willing to have them join; explain your answer?
18. What would be some examples of things that would justifiy someone being “kicked out” of the group?
19. What does “magic” mean to you?
20. What is death?
21. Are you willing to keep an oath of secrecy?
22. What consequences for the breaking of loyalty would you be willing to uphold against another member?
23. Some believe in reincarnation; your thoughts?
24. What is evil to you? Are there demons?
25. Some groups have some/ all rituals “sky clad” or nude - would you be willing to do so as well; explain your answer?
Date completed:

　
　

My Cyber-Quest

2010-07-25T10:46:00.001-05:00

I've begun a new venture, actually it 's just following through on an idea I had awhile back. I've devised an oline game called: CYBER-QUEST HUNTERS. Check it out and tell me what you think...

Over Again

2010-04-21T10:26:00.000-05:00

Even after the neurologist had told his wife, Sally that he was brain dead, and had drifted off into a coma after having aspirated on his breakfast orange juice, Dan was somehow aware of everything around him. It was as if he had been standing in the corner of the room watching every gory detail to the bitter end, like some damn spectator.

Then, it happened. Just moments after Dan’s cardiologist and his two student nurses departed through the ICU’s sliding glass door, Sally froze where she stood at the foot of the bed. Aghast, in-between excitement and total horror, his wife was speechless. With lightening speed, Dan rose up on both elbows, leaned forward toward his wife’s direction and pulled the breathing tube out of his mouth in one swift motion. Abruptly coming out of his long coma, with eyes wide open, hoarsely told Sally, “To do it all over again --.”

Suddenly every alarm rang out along with his screaming wife as a medical team ran in, witnessing his flat lined computer screen. A second later they began to comfort the DNR’s newly pronounced widow.

A black, silencing moment later everything changed.

Dan found himself totally aware of everything that had just transpired at the moment he died, and yet, somehow -- afterwards as well -- almost. Yet the shock of his present state took him half a moment longer to recover.

Seeing Sally standing in her regular spot behind the teller’s counter of The Second National Bank immediately brought a smile to his now twenty-one year old face. Realizing that this was the very day they were to meet for the first time in their lives, and that a month later he would propose marriage to her made Daniel’s perfect brain race. Being the fourth person in line gave him enough time to compose himself, and figure out why he would have gone back in time to this very moment baffled him tremendously. For he had had no regrets whatsoever about his life with Sally.

Suddenly, his inner thoughts were interrupted as Dan turned about to respond to the tapping on his shoulder. A beautiful, slightly older than him, brunette stood behind him all dressed in black. Aggressively shoving an automatic weapon into his hands, she yelled, “Take it and get to work buddy.”

From that breath onward everything that followed was a complete blur: the chaos of gunfire, people dropping, Sally’s blood splattered against the back wall, the maze of police vehicles and lights, ever changing court dates, and the prison experience itself. As he lay there, all stretched out on the padded gurney, with an audience just beyond the bullet proof, wire re-enforced windows, Dan numbly watched in slow motion as the fluid of his execution edged its way up the tube entering his left arm. A moment later the guard standing next to the controls heard the prisoner say, “To do it all over again.”

Fighting against the waves as more loomed off in the distance, threatening to silence his gasping calls for help, Daniel saw Sally leaning over the side of their blue and white yacht. Holding her usual Long Island Iced-Tea, she was laughingly scolding him to stop his horse play so far in the open waters of the ocean. Suddenly, shouting and pointing to a fin slicing its way through the overpowering currents several yards beyond his bobbing head, they both screamed in unison. Bathed with thoughts of scenes from the movie Jaws, Dan spat out salt water while trying to say, “To do it all over again.” Out of a flash of red came a new realization.

Two men sitting under a covered bus stop grimaced a half smile to one another as a light drizzle of rain began to pour. Growing a little concerned that maybe his bus-stop companion was from loony Ville, the young man replied to the older gentleman as his looked at his watch again, “Wow, man. What in the world did you do to deserve all that?”

Interrupting the multiple stories of his fantastic life, Daniel O`Ryan stood up and cautiously approached the curb so as to hail a yellow cab. His worn expression answered back to his restless companion, “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, son.”

Suddenly, without warning the young man jerked back in shock as a FedEx truck jumped the curbed hitting the old man throwing him aside into the oncoming traffic like a discarded rag doll.

As the medical team quietly worked around them, turning off the life support machines, the Psychiatric Hospital’s Chaplain spoke softly to Sally as comforting as his could, “You know, my child only The Father knows the true heart of man.” Then making the sign of the cross, Sally slowly walked out of the room looking for her children down the hall.

Short Story: REMBER WHEN

2010-03-18T11:31:00.002-05:00

Of all the Hollywood moments on film or the idealistic wishful thinking of tradition, they would always have the reality of their cherished memories.

He recalled how they first met. She was a beautiful young woman no more that 19 years old. She was walking from the back to the store to the front counter to greet the good looking young man who was obviously eagerly awaiting her to be his cashier. It was a metaphysics shop, loaded with all the usual fair of scented candles, wind chimes and tarot cards and the like. She wore a vale like purple dress, trying for that gypsy look with the over sized hooped ear rings, bangles too many on her left wrist and rings galore on both hands. A shy - look but don’t overly stare at me - glance at the young man, of whom she now let the other brunette clerk take over in her stead. The bait and switch worked for it made the eager customer want to strike up a conversation with the red head all the more. What was her name? That perfume? Her eyes. They - they were beautiful and he could not soak them in enough.
Sally, how could he forget a name like that, never in a million years, nor when they first met over rice and baked beans in the service line of his church’s Fellowship Hall. How he accidentally bumped into her, ruining her Easter dress with his weak red punch. Yet after the clean up she had hardly remembered it at all because of how they had gotten lost in conversation over their forgotten meal and each others eyes.
Really, they had met on their way to a friend’s house. A group had come by a week after his eighteenth birthday; in a friend of a friend’s old beat up ford pickup to be exact. As he piled into the bed of the truck along with the other gaggle of smiling wind blown faces, the young man locked in on her face. Brilliantly lit eyes, whose slightly round facial features were framed by an auburn Farah Fawcett hairstyle of the day. Softy pouting full lips that just beckon to be kissed, yeah that was his first thought of her grin in his direction. She turned out to be the younger sister of a newly made friend of a friend, but at that moment the young man just wanted to know her name. She seemed to have brushed him off into forgetfulness after that first glance, but for him it was love at first sight and he meant for her to know it too. The young man had taken over one of his dearest friend’s girlfriends, but this one here would be his the first time around. There was just something undeniably fascinating about her eyes, and that smile -- he could not get out of his mind. How could he have ever guessed that they would have gotten married and it would last over forty wondrous years.

Her father had offered him a Cuban cigar in the hospital’s waiting room, and as a gift to him for the arrival of the new granddaughter, a fancy promotion as head salesman at his radio station.

Sally never knew her father because he had never been in her life, but her mother and the rest of her extended family of uncles and aunts were there eagerly awaiting the birth of her first child, with balloons and presents to boot.

Actually, it had only been her young nineteen year old husband and just barely a handful to family that joyously greeted their red faced-pointed ear daughter into the world in that small town’s hospital. Taking their new bundle of love home for the first time was scary as hell for him, yet seeing the sheer delight in his young wife’s eyes and those full smiling lips made all the anxiety of how to deal with it all just melt away. Never was there ever a happier day for the two of them as that day when they began their lives so many years ago.

Then again there was the time he had surprised her with a new puppy to cheer her up from having lost her job as a secretary.

Sally had never worked outside the home before, well other than being a nursery worker in the local church they attended. But seeing her receive that singing telegram lit up her face more than he had ever seen.

Seriously, even though he had intended to a thousand times over he had never had flowers delivered to her at home. But seeing her glow at their daughter’s wedding rivaled that of her birth, and the joy with which she radiated.

The old man heard an ambulance round the bend entering the apartment complex’s maze of parking lots. Of all the regrets he had in not making her life better was that of losing her and not being able to have her longer in his life. As he slowly rose off the park bench, and unhurriedly began walking home, he felt content beyond fulfilled - though a little tired. The day was quiet as if someone had turned off all the sound in the world but crying.

Presently, standing outside the faded wood banister of their patio, the old man watched as the coroner loaded the covered body into his station wagon from the sidewalk he himself had paced a thousand times.

The crying that came from beyond the opened door of his own apartment was a deep sobbing gasp. A horrific mournful weeping no man wishes to ever hear from his wife.

***

Re-inventing yourself

2010-03-15T09:35:00.003-05:00

Every so often I try to re-invent myself. Since 2000 I have let my hair grow long, nearly to my mid-back. I cut it twice since then: once when my dad passed away and then again when my brother-in-law passed; as an outward sign of my lose. My hair's getting long again, nearly passed my shoulders and getting that Sage look again.
Re-inventing myself is a way of keeping the world fresh. I read a neat quote in OMNI magazine years ago: "Change if often desireable, frequently necessary, but always inevitable." I have found that to be a true and fair statement.
Change, though it can be scary should not be feared; yet, the older I become the more I see myself changing even when it was not consciencely done. Embrace it all, for tomorrow may never come and today lost as it arrives. Truth is free but finding it sometimes takes a lot of hard work.
I'm finding the best investment is the one I make in myself, then I'm better able to help those around me.

Michael's Book

2010-01-31T12:23:00.002-06:00

The Unpublished Tales of Casmar and Duke by Michael Thomas Smith. Here's my Preface:

These are the unpublished works of my brother-in-law, Michael Thomas Smith. I encouraged Michael several times to get his voluminous work out of his head and onto paper, but the depths of his procrastinations were fueled by an overwhelming depression since the death of his wife, Kathirene. Before his own death in 2009, our relationship had become considerably strained, due to his procrastinations to follow through on even the most mundane of tasks in his personal life.

We can never take back the harsh words spoken nor deeds done after a loved one has passed on, so it was with my own regrets. However, about a year after his passing, I came across a folder that had been packed away in the back of our closet of Michael’s most prized imaginative writings. I vowed to myself that his story would, in some form or fashion, become known to others.

These stories are about the misadventures of two friends, and take place in an ancient fantasy realm called: The Land of the Seven Empires. Inspired by Fritz Leiber’s tale of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, Michael’s two main characters were loosely based on himself and a close friend of his named, Don E. Walker. In fact, it was both Michael and Don themselves who first collaborated in conjuring these stories into being, but Michael who later developed their detailed background histories and genealogies further.

Along with the stories is a map, I drew from rough sketches by Michael. There was even a time when Michael and I created the actual board game of KINGS; which was the vehicle that brought the two main characters together. Our game-making venture later fell through, but it was quiet an adventure in itself to invent and craft. The rules of the game are provided in an appendix as another insightful example of Michael‘s complex thinking.

It is my sincere hope the reader will enjoy these brief stories as much as those of us who first heard them told.

2009 Merry Christmas

2009-12-25T10:04:00.003-06:00

HAPPY YULE, One and All!

I'm am bless this season by having my wife home, safe and sound. Last Christmas she was in the hospital. We enjoyed ourselves this year in our on home surrounded by family, friends and pets. Gifts were piled high under the tree, food was abundant and laughter supplied by the grand kids was joined by the adults alike.

I have to work Christmas Day so we had our presents and gathering X-Mas eve. It was great having Alice home, I am so blessed!

Merry Christmas and Happy Yule to all!

THE LESSON

2009-12-21T11:00:00.005-06:00

Eighty-seven year old Emily Madison found herself aimlessly wondering in the woods nearby her nursing home. Though she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer a few months back, to the devastation of her family, she had not yet descended into the bowls of its horrific hands, or so she thought. But still, she could not account for having wondered off into the woods alone by herself. The farther she followed the path the closer her bare feet brought her to the sound of voices. One was almost recognizable, the others too indistinct to make out.

Suddenly, like a brilliant burst of soft light she felt herself being pulled backward. Landing in the past of her youth was excitingly mind whirling as she came to recognize her six year old self. Wearing a new Easter dress hunting for eggs along with a half dozen other children from Church. Emily smiled, remembering it was the day she first met Tommy Madison, later to become her husband of fifty-two years. Her home lay on the other side of the woods and through which she now suddenly found herself being flashed forward through to a secluded area.

Seeing herself, now as a teenager, receiving her first kiss from Samuel Davenport took her breath away. Samuel’s tender advancements got out of hand and it was Tommy who had come along just in time to rescue her from being raped. Three days later they began seriously dating and became fast friends. Emily’s eyes teared up at seeing how heroic the smaller framed Tommy was, defending her honor against the brawn of Samuel‘s six foot stature. Tommy covered Emily with his coat and embraced her with every bit the savior he showed himself to be throughout their enduring marriage.

Wanting so much to stay and relieve those moments, Emily felt the tug of fate whisk her away to yet another memory of their first born daughter’s wedding day. It had been preformed by their pastor, Thomas Smith, standing atop a stump that marked the beginning of the Lakeview woods she so dearly loved. Michelle and her new husband would later give Tommy and Emily five grandchildren and nine great grandkids; all the joy of her life. Emily was so proud of how her life was turning out, seeing Michelle begin her live was like restarting her own all over again.

Without warning she had again been thrown forward in time to her near present. She saw herself lying in her bed at the Lakeview Care Nursing Home. Standing over her was Angela Stillman, an RN every family member loved but the residents detested because of her two face-ness.

Her nurse was now acting like an Angle of Mercy: smothering Emily with her own pillow. A panic attack of terror thrashed through Emily’s mind as all she could do was simply lay there without the use of her arms to fight back. The darkness engulfed her vision as her labored gasped were shallowed to a stop of nothingness.

Yet, out of the black void, Emily felt herself through the opened doors of her childhood church. Ever so slowly she glidingly floated down the center isle through the congregation filled pews toward the flower laden alter. Seeing an oversized portrait herself and several various pictures that had been taken throughout her life were surreal to observe. A strange yet unsettling happiness came over her at not seeing a casket but a beautifully decorated wooden urn. Her daughter had fulfilled Emily’s wishes of being cremated. It was rather bothersome to take in, hearing the somber pre-recorded music softly playing in the background overlaid with her family’s crying. Her favorite grandson; Albert’s weeping was most disturbing to Emily who wanted so much to console him that everything was alright, and that her newly diagnosed cancer was no longer an unbearable pain to endure.

The eerie humming of low murmured voices began to grow louder, and came from all directions. She felt sick, uneasy in her stomach. Emily looked down to see her feet had burst into flames, with her legs and lower torso engulfed like smoldering ash amid the gathered logs of an out door camp fire. There was no burning sensation only the growing tingle of nausea growing in her thoughts. A nausea; like coming home from a great outing with your loved ones only to find your home had been burglarized, a gut wrenching wave of having victimized.

The smoke had consumed Emily. In utter bewilderment she looked at both her raised hands, which now appeared almost transparent, for they existed only as smoky apparitions of their former state. Just when she wanted to scream out for someone to explain what was happening the answer came quickly on its own.

Her grandson, Albert, was standing several feet away from the bon fire Emily now found herself the center piece of; as a group of his friends were gathered in a circle about the burning logs.

Emily’s mind was all a whirl as to why they were standing in the woods in the middle of the dark of winter. Was it a college fraternal gathering, she wondered? They were dressed in dark colored robes humming or chanting as Albert continued to walk backwards behind the gathering. He appeared to be empting a box of dust out upon the ground. Emily’s nausea tingled throughout her body as her hands became less smoke like and more solid.

Stan Branford, Albert’s childhood friend was standing directly in front of Emily with his arms raised, dagger in hand, chanting, “Mah-thran You-Soor Veth-lu-mare Cor-van--” Then suddenly stopped. His half bored expression abruptly changed to one of total panic and fear. Just completing the Magick Circle, Albert caught a glimpse of his fully formed grandmother standing in the middle of the camp site’s fire, glaring angrily back at him. Albert stopped, frozen in his tracks staring at his grandmother’s burning yet unconsumed form in the fire before him. “Nan Na?!”

Realizing that she had unwittingly been summonsed for protection, and her ashes used to outline the perimeter of where some conjured entity was allowed to appear set Emily off into a rage. She yelled at Albert, as the entire gathering stood frozen listening to her admonishments, “You left the Church for this? What’s wrong with you, boy? Your parents -- I taught you better than to fool around with all that Satanic nonsense.”

Before she could berate him any farther, several thick armed tentacles came out of nowhere from up behind Emily. She began screaming at how she had been betrayed and who did they think they were to use her ashes in such a disrespectful manner, when all of a sudden the squid like arms began piercing through the air, lancing the gathered shadows before Emily. Bodies were entangled, waved in the air high above the darkened tree tops and smashed into the earth. Heads crushed, and bodies mangled. Two, three at a time the scattering statues were caught running for their lives only to be snuffed out by the multi-appendage creature. Finally, a great tentacle limb coiled itself around Albert’s trembling body. From foot to neck it grabbed him in mid scream he was silenced as the great arm slowly brought him gliding through the air to hover before Emily’s boring gaze.

Softly her tenuous voice whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, grandson…”

But before she could say any more, the wooden urn slipped from Albert’s one free hand, releasing the box into the roaring flames. Albert fell to the ground just as the great squid-like arms and his grandmother both evaporated into embers of the dissipating smoke.

Laying on the ground a few feet from the dying camp fire, Albert looked about to see that none of his companions remained alive, and whispered the demonic entity‘s name, “Cthulhu!”

Chapter One: From The Beginning...

2009-12-09T10:42:00.003-06:00

THE WATCHERS REQUIEM:

by David DeLane Snow

******

Chapter One:

FROM THE BEGINNING

The slap was loud and unwarranted as the sting from the woman’s hand immediately began to show its welting print on the young boy’s cheek. The boy was no more than six years old. He tried to rub his right ear, but the woman continued to violently shake him by the shoulders while screaming at him. She was angry about having been prematurely awakened. The frightened child did his best not to cry out because he knew that always angered her even more.

Just as she raised her hand for a second blow, another boy jumped in between them both. The nine year old shoved the younger to the ground making him skid to a fall a few steps away. The older boy shouted, “Leave him alone! Run little brother, I’ll hold her off.” With that the thin blond-haired boy on the ground scrambled to get away, but not before catching a glimpse of her beating his rescuer. The tall dark haired hero then fell to the floor and curled up as the angry woman began furiously kicking him in the back and ribs, shouting, “So you think you can handle this instead - alright!”

Crouched behind his nearby bed the younger boy could only watch in silent horror as the beating continued until the woman grew tired, then quitting on her own accord.

Jacob woke up wide eyed and breathing heavily from his dream. Its realism was disturbing as he sat up on the side of his bed rubbing his ear, and the sleep from his eyes. His sleeping wife rolled over and continued to lay undisturbed. Jacob seemed to have suppressed so much in his life; amazed by how a single nightmare could have resurrected a host of unremembered emotions - long thought forgotten. But, the haunting vision of those two boys -- his mind strained to put their faces back into focus. He almost knew their names, but the attempt to recall them was futile.

The phone rang.

“Hello? Morn’, James. Yeah, go ahead and order three black and four baby blue ones, they seem to sell a lot. Alright, yeah, I’ll see you at regular time tomorrow. Bye.” Then, just like that with the phone returned to its cradle it was gone again; his dream and any concept of its recollection.

Jacob had always thought that it was his fate in life not to have a family history, because he had been in and out of orphanages and foster homes for most of his life. He had no memory of his mother, and only the vaguest flashes of a brother and father watching Star Trek in a dimly-lit living room. Yet those nearly forgotten happy thoughts were overshadowed by layers of darker experiences.

The first foster dad that Jacob ever remembered was an alcoholic bum who lay about the house in boxers barking out orders to him and his three other abused foster-siblings. By his second family, Jacob had decided to be a loner among four foster sisters who showed him no interest whatsoever.

Creepiest of all was his third foster home, which had luckily only been a three week stay with an elderly couple. They smoked constantly, had a million cats, smelled of Ben Gay, and saw his teenage years as a sign of their own coming deaths. Their mantra was, “I remember when we used to do such and such, we’ll be long dead and buried before you’ll even recall our names.” Ironically, years later he never could remember the pronunciation of their Austrian names.

Three days after Jacob’s sixteenth birthday, he was finally adopted into his fairy tale family. Even though his new parents, Patricia and Charles Douglas, belonged to an ultra conservative “thou shalt not” religious group, they at least loved him. They were caring and accepted him with all his flaws, such as still being afraid of the dark, a bit reclusive, and a chronic nail bitter. They had two other sons who accepted Jacob into their family as if he had been raised among them the entire time; Marcus and Mich. In appearance they could have been twins, but were as different as night and day. One was a rock-n-roller and the other a sci-fi nerd; Jacob himself fell somewhere in between the two.

It was during the time he lived with the Douglas family that Jacob began dating a red-headed girl named Arlene Stapleton. She didn’t have a father, but lived with her mother and grandmother across town. After meeting her, Jacob would peddle his ten-speed bike over to her home and spend his every waking moment visiting with her; whenever he could steal away the chance.

One day, before his senior prom, after Jacob return home from one of his best visits with Arlene, everything changed. The entire evening had been marred by one of the worst thunderstorms he would ever remember. Leaning his bike against the wall of the leaking car port, Jacob arrived home soaking wet. Standing just outside the back door fumbling with his house keys, he could hear the seventh ring of the kitchen phone. Entering as fast as he could hoping to catch the ringing before it stopped he nearly slipped.

Jacob almost yelled into the receiver, “Hello?” The A/C had been left on, yet the conversation turned his spine colder than his dripping clothes.

“Hello, Jacob?” Came the familiar voice in an awkward tone.

“Yes.”

“This is pastor Conner. I’ve got some bad news for you son.”

“Ok.”

“I’m so, sorry to be the one to inform you, and like this over the phone; we‘ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. Jacob, everyone in your family was involved in a really bad car accident. They - they didn’t make it.”

“Make it?”

“They’re all dead Jacob. We’re here at the…”

Just like that he was all alone again. Hollow and numb did not begin to describe the emptiness that had swallowed him whole. His entire family had been killed by a drunk driver and now he was alone.

Nothing was the same after that.

Nothing.

He didn’t graduate, moved into a friend’s house, and gave up on God, the church, and the whole world. Had it not been for the love and support of Arlene’s friendship, Jacob would have ended it all that day.

Yet, through it all, Arlene was there for him. The funerals, studying for his GED and job searches. She became a constant presence for him, and continually reassured Jacob that he would find his own place in life; and God willing one day even the family of his good memories. Jacob had found his lifeline in her, for Arlene had become his only solace and a reason for getting up in the morning. A few months later they were married in the very park where they first met, on his way to school.

Jacob tried hard to get on with his life, which meant everything revolved around making Arlene happy. He found work in a local tuxedo rental shop measuring and doing inventory, for the very peers he should have graduated with. After a few months of putting in long hours, he made his way into upper management; just to scratch out a meager living for them both. They rented a one bedroom apartment on the not-so-good part of town, drove a ten year old Ford Mustang, with its rusted floor-board; saw cheap movies when they could, and ate rice and beans - a lot. Though money was tight, at least they had each other and that was all that really seemed to matter.

On their first wedding anniversary, when she was twenty and he was nineteen, the nightmares began. They seemed like memories at first, but fastly progressed into something far stranger. Jacob’s disturbing dreams had begun to keep Arlene awake, leaving her exhausted and feeling inept to help her husband cope with them. The following six nights, Jacob found himself waking up screaming in a sweat-drenched bed. On the seventh night, as he lay embracing his wife, Jacob once again drifted off into what had become a familiar terror-filled landscape.

Drifting away from his reassuringly soft pillow, Jacob found himself fighting the fatigue of the day. Dressed in a powder-blue tuxedo, he saw himself floating against the backdrop of a yellowish parchment-colored sky. Just as a wisp of purplish, creamy black clouds began to populate the scene, Jacob felt himself slowing down to a soft landing. He was standing on a huge moss covered stone, that barely broke the surface of a calm ocean by three feet.

The air was heavy with the taste of salt and the stench of rotting fish. As his eyes searched the horizon, the skies turned a royal sapphire, eerily giving everything a hazed-bluish tint. Then, out of that clouding-blue sky, a beautiful woman appeared. She was dark skinned, in her mid-thirties, with waist-length bright red hair. The woman wore a layering of wrap-around cloth, like that of a sari from India. Though her head was covered, Jacob could still see her unveiled face, and the detail of a small mole on her neck, just beneath her chin.

After she landed on the rock where he stood, they both faced one another and she began telling him about things that made no sense. She spoke passionately of a twisted-tree on a distant hill, pointed out a flock of white cranes flying overhead, and observed the brewing of a massive storm cloud in the east.

Suddenly the heavens boiled with rolling thunder and brilliant displays of lightning as that very storm approached. The bolts scampered on the water’s surface all around them as Jacob crossed his arms and seemed indifferent to their threats. He felt detached, like an unconcerned observer only. Yet, the woman flew into a state of sheer panic as the violent winds shoved her over the edge of the great rock. She struggled to regain her footing on top as Jacob simply watched her slide deeper into the crashing waves that lapped over the massive stone. Like a movie whose outcome was predetermined; he did nothing. It was her fate to die.

Moments later all he saw of the woman was a fear-stricken face, haloed in a fan of bright red hair, mingled with a curtain of silent bubbles. She slowly sank beneath the surface of the calming waters, leaving Jacob once again standing all alone. The stench of dead fish filled the air as a strange feeling began to gnaw into Jacob’s waking thoughts; that something very serendipitous was yet to come. Then he looked out onto the horizon and saw an enormous square ship with no sails.

Suddenly, Arlene woke up to thrashing arms and the sound of a horrible scream. Sitting up with a start, blocking her husband's flying arm, she yelled his name several times. As his eyes popped open Arlene asked, "Wet dreams would be one thing, Jacob, but this waking up screaming is too much! It's been going on a week now. Enough's enough! What's wrong?"

Jacob slowly lay back down into his damp pillow. It was then he realized that he had never seen Arlene look so distressed before, she was always the consummate image of patience, and this outburst worried him.

The distant gaze of his glazed eyes told Arlene that her husband was trying hard to recall his quickly-fading dream.

"There was -- this girl. She -”

"Okay." Arlene’s blue eyes were focused on her husband's face as she nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"She -- she was drowning. There was a huge rock jutting up out of the waves, like a raised platform, and I just stood there watching her go under. She was screaming for help. Pleading for me to do something, anything, and I - I just stood there watching and did nothing!" Arlene felt his damp, trembling arm in the cold air-conditioned darkness.

"It's ok, it was just a dream. It's over now." She told Jacob, as she rubbed his shoulder reassuringly, feeling a little upset with herself for snapping at him like she had. As he gradually sat up again, Arlene thought he had returned to the bedroom's comforting moonlit surroundings. She shot a quick glance behind his shoulder to the radio alarm clock, whose red numbers announced 3:21 A.M.

Glancing back, Arlene was startled by how her husband’s face was contorted with a mixture of emotions. Jacob’s twitching eyes were huge as if he had just witnessed the electrocution of some convicted criminal. His curled lip and trembling chin betrayed her husband’s churning desire to vomit. Reluctant to act, but sensing that something was definitely wrong, Arlene edged closer with, “Jacob, what’s the matter?”

Turning to face his now staring wife, Jacob’s voice cracked a little, in a sluggish creepy tone, "She wasn't alone, Arlene. There were others, as far as the eye could see. There were - bloated bodies floating everywhere, as if the ocean was covered in them. Even the coast was lined with pale green, bleached bodies everywhere!" Jacob's breaking voice and tearing eyes were now mirrored in that of Arlene's frozen face. “The stench was unbearable, yet it was all somehow -- deserved.” She leaned forward and drew him closer to herself as he broke down and sobbed uncontrollably in her arms.

After a few moments, Jacob was able to regain his composure. Feeling more awake, he shook off the effects of the dream-world and said, “I know it sounds silly, but it seemed so real. I mean, it was like I was right there watching it first hand.”

Then, as if the answer was there all along, Arlene simply asked, “Why don’t you try to help her the next time you have the dream?”

Shocked by the fact that he had not thought of it, Jacob sounded stunned, “What?”

“Yeah, why don’t you reach out and take her hand and see what happens.”

“You can do that? I mean, you can change your dreams?”

“Sometimes. Hey, it’s worth a try.” Smiling, that she had finally been able to break through, and give him something pleasant to ponder, Arlene quickly added that they get some more rest before the alarm sounded. Tomorrow would have its own set of problems, and they needed all the rest they could get.

A few hours later the alarm rang. They got out of bed and did their usual morning routine of personal hygiene and breakfast. Coffee was the order of the day for Jacob, struggling to come to life, as Arlene rummaged up pancakes and sausage. By 7:30 Jacob was out the door and headed off to work. Arlene began her day by taking their dog, a silver-haired terrier named, Franklin, for his morning walk in the nearby park, next to a beautiful over growth; it was really just an undeveloped three acres of woodlands, but it was a nice venture outdoors.

Afterwards, Arlene cleaned up the apartment and fed their small zoo; a lonely beta in a ten gallon aquarium, a parakeet named Samwise, and two ferrets: Luke and Leia. Jacob never had any pets of his own growing up and so Arlene wanted to share a little of what she had as a child. Shopping was next on her to-do list as well, that and making a few gossip phone calls to her best friend, Nita, about the goings on at church.

At The Men’s Tailor, Jacob had begun his own routine of opening the store for business by readying the cash register’s tills then redressing a mannequin in the window front. By 8:00 A.M. the doors were unlocked just as one of the salesman, James Zero, arrived. James was a little younger than Jacob. He came from a well-established family in town, but thought of himself as a hippie, even though disco was well in fashion those days. He sported a ponytail, earrings, and a spiked watch-band.

After the other staff arrived and they had their morning meeting-chats with coffee and donuts a few customers had begun to pick up their orders. A woman came in complaining that her husband-to-be had noticed his buttons were loose, and demanded a refund. James quickly gathered supplies and mended them, threw in some cufflinks as a gift and cut the price in half, sending the bride-to-be off with a smile. Admiring his style, Jacob pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and complimented James on his deed as he headed for a rear storeroom.

About that time a few other customers came and went with their garments. It turned out to be just another regular uneventful day. Jacob had forgotten all about his restless night and was glad things were going well. It was the height of prom season again, and the measuring and refits were in full swing with no time to think of sleepless nights. As the day wound down, Sarah, Jordan and James left for home as Jacob was eager to lock up and leave too. Just then a man came up; Jacob waved the others along letting them know he would take care of the last customer of the day.

The man was a well-dressed African-American, in his mid-thirties. Though his clothes were casual, something about them told Jacob they were out of style by a few decades. He wore a tweed golf cap half cocked on his head, and one hand in his pocket. After introducing himself as Allen Carter he asked, with a broad smile, “Evening sir, I’m here to pick up Dale Hines.”

Jacob shook his head, “Sorry, there’s no Dale here.”

Disappointed, the man glanced down the street with an odd look then answered, “Damn. Chris said to pick him up after work.” Then, half to himself, looking at his watch, he said, “We’re suppose to leave for overseas tonight, sorry mister.”

Jacob stood there watching as the man turned away and began walking down the side walk. Then about fifteen paces away the man called to Jacob saying, “Don’t let her die, mister, don’t let her die.”

Jacob asked, as the man turned away and kept walking, “Who? Don’t let who die?”

“You know.”

Quickly locking the shop’s front door, Jacob turned back around suddenly noticing that the man was nowhere to be seen. Biting his nails, Jacob thought it odd that he had disappeared so easily, but just assumed he had turned down a side street.

Getting in his own car, Jacob headed home across town to his wife and waiting zoo, glad to have another day over and that much closer to the weekend. Even his night went smooth, and for the first time in a long time there were no dreams to interrupt his sleep.

The next day Jacob was awakened by his alarm clock, and thrilled to have had yet another night of uninterrupted sleep. They went through their mundane activities and work with no reflections of nightmares.

Six weeks passed then, something odd happened in the middle of Jacob‘s routine at work. A man in his mid to late twenties came into the shop, to get out of the heavy downpour of rain. He began meandering about, frequently checking his watch and looking out the large rain-washed windows. His dry clothes looked out of style by a few decades; thin belt, tie and suede jacket. When asked if he needed assistance he only mentioned that he was waiting on a friend named Christopher. Later, Jacob looked up just in time to see the man, standing in between a family group and a display rack, turn back to him and smile a nodding good-bye before he went outside. Jacob could have sworn that the man walked right through the wall without even opening the door. Suddenly the next moment he was outside talking to the same man wearing the tweed golf cap that Jacob had met a few weeks earlier. They chatted for a moment as Jacob handed a receipt to a woman paying her grandson’s bill.

The older woman, noticing who Jacob was staring at, replied, “Oh, I’m so sorry, that gentleman told me to tell you to save Miriam, and -- to give her the key in order to read it?”

A cold chill ran up Jacob’s spine as the hairs at the base of his neck unexpectedly stood on end. He quickly ran to the front of the store and went outside. Looking down both directions of the side walk for the two men, Jacob froze in his tracks. They were nowhere to be seen. Just as the older woman and her grandson left the shop, Jacob asked her what the man’s name was, but she only stared at him strangely as if she remembered nothing of their previous conversation.

Jacob thought he had had enough issues in his past to handle without adding more to his life by having people think he was crazy too. Later that evening, he went home as usual and decided not to say anything to his wife about seeing the two men. Arlene was not home; and according to a note she had gone out shopping, so Jacob eased himself into his recliner and turned on the television. He needed a good distraction, and a show on PBS about the History of Rome was good enough.

The episode vanished with an electric flash. Just as Jacob felt the need to cover his ears, they were silenced by the aftermath of a thunderous roar. His blinding view softened into the surroundings of his own dimly lit, cluttered car garage. As they grew accustomed to the dark once again, Jacob’s horrified eyes widened at the sight of his brutally beaten, naked wife. Arlene lay in an unmoving bloody heap in the middle of the concrete floor. He began to run to his wife’s dead body when all of a sudden she sat up, and turned around, facing him. He saw the blade of a sword sticking out of her chest. Blood ran down both corners of her mouth, her dead eyes were solid black. Staring up at him, she said in a gurgling voice, “To know your family you must save Miriam, don’t let Miriam die. Don’t let her die, Jacob.”

Everything burned away with yet another brilliant flash of lightning and the sound of his living room windows violently rattling. Jacob suddenly realized that he had been dreaming all along when a thought came to him, “we don’t have a car garage.” His awakened thoughts whirled in his aching head as he sat up with a start. His clothes were drenched with sweat.

Sitting up in his oversized recliner was Jacob’s silver-haired Terrier looking up at him. The dog’s head was cocked to one side, questioning his master’s abrupt movement. As Jacob began to lower his foot-rest, Franklin leapt down with a bark into a pointing stance staring at the front door’s clicking knob. A moment later Jacob found himself just as excited as his pet to see his grocery-laden wife enter the apartment. He quickly moved to help place her treasures on the dining room table, and hurriedly embraced her, half picking her up off the ground.

Arlene’s startled exhale returned her husband’s eager kiss and greeting.

“Wow! So what was that for?”

“Just missing my best girl. Let’s blow this place for a movie and dinner out?”

“Are you crazy? It’s raining cats and dogs outside. I almost got washed away on the freeway coming home. Let’s just make it a cozy one in tonight instead, alright? Look, got some wine coolers.” Taking off her raincoat, Arlene put her purse strap down, over the back of the chair, and headed for the kitchen to make supper.

Pushing them aside, Jacob found himself looking out the blinds and seeing his apartment complex’s parking lot awash in a flash flood. “Man! You weren’t kidding; it’s coming down in sheets out there.” Startled by a flash of lightning, Jacob jumped back a from the window’s reflection to see Allen Carter staring back at him. Another flash shook everything and the image was gone.

Turning to see his wife hard at work putting the groceries away, Jacob announced, “Hey, dear, I need to tell you something…” Then, after he had told her everything from the dreams to seeing the two vanishing men he asked her, “Am I going crazy, Arlene?”

To which she answered with a grave hesitation in her voice, “No, Jacob. I’ve seen the same two men. Once at church, and then again at the store following me tonight. I thought I was the one going crazy -- I‘m sorry I didn’t say anything to you about it. I don’t know what it means, but I don’t see how we can both be going crazy at the same time.”

Over dinner their conversations turned to other matters that seemed more important and less fantastic. Bills that needed to be paid, the dog’s vaccinations were due, and the car’s need of new tires; they were all better topics than strange dreams and silly ghost stories. As the night wound down to its normal routine again, they headed for bed to conclude another exhausting day.

Chapter 2: Stewart's Letter...

2009-12-09T10:39:00.002-06:00

“Even then men learned from these two, magic by which …evil was the price… they sold their souls.”

The Koran

Baqarah II:102

******

Christopher Townsend

(middle)

Two

STEWART’S LETTER

All that week Jacob had had no memorable dreams. In fact, the weeks collected into a month, and before he knew it the holidays had rolled past as well. Then another year came and went. Before he knew it, eight years had flown by since Jacob had his first dream of the red-haired woman. It was strange, because it seemed he only dreamt on the night of his wedding anniversary, and then it was always a replay of the drowning woman. Jacob had tried to realize that he was sleeping, and in doing so change the course of events in his dream, but never could; only to wake up in a pale cold-frantic sweat.

Then, on a beautiful day in April, about a week after he and Arlene celebrated their eighth wedding anniversary, an even stranger event occurred that seemed to echo his previous experiences.

After another exhausting day of work Jacob came home to his wife and family of pets; by now four hamsters and two finches had been added to their little zoo. They went through their usual evening meal and television watching and finally bedtime.

Later, as Jacob was lying in bed reading the novelization of Jaws, he could hear his wife’s heavy shallow-breathing. She was on her side facing away from him as his eyes followed the curves of her half covered body. Seeing her beautiful form asleep next to him set his mind at ease, thinking how lucky he was to have such a wonderful life. Though her black-lace teddy was more than enticing, something drew Jacob’s thoughts back to his reading.

Thumbing back to where he had left off, his eyes scanned through the paragraphs searching for; his thoughts wondered. A slight distraction in his attention made Jacob look over the edge of the paperback novel to the pictures on the wall across from him. They began to smear and drip as if they were melting like candle wax. Suddenly the corner edges of the bedroom itself faded away as a tarnished, yellow sky eroded into view.

Jacob felt himself lift out from under the covers of his bed and begin to float toward the ceiling. His tie-dyed night-shirt morphed into a baby-blue tuxedo with multiple ruffles at the collar and cuffs. It was just the kind of outfit he hated most. Again the puff of clouds came, as he landed on the huge bolder in the middle of a calm sea. So too did the beautiful woman appear; dressed in an Indian Sari of various colored layers. Then, Jacob noticed for the first time, the distinctive fin of a great white shark cutting through the surface of the still waters as the skies began to boil overhead.

Reading Jaws was just the catalyst Jacob needed as he suddenly realized that he had been dreaming all along. He had been trying for a week to do so, and in fact had not even been able to recall a single dream in all that time. Yet, the sound of the howling winds brought him back into his present reality of horror, for the clouds continued to boil overhead as the fierce lightening began. The red-haired woman screamed as a violent gust threatened to blow her over. It was in that moment that Jacob reached out and grabbed her hand at the wrist.

Instead of pulling her back onto the platform rock, they both now stood in the middle of a clearing, in a green rain-forest. The midday sun shone through as shafts of hazed light filtered onto the floor of the open glen, and the quiet sound of exotic birds could be heard off in the distance. The realism of everything around him overwhelmed Jacob’s senses. He noticed that he was now dressed in a more traditional tuxedo, with no ruffles. The woman’s sari was light blue and her hair was now a soft, jet black with no veil. She appeared neither distressed nor confused by their new surroundings. Actually she seemed quite at ease with herself and totally unaware that there had even been a change of location.

She looked at Jacob as if it was the first time she had ever laid eyes on him, and suddenly dropped to her knees bowing her head saying, “My lord what would you ask of me?” Her words carried a heavy accent, Russian maybe?

Stunned by her remark, Jacob asked, “Excuse me?”

Looking up with a slight smile she asked again in a slower, softer tone,

“How may I serve you my lord?”

Again, Jacob reached out offering his hand, as she slowly accepted it, he asked, “Stand up for one, where am I?”

The woman averted her eyes from his and found herself looking at Jacob’s highly polished leather shoes instead; she asked, not quite understanding him, “My lord?”

Motioning with his open palms to their surroundings and looking about the forest, Jacob rephrased his question, “Where are we?”

Still averting her eyes away from his she answered, “The woods of Uruk, my lord.”

Getting a little annoyed with her reverence, he admonished her politely, “It’s alright, you don’t have to call me that, my name is Jacob.”

Looking him in the eyes for the first time she eagerly offered, “I am Miriam, my -- Jacob.”

His eyes widened with recognition, but he smiled back at her for using his name and for not looking so scared of him. Actively looking about at his new surroundings, Jacob slowly took a step in her direction; Miriam suddenly became startled and began to kneel again.

Jacob quickly injected, “You don’t have to bow down to me either, what place is this?” While pointing to the ground.

She smiled, and tried not sound as if his questions were silly, but answered, “Place? Eriduah, the Great Lands; the middle earth beneath the heavens. I thought you were one of the gods, for you do not appear to be one of the Fair Ones from the West.”

Wondering what her original language could be, Jacob was trying to place her accent, “Fair Ones, who are they?”

Realizing that the stranger before her was indeed out of his element, she tried to educate him a bit, “They were fair at one time but proved false in their friendship among my people, my lor -- Jacob.”

Frustrated, and trying to grasp exactly why this dream was going the way it

was, Jacob started to explain when he first met her, “We were stand -- never mind.” Then decided on another approach, “Why are you here, in the woods I mean.”

As if the volume had gradually been turned up in response to his question the soft gurgling sound of a running stream could be heard. Jacob only now noticed the banks of a river, through the tree trunks on his left. Miriam pointed in the direction of the river and said, as if it should have been obvious her visitor, “I come here every evening to fetch water for my household.”

“Ah, I see.” He conceded by blushing a little.

Then Miriam continued with a more detailed explanation, “Tonight I lingered in heavy thoughts and prayer, and then you appeared. At first I thought you were a Fair One, or the Guardian himself, but you carried no flaming sword --.”

At that point Jacob shook his head and interrupted, “I’m sorry, Miriam I

am at a loss here. What do you mean, Guardian?”

She took a deep calming breath, and began an almost memorized answer, “It is all but a legend now. I am the last of the Scroll Keepers of Eriduah. Years ago my grandmother’s grandmother, Lilith met a Guardian atop a great hill in the distant lands of the white cranes. With a flaming sword in hand he forbade any to near the Great Twisted-Tree, nor partake of its blessed fruit and spring, save his kinsman alone. My fore bearers wrote the tale of meeting that Guardian, and from that day till this have all the firstborn daughters in my linage so carried it. I am the last to protect its words. Yet, am I grieved with shame as I have no husbandman of my own nor a daughter by which to deliver those scrolls unto.” With that she looked a more than a little upset.

An older woman with no children, Jacob understood now but pressed on, “You said you were praying, for what exactly?”

At that precise moment a horrible buzzing, like a gigantic swarm of bees sounded and a tremendous earthquake rumbled everything awake. Jacob sat up with a start noticing Arlene quietly rising from off the edge of her side of the bed to silence the alarm clock. Smiling back at him she sleepily said, “Sorry. Good morning, didn‘t mean to wake you up on your day off. It‘s Saturday and I have to go in today. I’m glad you weren’t having one of those weird dreams again.”

Then, later, over breakfast and coffee, Jacob filled her in on his latest ‘weird’ dream. Arlene was at least grateful not to have been beaten awake to hear it. With the kitchen cleaned up they both started their morning routines and became lost in the responsibilities of the day.

A few hours later Jacob entered his upstairs apartment. After being unleashed, Franklin eagerly began lapping up water after their long morning walk. Jacob tossed a pile of mail, which he had retrieved from the box, onto the dining room table. As he headed to make a cup of freshly brewed coffee for himself one envelope caught his attention. Among the scattered credit card bills from Exxon, Target and their rent-reminder, was a curious letter with a Texas address on it. Having lived his entire life in Oklahoma, Jacob had no idea who in the world would be writing him from Texas. Just as he had begun reading the hand scripted letter, his wife came in through the front door.

Arlene was a Nursery worker at the Church of Christ a few blocks away. Today was their congregation’s regularly scheduled Saturday morning cleaning day, and she was in charge of over seeing things for an upcoming event. Even though Jacob did not attend religious services anywhere he did not discourage his wife’s desire to worship or be active as she saw fit. They had a mutual understanding that sooner or later one of them would eventually see the other’s light. Their love for one another was enough. “God” was another conversation altogether and best left for others to battle over.

After Arlene’s arrival home they exchanged kisses and brief news about their respective morning activities. She then poured herself a Diet Dr. Pepper and sat down in the tan recliner by the window. Setting his coffee aside he showed his wife the curious envelope, “Hey, babe listen to this.” Then unfolding the one page letter Jacob read it aloud.

Dear Jacob, April 22, 1991

I wish there was a better way of introducing myself than in a letter, but maybe we could work towards a more personal meeting later.

My name is Stewart Moran Townsend, and I believe that you are Jacob Lee Townsend, my younger brother. We were separated when we were very young boys. After years of searching through genealogical and public records I am happy to say all my efforts have paid off.

You were born on May 13, 1963 in the small town of Ballinger, Texas. Our parents were divorced when I was eight and you were five years old,

in the summer of 1969. Our mother, Lucy Sarah Price won custody of us, but soon afterwards became homeless. We were taken away from her and placed in the Buckner’s Children Home in Dallas, Texas. Our father, Robert Tracy Townsend remarried, moved to another part of the state and lost contact with Lucy.

Six months after our placement, due to an “administrative mix up” you were transfer to the Westview Boys Home in Hollis, Oklahoma, and lived in the Sweetwater cottages for three years. Four days after your transferee, dad was able to locate me and regain custody. We lost contact with you because of the sealed court records.

Just yesterday I came across the best lead yet, and only after years of researching various documents, do I now believe that I have finally been able to locate you once again. Please reply to this letter if this is in fact you, and that this information validates your understanding. I do not wish to lose you to another nine years of searching.

My deepest love,

Your brother, Stewart

Jacob’s face went blank for a moment. After he finished reading the letter to Arlene, whose eyes were now huge beneath her raised brows, Jacob sounded skeptical, “Wow, what am I suppose to make of that? It looks like someone has gone to an awful lot of trouble to see if they know me. Is this a joke or what?”

Cautiously trying to dispel her husband’s suspicion, Arlene said, “Sounded like he knows quite a bit about you already, dear. It couldn’t hurt to write him back and at least ask some questions. Maybe he is who he says he is. Remember I told you, you would find them someday? God works miracles you know.”

Unable to discount the letter in his hand, Jacob smirked off Arlene’s invocation of Deity with, “Yeah… well.”

Then, with a big smile on her face for making points in her own favor, she headed down the short hallway to the bedroom, and changed into more comfortable clothes, leaving Jacob standing there rereading the letter from Stewart, thinking, “Miracle, hum?”

Chapter 3: The Green Footlocker...

2009-12-09T10:35:00.003-06:00

The sons of god from

righteous lands they came

to take for themselves

the daughters of men

with wicked hearts proclaimed

as teachers of the truth

they were lords of lies

fallen-ones who ruled no more

the day the rains came.

Uruk Tablet No. 3-3

Transliterated by Martha Paske-Townsend

******

Dwalen-dane Dwarven King of Mount Ipstha

　Three

THE GREEN FOOTLOCKER

In trying to compose a reply to Stewart, Jacob unexpectedly found himself becoming hopeful, that he had in fact gotten in touch with his long lost family. A wave of questions came to him as Jacob wrote, asking if anything was known of their mother’s whereabouts, or about his father. He also asked if Stewart knew anything about the smell of moth balls, because they always seemed to induce a feeling of nostalgic melancholy in him.

Then about a week later he received a reply to his letter.

Dear Jacob; May 5, 1991

About two years ago, I read in the Abilene News Reporter, that our mother had drowned in a boating accident; I never had contact with her before her death.

As for the smell of moth balls, funny that you should remember that. Our grandmother, Mamie Newsome-Price, Lucy’s mother, use to pack up their winter clothes in a cedar chest, and layer them in moth balls. She was a sweet person who unfortunately reeked of the smell.

Our father had been struggling with health issues for several years, ranging from lung cancer, then a brain aneurism; he had to be readmitted into the hospital two weeks ago, and I am devastated to inform you that he passed away last Tuesday, from complications with pneumonia.

Being the executor of his estate, and holder of his Will, I wanted to let you know that you were mentioned, and if you had ever been located prior to his passing; you have a claim. Along with a check for $142,000, you are to receive the deed to a large three bed-room house, on the northeast side of Witcha Falls, as well as a foot locker.

The steel footlocker is somewhat of a well kept family mystery. It was discovered at the time of our grandfather’s death, in 1975; with a note attached; saying that if and when you were ever located, it was to be given to you, (if not, then to me). I remember playing in our grandparent’s attic as a child, and being told not to open it, even though it was always kept locked. It should be arriving at your home in the next few days. If possible, I would be interested in knowing what it contains.

Your brother,

Stewart

Instead of a few days, it was three hours later, after Jacob had received Stewart’s letter in the mail; that a UPS van drove up, and after awhile of waiting for the driver to get his paperwork together, Jacob gave his signature. Along with the steel footlocker, Jacob also signed for an enveloped package, again addressed from Stewart. Inside the envelope was a small brass key, and a single-page note, with yet another envelope, addressed: To Jacob and Stewart.

The note from Stewart read:

Jacob,

This was the letter we found taped to the locker in 1975, and its key.

ST

Then reopening the faded envelope, Jacob read the following letter:

To my beloved grandsons, July 12, 1974

Jacob, if you are reading this know that you were very much loved, and that your loss from our family was a grave tragedy; please contact your brother, Stewart, letting him know what you have inherited. Stewart, if you are reading this, then I know you have not yet found Jacob, please do not fail to continue searching for him.

The secret of the scrolls were too controversial for the academic community to take them seriously; yet, it was and remains my firm belief that they are, in fact what they purport to be, an authentic record from the antediluvian period.

Do not be alarmed by the dreams, by now you have both come to know who Miriam is, and have a thousand questions yet to ask. Let her answer them in her own way and time. Remember the key; also, I have kept several old correspondences, in hopes that they may yet be of some use in filling in other gaps either of you may have as well.

Your grandfather

Christopher Moran Townsend

Jacob was beginning to feel as though he had stepped into a bad Twilight Zone episode. The unfolding of one strange event after another had his thoughts all in a whirl, but his curiosity about the trunk got the better of him as his pulled it into the apartment, from off the patio. The trunk was a green, steel footlocker with silver corner-protectors and padlocks. The one in the middle was clasped shut with a Master lock on it.

After heaving it onto the living room coffee table, Jacob turned around and placed the envelopes on his desk behind him, then turned his attention back to the trunk. Retrieving the key, which he had slipped into his pocket for safe keeping, Jacob opened the steel footlocker.

A cluttering of items met his searching eyes as the smell of moth balls became less offensive. He saw a few photo album-sized books, a bundle of letters, a castle-shaped jewelry box, a small ornately-carved wooden box, a black-leather jacket, some letterman sweaters, and finally an unusual looking hard-leather tube-like case. On top of everything was a large manila envelope, which Jacob opened first.

He removed a photograph, that had obviously been an enlargement of a smaller older picture, because in the corner it was dated June 1923. In the black and white picture were five men dressed in three piece suites and two in work clothes. Jacob’s interest peaked as his eyes grew upon seeing two faces he suddenly recognized as the same two men he had seen in his shop.

Flipping the 8x12 picture over, Jacob noticed, written on the back in a spidery handwriting, was: (L to R), Townsend, Hines, Morgan, Roberts, Carter, Stapleton and Martin. Setting out for Egypt. East Baker Street, Brownwood, Texas June 27^th, 1923.

There for the first time, Jacob made a connection to a family he never knew he even had, for he saw the face of his grandfather; a youthful twenty-five year old with his friends and peers, ready to set the world on fire as explorers. His heart raced.

Next to Chris Townsend was Allen Carter, he was wearing the same outfit and tweed golf cap, half cocked on his head and giving the camera a huge smile. Next to him was the other man, Jacob had seen smiling at him in the shop, named Dale Hines. The other two men on the right were dressed in pin striped shirts and dark-baggy pants and scuffed up work boots, the one on the end, Roberts, dangled a cigar from his mouth; trying to either look older or more prestigious than he really was. Jacob smiled thinking, This is so cool, a real piece of history, my history.

Returning the photo to its envelope, Jacob picked up one of the over-sized, white sweaters with a large yellow “P” on the front. Holding it out in front of himself, Jacob smiled, then put it on. It fit a little loosely and so kept it on as he continued to go through the treasures before him. After a quick try of the jacket, Jacob took it off and laid it aside.

Taking the castle-styled jewelry box out, he began going through it. It had a lion-headed pull-ring on the lid, and two smaller velvet-lined drawers at both ends. Opening the lid, Jacob noticed a shallow velvet-lined tray where some military medals were stored; a gold Masonic pinky-ring with the Square and Compass set in an onyx stone, a sergeant’s patch, six Silver Star Medals, along with fourteen Indian-head cents. Beneath the tray were six spent shells with names scratched on them, each rubber-banded to a rank patch; beneath them were single head-shot photos with the same bulleted-names scribbled on the back of each, as well as a train pocket-watch with its chain. In the left drawer were three weapons-expert pins, in the right drawer, Jacob saw six identical Engineer Battalion crest and Unit citation pins.

He had no idea what the items were, but was duly impressed by them. Jacob carefully replaced them in their original order; then set the jewelry box aside. Picking up a bundle of twelve letters, Jacob randomly withdrew one, and briefly scanned through.

It was a letter from Jacob’s grandfather to Jacob’s dad; one part caught his attention:

“…looking back on it, Robert, had I not gone on those middle-eastern digs I might never have met your mother, because she was one the best linguists available. Martha and I spent hours and hours pouring over the ancient artifacts and scrolls we found. It was while we were trying to decipher the scrolls that we fell in love. I was the better man for having won her away from my two best friends: Jacob Morgan, and Stewart Roberts.” Jacob figured these were the two men that he and his brother were named after.

In the folds of the letter was a black and white photo. It showed two men standing next to one another, posing beside a stair-step excavated-hole, the man on the left was holding up what looked like a small clay tablet inscribed with an eye. On the back of the picture was written: August 1924, Chris and Dale with Tablet No. 1, Inscription reads: “Balthenorn”.

Jacob went through all the letters, reading them from start to finish, in order by dates, and was amazed by the exotic life his grandfather had lived. It turned out that Jacob’s father had been an attorney in criminal law.

Intrigued, wondering what else he would uncover, Jacob went looking in the footlocker again. Next, he turned his attention to the small wooden box. It was ornately-carved with vines and flowers, and stamped on the bottom as having been made in India. He removed its lid to see that it too was lined with red velvet. Wrapped in a white handkerchief was what appeared to be the same clay tablet as from the photograph he had found in one of the letters.

It looked like a fire-baked oval clay-slab 4” wide by 5” long and ¼” thick, with a mixture of sand in it. Having an interest in history, Jacob thought the writing resembled the runes he had seen from ancient Ireland. Atop the writing was a stylized Eye symbol. It looked like a circle with an hour glass in the middle, on the top line was a pointed fish hook facing to the right, and another pointed fish hook design, on the bottom, was facing to the left; like an artistic eye-lid. Taped to the back side of the tablet was a note that said: Inscription/ Khazul; reads: “Balthenorn” (Miriam’s Key).

About that time Arlene returned home from her shopping spree. Food, bags, boxes, and dresses. While Jacob assisted his wife in putting away the groceries, he told her all about his discoveries.

After Arlene finished reading the second letter from Stewart, with its mention of inheriting a house and large sum of money, she handed it back to Jacob with “Oh my God!” Then, catching her excitement, she curtailed her enthusiasm with a more practical tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to see what’s left after the lawyers and IRS have their way. I remember all the fun we had after the reading of my great aunt Myrtle’s will. The feuding and wait lasted for years, then after all was said and done mother and everyone else got nothing.” Noticing Jacob’s shoulders drop a bit, Arlene injected, “I’m sorry, babe. I think it’s wonderful, really I do - let’s just see how it turns out.”

With that they continued putting away the groceries. After putting a bunch of bananas in a red hanging basket, Jacob leaned against the dining room table, with his legs and arms crossed; smiling as Arlene was bent over, arranging vegetables in the lower drawers of the refrigerator, “I was reading through all the old letters my grandfather left me. He was quite an impressive man: a pipe-smoking storyteller, anthropologist, archeologist, and at one time even a professor at Penn State University, back in the ‘50s.

“He even fought in Europe during World War II, both in the Infantry and as an Engineer. There was this one mission, Arlene, where he led a squad of six men to capture a German machine-gun. His entire squad was nearly mowed down. My grandfather was stabbed in the leg twice, before popping the two German gunners; he was awarded a Silver Star.

“But, from the letters I read, he never liked the idea that the Army brass gave him the Silver Stars of the other men who were in his squad. It was some kind of a secret mission or something. In one letter, my dad mentions that Christopher, my grandfather, had spent years searching for those families of the men in his platoon, so he could give them their medals. I found them still in his jewelry box, and I don’t think he ever got over their deaths.”

Arlene cut a look at Jacob, staring at her backside, smiled and said, “Yeah, like that wouldn’t be traumatizing. Sounds like pretty amazing stuff, Jay. Now aren’t you glad you wrote your brother like I suggested?”

He grinned and winked.

Looking at his new oversized sweater she interrupted him before he could continue; saying as she tugged at his sleeve, “…No, seriously, you need to take that off and let me wash it, ‘cause -- it smells.” Jacob laughed a little to himself as he took it off, and handed it to her for the laundry; he remembered Stewart’s comment about how their grandmother had reeked of moth balls.

After throwing the sweater, and a load of clothes into the washer they both went into the living room, where Arlene began visually inspecting the opened footlocker atop the coffee table. She pulled out the strange looking tube and held it up.

It resembled an Indian’s arrow case, but without the arrows, and was capped instead. It looked like it was made of some type of hide with coarse brownish-black hair in small swirls. A tight stitching ran from top to bottom, with the bottom being capped and stitched as well. A shoulder strap was still in tact. The top cap was locked with a bone-peg and strap device.

Arlene looked at Jacob and asked, “What’s this?”

Looking just as inquisitive as her he answered, “Not a clue, haven’t looked at it yet. Go ahead and open it up.” Smiling at his wife’s interest, he watched as she carefully pushed the ivory-peg through the looped strap and worked the hard cap off. From inside, Arlene cautiously withdrew a bundle of yellow parchments; they were tied with seven thin strips of sinew. The top page was inked in black with the same design as on the tablet.

Peering inside the rolled-tube of parchments, Arlene said, “Okay. It’s just a bunch of blank pages. Well, other than this eye stamped on it.” They both untied the roll, and sure enough all the pages were blank, except the outer facing sheet.

Then, grinning from ear to ear, Jacob sounded a little giddy, “This must be the scrolls my grandfather mentioned in the letters. Some of the men he served with during the war had actually been friends of his during his archeology days, back in the 1920s. His team came across some tablets, jars and these scrolls -- all marked with that design on them. It’s not Egyptian, that’s for sure.” Then reaching over to the ornate box, he withdrew the actual small stone artifact, and showed it to Arlene, “See, here’s the first tablet they discovered.”

She took, and examined its designs, “Weird, feels like sand-paper. Wonder what is says?”

Again, smiling with information, he answered, “ ‘Balthenorn.’ There was a note taped on the back, saying it was ‘Miriam’s Key‘, no telling what that means.” As he got it back from her, Jacob carefully rewrapped it and put it back in its box.

Rubbing her fingers through his hair, like a mother who was pleased that her son liked his Christmas toys; then heading for the kitchen, Arlene grinned and said, “Well, you’ve got quiet a treasure trove to go through there. I’m just happy you’ve gotten in touch with your brother. You need to share all this with him, ya know. Maybe we can visit him sometime or have them come up here.”

While replacing the delicate scrolls back into their hardened container a million thoughts raced through Jacob’s mind. Like, how he needed to buy a Texas map, “Sounds good.” He called back in reply, “Yeah, James could take over the shop for me, while we go; how’s next weekend sound?”

Arlene’s voice smiled back, from an opened pantry, “Sounds good. Guess I’ll get started on supper now, and check on that laundry.”

Jacob had already gone back to searching through the remaining contents of the steel box. Thumbing through a photo album, he saw various pictures, all with labels beneath them, written in various ink and handwriting styles. Black and Whites, and color pictures that spanned the 1920s up through the ‘70s. Jacob saw a few of himself as a child, being held by his parents, aunts and uncles, and some at play with Stewart. Something odd struck him. All of the photographs of him, his brother and their grandfather together, all had bright spots, like an oblong star burst “standing” behind them.

Putting the album away, Jacob came across two black-leather journals. One was his grandfather‘s diary, with dates that spanned from the 1920s to the ‘30s. In another, he found the same spidery-hand writing, only it was penciled in, and triple spaced. The words were printed instead of cursive, and appeared to be in a foreign language; it was organized with indentions as if it was poetry.

Before he knew it supper was ready, and they were enjoying lasagna, bread sticks and salad with red wine. Jacob was spoiled by Arlene’s good cooking, so much so that whenever they ate out, he always stated how much better her creations were. Their conversations drifted from Jacob’s discoveries to bills, and happenings with friends from Arlene’s church. She tried getting him interested in attending a class on Biblical genealogy, but Jacob didn’t care for her pastor, who would be the one sharing information on the subject.

After the meal they both cleaned up the kitchen and table as the sounds of another thunder storm could be heard beginning its downpour outside. The electricity kept flickering on and off, and nothing on the TV was worth watching, so they both decided to go to bed by candle light. The air-conditioning had gone off, leaving the apartment warm beneath the quiet ceiling fans. After a little romance in bed they both drifted off to sleep.

Just as they had began to drift off to sleep the bedroom suddenly lit up with a brilliant electric-blue flash and a tremendous rattling of windows. Jacob sat up with a start. At hearing Arlene’s loud shallow-breathing he wondered how in the world she could have slept through all the thunderous noise. In another flash of lightning, Jacob could have sworn he saw three men walking about at the foot of their bed. For a dazed second all he could do was sit there, frozen in a speechless stare. A second later, after another flash of blue they were gone. He slowly lay back down and covered up, glad to hear that the air-conditioning had kicked on again.

Through Jacob’s closed eye lids another electric-blue flash faded into the soothing light coming from a misty-grey forest. His breath became even more shallow and relaxed as he found himself walking through the forested area at night. Rounding the blackened-greenery of low lying tree limbs sweeping the ground, Jacob saw the flickering glow of a camp fire up ahead in a clearing off to his right.

Drawing closer to the fire, he saw a group of women dancing around a huge stone slab that was resting on a rough bolder. They were all naked and holding hands singing a song that Jacob could not make out the lyrics to. As those women raised their voices in ritual chant, the bon fire blazed atop the tabled slab, rhythmically changing colors from an electric flash of blue to a bright yellow then orange, and green. A more mature, older woman stood on the table next to the leaping flames chanting out another verse altogether, something about a mighty tree, a guardian of light, and the scribe of the Fair Ones. Suddenly, all the women ended at the same time, and on the same verse they fell to the ground. Then the older woman stood erect holding a dagger skyward in both hands, and began howling at the full moon as its huge bright-orb rested on the horizon.

The fire died down to reveal the figure of a bound and blindfolded teenage girl on the other side of the burning logs. She was assisted down from the table by her sisterhood, as was the senior mother. They all laughed and embraced the younger girl as she was untied and her eyesight restored.

The scene faded into a misty blur as the fully dressed figure of Miriam came into view, and walked toward Jacob. She had a melancholy smile as she quietly informed him, “This is how we were all brought into the knowledge of the scrolls, Jacob; by our eldest mother, aunts and sisters, but it was only the first born daughter who was allowed to carry them. What you witnessed was my initiation; I was sixteen years old at the time. Three days later my mother, IL’brekah passed away, and the whole world was changed.”

He smiled, thinking of the image of her younger self, and asked, “When was this?”

Miriam began to walk past Jacob answering, “I was beautiful then, glad to see you noticed, but that was twenty-seven years ago today.”

Blushing a little, Jacob said, “Happy birthday…”

She had disappeared, but her voice could still be heard interrupting his, “Yes, it was suppose to be -- until the rains came.”

In yet another blinding flash of electric-blue light, Jacob found himself standing on the ledge of a cave’s entrance. A dry heat enveloped him as he quickly realized that he was in a mountainous desert region. About fifteen feet away, in front of him was a group of three men who were hard at work. They were busy packing up huge clay jugs with straw, and hoisting them into large, wooden crates. Their clothes look like they could be out of a 1930s movie, Jacob thought to himself.

They were surrounded by camping gear, tools, and a block and tackle rig. As they continued to sweat in the heat, loading up their supplies and artifacts, they took no notice of Jacob’s presence, but all kept talking among themselves. He knew their faces. But, their voices seemed distant, and difficult for Jacob to make out.

Just then a loud voice called up from far below the cliff’s edge. Jacob’s camera like perspective panned over to see two other men below. They were outfitted in overalls, and stood beside a model-T pick-up truck. Their arms were reaching upward to receive the next crate being lowered down to them.

Shocked by what he saw next, Jacob’s astonished eyes were transfixed as he turned around again. A voice was yelling, “Move Out of the Way, Allen!” Just then, running from the cave’s mouth, Jacob saw his grandfather’s younger self coming towards him. As though he was not even there, Christopher passed right through Jacob, like thin air. He and the two other men all ran screaming, “Carter, No!” For the rope, which two of them had been holding, snapped into two frayed segments with its load falling to a crash below.

Christopher ran and fell to the ground. He slid like a baseball player, landing with his chest and outstretched arms hanging off the edge of the cliff. The rope’s frayed end burnt past his finger tips. Jacob had never seen the epitome of total fear before; he glimpsed it in his grandfather’s face that day.

Seconds later, far below, the white man on the right was scrambling through the shattered mess beside him. He frantically tried to clear away the splintered wood, penetrating pottery shards and the mass of blood soaked straw from the remains of his friend. The man had been unmistakably crushed to death. From their perch above, the men could only watch in helpless horror as the scene below was now forever seared into their collective memories; and now, Jacobs as well.

He forced himself awake. Struggling to climb out from under the damp covers, he realized the air-conditioning had gone out again, and that the rains had finally stopped. Returning from the rest room he was glad the clock had given him a few more hours of sleep. Dreamless rest soon followed.

Chapter 4: The Dreamer's Tale...

2009-12-09T10:31:00.001-06:00

“If I ever get this published it’ll be a miracle, because at the rate I’m narrating the translation it’ll never see the light of day…”

The Townsend Letters;

Christopher’s correspondence with Dale Hines.

December 3, 1964

******

[My brother] Ralph’s letter today was a welcomed sight from home with its news that Dale Hines will be arriving soon from the States… I am among the several groups working under Sir Leonard Woolley. We are now on an expedition, jointly with the British Museum, excavating the sites believed to be Ur and Sippar. Thus far we have managed to only move dirt from one location to another! I do feel that our task will not prove to be in vain.
Dr. Woolley mentioned various times that this specific area had under gone a major earthquake, and a massive flooding; as evidence of the rock layers of strata shifting...
Exert from
Christopher Townsend’s personal Journal
June 28, 1922

******

　Four

THE DREAMER’S TALE

The next morning, over breakfast, Jacob shared his bizarre dreams of the night before with Arlene. She gave him a resigning look over her coffee cup, “Babe, this is becoming -- somehow -- way, too normal. I wish we knew what they all meant.”

Just as seriously, Jacob answered, after a sip of his own, “Yesterday, you mentioned visiting my brother sometime. How about this weekend, instead of next?”

Accepting the great idea with raised brows she perked up, “Sounds fine to me, I just need to get a few things packed up for the trip, and see if Jillian can watch Franklin for us.” The dog wagged his tail at the mentioned of his friend’s owner’s name. Jillian had a Britney Spaniel named Spencer, and had taken Franklin on several walks with them before.

Smiling at both their reactions, Jacob complimented the idea himself, “She’s been a great neighbor, I don’t think she’ll mind.” Then added an earlier unspoken thought, “I don’t know why, Arlene, but I just have this strange feeling that Stewart has more answers than what he’s letting on about.”

Sounding a little confused, his wife asked, “What do you mean? You -- you think he knows something about your dreams, Jacob?” Then sighed a disbelieving breath cooling her Irish Cream.

With a big grin, he admitted, “That’s exactly what I think. There was that odd comment in my grandfather’s letter about Miriam, which he had written years before I even came across all those letters.”

“That’s right, weird uh? It’d be nice if there were some answers, Stewart could pass on.”

The week passed quickly. That Friday night as they slept, Jacob drifted off to sleep thinking it was be peaceful and uneventful. He was wrong on both accounts. The AC had gone out Wednesday afternoon, and by that Friday they were still without it.

Mid October and it was still hot. The ceiling and box fans were only circulating the warmth about, leaving Arlene more miserable than Jacob; yet, they both found themselves restlessly falling asleep somehow.

From out of the warm, unknown darkness his hazed vision grew as a lingering smoke rolled in across the land. The sight of a strange battle lay before him, and became a vivid scene. It looked like the carnage the day after a major combat on some ancient battlefield, or maybe the lull before its second wave was to attack. The grass was blotched with pools of blood that glistened beneath the smoldering haze. A putrid stench inescapably filled the air with the aroma of death. The realism of it all was beyond belief, no matter where Jacob looked, he was there in real time.

Whether it was near dusk or early dawn, he couldn’t tell from the blackened burnt-orange sky. Silhouetted heads mounted on pikes jabbed at the red glowing horizon, with their expressions glaring in silent screams. Beneath each pole were the mangled remains of the unfortunate victim. They had apparently lost their fight against a formidable enemy. The entire field was littered with mutilated and charred body parts of the half dead who beggingly reached skyward, for a mercy that never came. Their fateful demise had been cruelly sealed.

Jacob felt like vomiting as he could almost discern distant moans gaining in volume from behind him. Suddenly the ground underfoot had begun to vibrate with the approach of the advancing onslaught. As his panoramic view turned to the left, he saw the defending armies screaming and gathering strength as armored knights rode out onto the field. The army's eagerness to engage was in stark contrast to what had obviously been an earlier defeat, just days before.

Someone was beginning to shout a speech of encouragement, just as another group entered the fight. They bore down, against what appeared to be a barbaric horde of monstrous club welding beast. Without warning, out of the corner of his eye a shiny, black armored figure came rushing toward Jacob. The warrior’s green eyes were wild with rage, as both hands griped a huge bastard sword, raised for its killing assault. Jacob's heart pounded in his chest, as if it were about to burst. A voice called out to the running knight, "Barad, slay that creature!" When the sword came down a pain shot through Jacob’s entire body and everything went black.

Out of the blackening silence, Jacob made his way through the low lying tree limbs, trying not to get hit in the face again. Up ahead he saw a twisted mangled-forest. It was smothered in the smoky-haze of a moonless night, with only a lone cricket‘s annoyance sounding nearby.

All too human eyes stared back from their embedment within a tree’s rough trunk. Jacob’s sleeping mind whirled with a horribly throbbing head ache. As his dreaming eyes tried to focus in on the tree before him, he saw a contorted grayish-face beginning to stare back at him.

From out of a mouth that had not yet formed came a wicked, hoarse laughter. Its ensuing roared louder as though it hid knowledge of some cruel joke about to be played out. The laughing grew into a growling yell of rage as its tooth decayed mouth blared open. The tree faded away while the face slowly began to be flushed with color and a long, unkept beard grew, and its face morphed with aged features.

From out of the flickering shadows a torch’s light drawing closer, revealing that Jacob was now standing at the end of a long stone-corridor. With the increasing light about the wrinkled face, he saw a bearded man’s crouched figure; sitting in the corner of a cold, sandstone-tiled prison cell.

Through rusty bars Jacob could see the small figure, dressed in tattered worn-rags, looking up at him in utter shock. At first, Jacob could not tell if the crazed prisoner had seen him or had looked through him. Then -- jumping to his feet, the ragged man leapt toward Jacob in an almost vicious attack. He was there in a single motion at the wall of bars, which stood between him and Jacob; grabbing the rusty cage with his face struggling to press through. He shouted, “Why are you here?” Both of his bleeding ankles were shackled to a chain laced through a ring in the middle of his cell floor. The wild, hairy little man was half Jacob’s stature.

A Little Person, Jacob thought to himself, as him moved back with a start asking, “What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you heard what I said! Why are you here, Dreamer? I thought I was the only one who could enter that way.” With a panicked half-glance down the hallway the dwarf interrupted any reply Jacob might have had with, “You have to leave at once. If they find you, it’ll be too late! Don’t be a fool and get trapped here, like me.” Then yelling, “Trapped I tell you! Get me out of this hell hole!”

The little man began violently shaking the locked door of his cell, and shouting at the top of voice, “Leave - leave before it’s too late you fool!”

The flickering light grew brighter and brighter as everything became illuminated with its own inner glow. Within seconds the blinding white consumed everything.

Jacob now saw himself appear to walk into a formless sterile-white room of nothingness, and stopped. Alone, and emotionless he stood there for what seemed like hours. Then, as if from the other side of a stage, Miriam approached across from him. They were both dressed as before, and were standing in the empty void of white, just a few arms length from one another.

In a flat, monotone voice Jacob asked her, “Miriam, I won’t be seeing you again after this, will I?”

But she only smiled slightly, and ignored his question, “After the flooding rains, we came out of the ark, that my father-in-law had built. My husband, Shem, found my mother‘s book, and was angry with me that I had kept something from the old world, and forbade me to speak of such things again.

“Then a man came secretly to me in the woods. He was called, Silvermane, and wanted to see the scrolls I carried. In returning them to me, I saw that they were all blank, and began to cry at their loss. He bade me not to worry, saying that a concealing-mark was placed on them, and only when a messenger came to me would my words be revealed to him. For he would proclaim them before the world as a requiem of our time.

“Afterwards, I hid the scrolls of my mothers lore away in a jar, and sealed it with the Eye of Silvermane, in the hopes that one day his words would come true; that our lives before the pouring rains, would not be forgotten -- even though they are now forbidden.” She was quiet for a second, then added.

“For me, that was seventeen years ago; but for you, Jacob I fear a greater amount of time has passed. I believe Silvermane’s prophecy is now fulfilled, and that you are that messenger. Answer me this: Who is the key?”

Without hesitation, Jacob held up the tablet and said, “Balthenorn.”

With that the dream ended.

Jacob sat straight up in bed, fully awake.

No screaming. No sweating.

Just an instant feeling, knowing that he would no longer dream of Miriam, and somehow that knowledge made him feel sad. Looking over to Arlene’s empty side of the bed, he turned as the fresh smell of brewed coffee entered the room.

Beaming a smile at his uncombed hair, Arlene greeted her husband with the offering, “Morning sleepy head. Need some wake up juice?”

He bemoaned, “Oh, you’re an angel.”

Blowing its brown-creamed surface, she reminded him, “Well, today’s the day.”

“Yeah, just wondering what they’re like: Stewart and Casey?”

“Stop being so insecure, they’re probably wondering the same about us.”

“Hey, if nothing else at least it’ll be a trip out-of-town, right?”

She smiled softly back with, “Yeah, it’ll be a great visit.”

Hurriedly putting the cup down and beginning to dress like a fireman responding to a three-alarm call, “Speaking of which I guess we had better get ready to go.”

They rushed around getting dressed, packed a few bags, and with the green footlocker slid onto the back seat on their Dodge Neon, they were off. Starting down Interstate 44, a stop over for breakfast at McDonalds, and four hours later they found themselves heading south along 183.

After getting the directions on the phone; Steward had facetiously mentioned to Jacob that the suburb of Early had recently gotten The Heart Land Mall, and that after seeing it on the left they were to turn right at the next up coming intersection.

The small, central Texas town of Brownwood was a lot quieter than what either Jacob or Arlene had anticipated. Not long after that they found their way down Austin Avenue, past Coggin Park into a fairly nice neighborhood, they located the quaint stone house on Elizabeth street. Jacob mentioned to Arlene, as they were getting out of the car, that he had not seen so many patched pot holes in all his life, and was glad he had replaced the shocks before they had left home.

While both were grinning from ear to ear the front door was being opened by a heavy set man chewing the butt of a thick, smelly Cuban cigar. Jovially he grinned back at them as his huge legs waddled out on to the porch with great effort, “You must be, Jacob, and this -- your lovely wife, Arlene.”

Jacob reached out for a hand shake but got a bear hug instead, “Right on both accounts. Stewart?” To which the man in blue slacks and pink shirt affirmed with a chuckle. His color blind eyes appeared tiny through their coke bottle Armani lenses, as his other hand‘s finger tips secured the smelly cigar bit.

The slim goddess next to him radiated, with a hiker’s thumb, “That’s him, and I’m Casey.” She looked like a Barbie doll come to life, looking down and picking up an enormous black Persian cat. “Yes, and this is Geronimo. Come on in, guys.” Winking to them both Casey turned to lead the way into their sparely decorated but lavish home. Her shinny short shorts caught both Arlene and Jacob’s eyes.

Stewart and Casey made an odd couple, yet their affections toward one another appeared genuine to their arriving guests.

Putting the monstrously bloated feline down, Casey motioned an extracted gesture toward the dinning table, as if she were a Price Is Right model introducing it like the next item up for bid, “You guys must be exhausted after your trip. Let’s have a seat in the dinning room.”

Stewart interrupted, “You have to excuse her. I bought the table last month, and Casey’s still showing it off like a prized birthday gift.”

She beamed, “Well, it was.” While continuing to set silverware for everyone.

“Very nice.” Jacob smiled back, “We took a few breaks along the way.”

Arlene sniffed the air, noticing steam erupting above the covered containers atop the stainless steel stove, “Smells great.”

Motioning for Arlene to join her in checking out the spaghetti’s progress, Casey grinned, “I’m glad you think so, Arlene ‘cause it’s just about ready.”

Sitting at the huge, intricately-carved table, across from his newly reunited brother, Jacob marveled at the table’s woven designs with a sigh, “Well, here we are.”

Just as astonished, Steward stared at his younger brother, “Yeah. Man its been worth it all just to see you again, Jacob. I’m really glad you answered my first letter.” He said with a smiling glance at Arlene, “You’re looking good, and married too.”

Jacob gave a raised eye brow nod in his sister-in-law’s direction as well, “Thanks, you too.” He tried to nonchalantly wave the cigar smoke out of his face, without showing his annoyance, but the ladies noticed.

Casey, seeing Jacob’s reaction, gently took the cigar out of her husband’s mouth while waving an index finger at him. Crushing the smoldering butt in an ashtray, she said, “Jacob, you don’t know how many times he rewrote that letter so you wouldn’t think he was a nut.” Stewart blushed a bit at Jacob’s head shaking at the dissipating smoke with a false grin that gave his thoughts away. The blonde headed goddess poured two drinks as her brunette counterpart stirred the meat-sauce mixture.

…………………………Dialogue NOTES

c-here you go, hope you like iced-tea?

a-love it, hum nice and cold.

So where do we start?

How about we start with this ----dinner

“Well,” Stewart began, “Guess I’ll go first. . . . . . . .”

After Stewart’s summary, Jacob started off with, “I’ve been an manager of The Men’s Taylor, a tuxedo rental shop…” But after a bite of food he gave a delicious moan, then divulged, “I love spaghetti, this is great Casey. My twin foster sisters: Diane and Cynthia use to do all the cooking, in-between arguing and dating every guy in school. They were characters; uh, and there was Rollin, my first dad, a retired Navy cook and drunk, but boy could he cook -- awesome Lasagna.”

Arlene was a little surprised by his sudden burst, she had never heard Jacob talk about the people from his past in such favorable light before, it made her grin for some reason, maybe because the bitterness of his lost childhood was beginning to fade. Arlene had also begun to notice that Stewart’s presence made Jacob genuinely smile more, and that was a good sign to see.

……………………………….

And Casey

==g=g=g=g=g=g=g=

What have you been up to?

- - --,sks scabs’’s sk’b’sk’;sbh skh’ls’ ‘’’skhsfg;ldfl ;

And Arlene

=b=s==f=s=f=g==

Pushing his empty plate aside, Jacob confessed, “You know Stewart, I’ve had so much going on, that to be quite frank with you, I never thought in a million years I would ever know anything about my real family. Then, the very day I gave up on the idea altogether was the exact day your letter arrived in the mail.” After a sip of iced tea, added, “Strange.”

Stewart’s eyes beamed back through their huge lenses, “I know the feeling. The day I sent that letter off, I had the very same dream I had when I was a kid.”

“Dream?” Injected, Arlene as she shot a sharp glance down the mahogany table. Her spaghetti laden fork poised in the air with its last bite getting cold.

Catching her interest, Stewart elaborated, “Yeah. When I was 12 yrs old-” He started to reach for his ashed cigar, but got Casey’s gaze instead, then continued with his story, “I had a dream on my twelfth birthday that made it clear to me that I had to find you, Jacob. This, overwhelming feeling that I needed you, more than you ever needed me.

“In my dream I saw two boys arguing. The older one was rough, and very independent; said he could do everything by himself. When the younger brother asked about their mother the older brother said, “After all that she’s done to us how could you still love her? She beat us, and contrived stories against us to our father. She even loved her daughter more than us!” Then the younger brother said, “It is not about her, it is about us.”

“I can’t explain it, Jacob, but I woke up thinking about you, and how my life only had meaning when I thought about my little brother. So, I searched for you using every means possible.”

Trying to not let his tearing eyes be noticed, Jacob replied, “Thanks, that means a lot, Stewart.” After a quick sip of tea, he asked, “We -- had a sister?”

Stewart knew it was coming, “No.” Then a strange tone dropped into his voice, “But, it does get a lot stranger than you can imagine.”

Jumping to conclusions, Jacob caught the inference and asked, “-So, um, what other dreams have you had?”

Stewart ignored his wife’s disapproving pursed lips as he clipped the bit off a new Cuban, and ignited its flavor as a reward for his patience in waiting for this very moment to arrive. His jovial rolling voice took on a mysterious tone as though he was sharing a tale of mythical times.

As Stewart began sharing with his brother and sister-in-law all his dreams that he felt might have some bearing on their reunion, the kitchen filled with a light haze of cigar smoke. No one seemed to take notice this time around. For the visitors quickly became engrossed in their host’s stories, losing themselves in the picturesque details. Oddly enough, they not only turned out to be the identical ones Jacob had shared with Arlene in private, but occurred on the same days as well. With each telling the younger couple exchanged bewildering looks, that only validated Stewart and Casey’s exact experience.

Just as Stewart began Jacob’s final meeting with Miriam, Casey suggested a break by clearing off the table, with Arlene’s help, and began a fresh kettle of water for coffee. It was edging into late afternoon, and a cold front had moved in dropping the temperatures outside down into the low thirties. With everyone settling about the kitchen table again, Stewart resumed, then finished his account of seeing the dwarf in prison and Miriam’s parting words.

After a moment of silence, Arlene interrupted Stewart’s melodramatic attempt to accentuate the mood with blowing smoke rings by declaring, “So, let me see if I can get this straight. You have both been having these weird dreams, independent of one another, about the daughter-in-law of Noah; and the scrolls she hid away, that came down to her through her maternal grandmothers, that told about meeting the angel from the Garden of Eden?”

Stewart and Jacob both looked like they had just been hit in the back of the head. Their opened mouths and wide eyes mirrored one another. Trying not to laugh out loud, she asked, “What - you didn’t get it till now?”

Smiling from across the table, Casey retorted, “Oh my God! Arlene, as smart as they are - I can’t believe it.”

Stewart remarked to the chewed bit of his cigar, “Hump. Noah?”

For Jacob it was somehow the missing piece, “Garden of Eden? - Ah!”

But Arlene persisted, “Well, that is what you’ve both are talking and dreaming about -- isn‘t it?”

Casey acted like her years in Sunday School had finally paid off, “I can’t believe it. Neither of them go to church and yet they both dream about the Bible.”

Yet, Stewart seemed to be holding a trump card and played it with the mysterious voice, “They still don’t understand. Jacob it goes deeper than that. Only after our father passed away, did I come across his personal papers, and learned that he and our grandfather both were having these same dreams. Dad speculated that they were all somehow linked to his father’s discoveries in the middle-east. Apparently, grandfather never spoke of the matter to him. Which is one of the reasons why I was so curious to see what was in the footlocker.’

Stewart finished with his point, being, “I believe there are deeper truths left unstated in the Scriptures, and only vaguely alluded to in other Sacred Texts as well.” Smiling, the big man returned to his smoke rings as if he had won a hand in cards. Stewart got up from the table to make himself a harder drink. Vodka and lime.

After their two and a half hours of conversations, and several cappuccinos, they were now all on the same page when, Casey asked, “Wow, and I guess that brings us up to -- what’s in the box?”

To which Arlene nervously laughed, “I was just going to say that, Casey.”

After restroom breaks, and rounds of mixed drinks, Jacob and Arlene found their way to a plushy decorated sunken-living room area. By now Jacob had retrieved the boxed legacy that had brought them all together.

While going through everything in the trunk and sharing what they had discovered or listening to Stewart fill in the blanks with family history, Casey interrupted everything.

Holding up an envelope that had been torn open long ago, she got the group’s attention with, “Hey, Stew, I think you might be wrong about your dad not knowing about things. Here’s a letter written to him while he was still away at college, it’s from your grandfather. Listen to this:

‘…Even more fascinating than the Salun Parchments in the amber box are, what I call: The Nephilim Scrolls; for they seem to be the very essence of everything missing from the Genesis account. You are aware, son, there were far older civilizations, many of which were never recorded in the Hebrew Scriptures… ,but my colleges think I am crazy, and have disregarded the speculations of my nineteen years of work.”

Interesting. Does it mention what his ‘work’ was, that he was referring to?

Yeah. He said it was ‘a narrative of a transliterated poem,’ written in a black leather-bound manuscript.”

This must be it here.

The four of them decided to take turns reading the manuscript aloud to one another. So, Jacob began reading aloud:

“The Requiem”:

“Like the terrified inhale of a sharp gasp,
I saw her life being extinguished and fade
as in the exhaustion of sorrow.
In the inhale of that crumbling moment
my life’s meaning faded away
as sorrow filled my heart with loneliness.
Cradled in my arms, she died so pale
a lifeless shell, void of expression;

yet forever, my only, one true love…”

EPILOGUE

2009-12-09T10:25:00.003-06:00

In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met

among fireside rituals fussed and fret;

knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,

preaching failed expectations, still we groped.

The Watchers Book lines 41-44

Translated by Christopher M. Townsend　　

Robert E. Howard's grave

EPILOGUE

　After finger sandwiches, chips and dip, several cappuccinos and rest room breaks later; it was Arlene’s final turn that finished up the group reading of the manuscript. Casey looked solemn faced with tears welling. Stewart began packing his long churchwarden pipe with fresh tobacco, and through gritted teeth told Jacob, “See, brother, I knew the wait to meet you would be worth it, better than the dreams, ’eh?”

Jacob smiled a bizarre understanding grin back at him, then glancing at Arlene’s sniffle, patted her leg softly.

Little over a year and a half later, and months of editing, Stewart and Jacob put their financial inheritance to work, finally publishing their grandfather’s book; some thirty-five years after Christopher’s death. In it, they included drawings that Allen Carter had made during their original archeological discovery, as well as photographs of the tablets, genealogies from the story, and indexes of peculiar words and meanings found within its epic tale. They both shared their dreams, the contents of the footlocker, and antidotes about each item, as well as exerts from their grandfather’s journal and private letters.

Two weeks after their book made print, Jacob drove out to the Greenleaf cemetery, in Brownwood, and parked his car beside the stone gateway. Finding his grandfather’s grave, two rows beyond Robert E. Howard’s historical marker, Jacob placed a copy of the Nephilim book and a dozen roses on the head stone. About that time another man, whom Jacob assumed was the caretaker, strolled up to him and said hello. Jacob suddenly felt all the blood in his face drain as his recognized the man from an old photograph.

Reading his expression, Dale tried to relieve Jacob’s anxiety with a smile, and put both hands in his pocket. He looked over at the book and flowers atop the headstone, and nodded, then said directly to Jacob, “By now you know the truth of what happened on the day we discovered the scrolls. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late for me to save Allen, and I’ve struggled with his death on my conscience ever since. However, I feel vindicated today, in that -- it was our duty to get the scrolls published for him, thank you for doing that for us, Jacob. I know your grandfather is very proud of you.”

Not knowing quiet what to do or say, Jacob just stood there perfectly still, nodding his head in reply. With a broad grin, the ghost of Dale Hines nodded back and turned to leave. Like the rippling effect of light being bent on a hot day, the figure evaporated and disappeared in plain sight, right in front of Jacob. It was then, for the first time in his several visits to the graveyard that Jacob even noticed the tarnished-brass head marker next to that of his grandfather’s stone. It read simply:

Allen Douglas Carter

March 1, 1902 - August 3, 1924

Artist, Explorer and dear friend

A few weeks later, Jacob decided that every year on the anniversary of Christopher’s death, they should make it a point to get together as a family. So it was, on February 4^th of every year, they alternated between homes, in which to meet, and read aloud to one another their grandfather’s published work.

Seven months after, The Nephilim Age was released; Stewart and Casey became the parents of twins: a boy named, Christopher Jamison, and a girl, Miriam Savannah Townsend. Then, less than three months later, Jacob and Arlene celebrated the birth of their own first child, a son, named: Christopher Jereith Townsend.

The day after he turned six years old, Jereith woke his parents up with a nightmare about a red-haired woman -- drowning.

White House Party Crashers

2009-11-29T18:47:00.002-06:00

I'm not crazy about Obama, but hey he is the president after all. The fact that party crashers were able to get close to him only means that the McDonalds security team could also allow terrorist to get through. Even the Cleveland Brown's football team, or State School Security could have done a better job.

Fallen Elf King

2009-11-11T11:41:00.004-06:00

The slain body of King Ithel`Fay, in the flaming remains of Ra`More, the tree shrine.

The Rape of Velwyth

2009-11-09T10:54:00.003-06:00

(Click picture above)

Calan withdrew his smelly exhaustion from atop his sister’s limp silence, and stood over her while securing his clothes. Being released, Velwyth violently fought to cover herself up. Catching a glimpse of him, smiling wickedly down at her, sent Velwyth’s skin into a crawl, making her brother’s eyes shine even more.

It was in that moment that Calan began to notice Velwyth’s tearing pout boiling as her eyes glared back with a fierce vengeance of their own. There was something frightful in them. An expression of defiance he did not see coming. Yet, her maliciousness quickly faded into submission under his unrelenting stare baring down on her. In her secret thoughts Velwyth began to plot his demise. But for now she was overwhelmed with shame, thinking of what he had just done, causing her to recoil deeper into her sheltered thoughts.

His sister hid her face and began weeping uncontrollably. Velwyth had always believed her home had been a refuge, but now even the dignity of her own mind had been defiled beyond repair. She thought her only salvation was pay back, but how? Half wrapped in the moistened gown, she gathered herself and huddled in the corner on the patio. He had crushed her spirit, and she knew for certain that no one would ever come to her aid...

Smoke of Mithar

2009-11-08T10:58:00.003-06:00

Further inland, deeper within the city, was the Great Hall of the Stewards. It was a huge stone building, fashioned in the form of two great hands, made by the dwarves of old, to commemorate some forgotten event. Its roof was carved to resemble interlocking fingers. The space between the forefingers and thumbs were a lacing of stone-cut vines, painted green; through which dissipating wisps of scented smoke arose. Its mixture of lavender and sage incense lingered in the wind for miles. The Great Hall's double doors stood beneath those massive thumbs, with ivory unicorn horns for spiral handles.

Meeting Miriam...

2009-11-02T21:45:00.002-06:00

THE WATCHER REQUIEM

TWR = The Battle

2009-10-30T11:07:00.001-05:00

THE WATCHERS REQUIEM...

MY FAMILY TREE: SNOW

2009-10-27T11:57:00.009-05:00

William Snowe

Joseph Snow

David Snow

Moses Snow

Jesse Snow

Moses Moran Snow

Jesse Moran Snow

John David Snow

Elmo Lee Snow

Bobbie Lee Snow

David DeLane and his wife Alice Snow

What's a little thing like Freedom?

2009-10-22T09:50:00.001-05:00

Would you sign it away? Obama-ism
http://nationaljuggernaut.blogspot.com/2009/09/this-cartoon-seemed-far-fetched-in-1948.html

Happy Halloween

2009-10-22T09:06:00.002-05:00

Thanks Tonica!

Lucifer - not what you thought

2009-10-09T11:10:00.004-05:00

Lucifer the story behind the name; you may not go back to unknowing, after reading this.

The Townsend Photo-shopped

2009-10-07T20:06:00.003-05:00

THE WATCHERS REQUEIM...

Flipping the 8x12 picture over, Jacob noticed, written on the back in a spidery handwriting, was: (L to R), Townsend, Carter, Hines, Morgan, Roberts -- Setting out for Egypt. East Baker Street, Brownwood, Texas June 27^th, 1923.

THE ENVELOPE - a short story...{re-edited}

2009-09-27T14:11:00.003-05:00

The Envelope

David DeLaine Snow

Without being consciously aware of it, Malcom McJones was listening to his favorite music on the radio too loud, and weaving in and out of traffic like a mad man. Only after cutting over to exit the freeway did he even glance into the rear view mirror and noticed a three car pile-up in his wake. Brushing it off as their poor driving skills, Malcom approached the signal light’s intersection, relieved the accident had not slowed him down. All he wanted to do was get as far away from work as quickly as possible to begin his lousy one week vacation. His second week had been denied.

Thoughts whirled is his rock-n-roll pounding mind of how to downsize his plans. Instead of going out-of-town to visit some old friends, he would just stay home and play the lazy bum all week. Actually, shampooing the carpet, reorganizing his seven hundred volume-book collection, moving furniture and playing computer games made the week fly by faster than he wanted it to. Realizing he only had one day left, Malcom decided to make it last by stretching it out doing nothing; starting with sleeping in late.

His plans went awry once again as he heard a thunderous noise, then a knock at his front door. His bedside clock blared in red numerals that for God’s Sake it was only 6:40 A.M. After stubbing his toe on a pile of books that had not yet been replaced to their proper shelf, Malcom managed to unlatch the door’s chain and dead bolt. His neighbor, Jacob Townsend was an early riser. It was Jacob’s smiling, apologetic face that greeted Malcom with an envelope that had been wrongly delivered to his address. Jacob had received some kind of footlocker through the mail, and its dragging must have been the thunderous scrape that woke his neighbor.

Only after watching his early-bird neighbor carry the green box into his apartment did Malcom even look at the envelope. It was plain white, and addressed in a cursive handwritten script: “Good Morning Mr. McJones.” Going inside, and locking the door behind him, Malcom tore it open. Inside was a computer web address. Scratching his head and making coffee, Malcom then pecked in the site’s nomenclature on the Google window. A second later the brightly illuminated screen went black displaying a single question and directions: Well, Mr. McJones would you like to win two hundred dollars, free and clear? If so then go to… Malcom recognized the address, it was just two blocks down the street. Thinking, ‘What the heck I’m already awake now,’ he dressed after his first cup of Mountain grown goodness then walked out to get some free cash.

The grey skies and sporadic puddles gave away the real thunderous noise that had awakened him during the night - rain storms. Yet the perfectly dry white envelope that stood erect at the base of the Stop sign belied the fact it had been recently placed in its careful upright position. Quickly glancing around, Malcom hoped to catch a glimpse of the secret messenger, but was met by empty parking lots and a deserted golf course. Again the envelope was addressed: “Good Morning Mr. McJones.” He tore it open as he walked back home and discovered the promised $200 in cash along with another web address.

Malcom mixed up another potion of black java and hazelnut creamer. The coffee’s delightful aroma waned as he pecked in the new search on his Dell computer. A second later the lime green screen displayed a new question and directions: Good for you Mr. McJones! Now, would you like to collect an easy $500 for a new book shelf? The cursor blinked about as much as Malcom’s staring eyes did. But a thought later revealed he recognized the location of the new address as well.

After his third cup of wake-up juice Malcom found himself flying down the freeway. Locating mile marker 494. He pulled over into the emergency lane of the overpass. At the base of the sign, a string was attached to a badly stained white cord with yet another envelope taped to the tail of the cord. Once again he was greeted by name, but this he time read the card on the spot. Along with another web address, was a note that read: “Sorry but the $500 is at the next location, and bring the cord.”

Back in his car, Malcom thumbed the address into his Blackberry. As it uploaded a picture, Malcom looked around to see if he could notice anyone waiting for his next move. As the traffic bustled beside his car, and the gas stations and hotels declared their own business, no one appeared to be aware of his small existence on the nearby bridge. With blinker on, he merged back into the flow of traffic heading north. Punching the address into his GPS locator, the coordinates pinpointed the exact spot of an area next to his lakeside apartments. A park.

As he pulled into an empty space, Malcom noticed a small hastily-drawn sign in block letters: ‘THIS WAY MR. McJONES.” Curiously, Malcom found himself leaving his car and heading down the sidewalk, then entering the undeveloped woodland. Down the winding pathway’s worn trail Malcom meandered, looking for any sign of another envelope.

He had driven by this very park and wooded area a thousand times but had never actually been here before. He did not have any kids to yell their fool heads off in the playground nor a dog to take a crap everywhere. Just when he was about to call it quits, he noticed something white up ahead in a clearing. Just as he arrived, picked up the envelope and read the: “HERE’S YOUR REWARD,” the sound of a thousand clicks rang out.

Before he could even investigate the sound, Malcom turned around just long enough to see at least twenty odd heavily armed SWAT members aiming their weapons on him. The police were repeatedly shouting for him to get on the ground. A heart beat later and someone had pounced on him from behind, slapping handcuffs around his wrist, as he suddenly noticed that he lay before a freshly dug grave mound.

After his court appointed attorney left his grey jail cell, one of the guards came up to his bared door and reopened it. With squinted hawk-eyes and a shaking head, he announced, “McJones, you got a phone call.” His quick head nod signified that if Malcom did not go now the cell door would be locked again.

Down the long hallway of cameras, locked doors, and watchful eyes bearing down on him, Malcom was led to a booth and picked up the resting phone receiver.

“Hello?”

“Well, Mr. McJones congratulations on receiving your just reward; I guess you won’t be cutting me off in traffic any more - now will you? Cop killer.”

* * * * *

Your GOD is just as valid as my god...

2009-09-25T10:00:00.005-05:00

Regardless what what you may think of Evolution or God,{even if it is as The Flying Spaghetti Monster}, we all have our own personal views of Deity, and that view should not be mandated by another's view. I love this; one of the best comments I've heard about "the after life" was: "... After death is easy-- as the newest member of the "team" I won't be expected to know anything, so I plan on just sitting quietly in the back during orientation hoping to escape the attention of the powers that be." -The Master Tehuti.

Damn Basterds!

2009-09-16T10:26:00.004-05:00

We saw the Inglourious Basterds movie, pretty wild ride. A Jewish revenge movie if ever there was such a thing, geesh! To me the saddest thing about this flick was it was only a movie, 6 million still died; but cinema last forever they say.

This is Us

2009-09-10T18:22:00.001-05:00

David and Alice Snow

9- 11 REMEMBERED

2009-09-05T09:50:00.002-05:00

We should remember those who lost their lives and the saddness of that day; though many have forgotten and moved on. I don't believe that the Govt. made 9-11 occur, but I do believe that their neglect to follow up on suspensions and work together with other agencies allowed it to occur; and I think Bush Jr. took advantage of the situation: went to war -with the wrong country, implemented the Patriot Act and created the Homeland Security Department as a way of expanding Govt. powers. We are not any safer since, it's just an illusion we all agree upon. I do feel there are many unanswered questions.

Conspiracy theories

Main article: 9/11 conspiracy theories

Proponents of conspiracy theories have suggested that individuals inside the United States possessed detailed information about the attacks and deliberately chose not to prevent them, or that individuals outside of al-Qaeda planned, carried out, or assisted in the attacks. Some conspiracy theorists claim the World Trade Center did not collapse because of the crashing planes but was demolished through the use of explosives.^[174] This controlled demolition hypothesis is rejected by the National Institute of Standards and Technology and by the American Society of Civil Engineers, who, after their research, both concluded that the impacts of jets at high speeds in combination with subsequent fires caused the collapse of both Twin Towers

Ra`More

2009-09-03T10:13:00.003-05:00

This is a photoshop composite ,(made up from 19 other pictures), of a place in my story. Ra`More means Great-Tree. The Last Elven refuge, a Shrine and home of King Ithel`Fay and Wy`Omel his queen. I am not finished with this shot, I still need the "myithla", the sea shell Viel, curtain for both doorway enterances. But, what do you think of it so far?

THE WATCHERS SCROLL

2009-08-23T09:58:00.005-05:00

This is just a note to self, about a portion from the original version:

“Beneath that evening star dome, lead/

Lord Elrond with his people shed/

the woes of a war torn land/

healed by a fulfilled king’s hand.//

Aboard their swan-carved ships/

with praises high on ruby lips;/

one - with Halflings dressed in vests/

rewarded for a legendary quest.//

Yet some later said by folly of pride/

those brothers fought and lied/

their bonds they broke and took/

all loyalties of oaths forsook.//

Shelda`Mar pleaded for we few to come/

aboard Valithnor’s ship, Cirdan’s drum;/

unto those undying lands of hope and grace,/

yet outraged, Vendu`Mar abandon his place.//

On faded docks did Vendu`Mar argue/

against his brother’s command he drew/

harsh words like a bitter sword that bites,/

though Shelda`Mar in sorrow took flight.//

The wizard Gan`Mereith admonished us/

to be wary against our growing lust;/

Sal`Gilvan and Veth`Dema barked back/

with their own words of black.//

We stayed like an anointed remnant,/

who saw it our goal to rule as imminent,/

teaching a new lore to lesser men/

with a diverse tongue, Sinenya I penned.//

Like unto Sindar was Sinenya made/

with new characters and words I laid;/

letters designed for new purposes crafted/

for initiated secretes were they drafted.//

For the greed of some soon railed apparent/

as our original cravings became too variant;/

instead of being counselors to students in need/

many wayward misguidings did breed.//

Celegreth of the elven Crystal Caves,/

and Kwandol the dwarven mason, made;/

a Great Hall like greeting hands/

domed six hundred years, still stands.//

Close to the bay a watchtower stood/

with a bell’s tolling alarm it would;/

chime forth the hours of the Great Hall/

for secret Brothers to heed its call.//

In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met/

among fireside rituals fussed and fret;/

knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,/

preaching failed expectations, we groped.//

High in that Watchtower’s nest/

its bell replaced we thought best;/

with a pyre set eternally aflame,/

for others to return without shame.//

On the day the oil-soaked wood was lit,/

by Fay`Symodare’s death all were hit;/

the shadow that fulfilled Mereith’s woe,/

the bane of mortal man became our snow.//

From his ashes we gathered a portion/

entombed in an urn with grave distinction;/

the rest we scattered upon the sea/

and swore our own would mix free.//

The Guild

2009-08-19T09:26:00.004-05:00

Only those of us who have ever played way too many roleplay hours on the computer will get this one. I came across a Dark Horse Comic called, The Guild. It's about a geeky circle of individuals whose lives become interwoven as friends from cyberspace and meet in reality. Check out the show: The Guild. "It's Special."

Joker bamah

2009-08-08T08:37:00.007-05:00

I love it, finally some one has the balls to make fun of him; even if it was for a Time magazine cover.

Some say the picture isn't as evil as a government plan to annex health care. Others say Obama is fair game since George W. Bush was portrayed sprouting devil horns, elephant ears and Alfred E. Neuman's "What me worry?" gaze. Others call the Joker picture clearly racist because of Obama's whitewashed face, darkened eyes and elongated lips.

Why does everything have to be "racist"? When you can make fun of a white republican, but because the guy is black; if we say we don't like his Socialistic politics it's racist, what a Joker.

Destruction Unseen

2009-07-26T10:31:00.003-05:00

Truth of the matter is when the ends comes we will probably not even see it coming!

THE SCROLL BOX

2009-07-25T20:02:00.002-05:00

From my novel, THE WATCHERS REQUIEM:

It was a small wooden box, almost the length and breath of Fayendar’s hand. Its lid was latched closed in such a way that its simple metal flip-lock needed no key. The lid’s top surface was ornately carved with a hand pointing left to an eye, below that was a swan-carved ship whose three unfurled sails were points. A small scroll was rolled onto two spindles that were locked in place by the closed lid. Fayendar noticed that when he turned the left spindle the text was written in such a way that the lid’s carvings pointed out certain passage details: either chapter, verse or circled letters. After decoding the circled letters, Fayendar read a message that really astounded him. For the author had written a warning not to add or take away from his words.

The tale he read on the scrolls were almost identical in every detail to Lyerah’s personal account. The Watcher‘s Book he had studied all those years at Varlendur paled in comparison to the beautiful simplicity of the original scrolls. For it contained none of the additional embellishings about the family and priestly lineages who followed the Watchers. Neither were there any of the proverbial sayings and ceremonial songs nor the lyrical prohibitions against associating with dwarves, and venturing into the western woods of Kinderval.

Fayendar began to remember all his ‘sacred service,’ the mundane ceremonial duties he had preformed, and how they were labeled as ‘theocratic secrets,’ forbidden to be shared with even his non-priestly family members. Strangely his eyes began to tear up. He felt strange inside. A scene of loss, and a feeling of gain all at the same time. He had been told his whole life what the book said, by so many people, that finally being able to read it for himself was almost overwhelming. There was also a scene of disappointment, because its difference was so different, so plain and simple, yet believable. Suddenly, he knew his tears were of joy. For he felt an inward growth, and the weight of all his guilt and frustration finally lifted from his mind and heart. Learning the truth of ‘The Truth’ had given him the confidence he needed to face anything.

No Obama Care in Texas!!!

2009-07-23T16:14:00.003-05:00

http://www.notintexas.org/Letter_to_Reps.htm

Everyone:

The government wants to run ALL of our healthcare. The government will choose your doctor and what, or if, you get medications. And the government will MAKE you carry healthcare and if you don't then you will be fined for not doing so. Consider signing the Letter to Texas state politicans. VERY EASY !

Our New Pets

2009-07-20T23:31:00.006-05:00

Thanks to my daughter's web surfing, I purchased two, (a male and female) ferrets today, and their cage and toys all for $100.00. I named them Sam and Rosie, from The Lord of the Rings.

SPACE FLIGHT - That first step...

2009-07-20T10:45:00.005-05:00

I love Babylon 5, but what's the Truth about that moon walk thing?

Guess we really did go to the moon, huh?

So much for the myth-believers and the conspiracy theorists.

The Fairy Lands of Norwood

2009-07-17T12:34:00.003-05:00

Harry Potter

2009-07-16T10:41:00.003-05:00

We really enjoyed the latest Half-Blood Prince installment of the Harry Potter series. We've read all the books as they came out and each film on its opening night, and as usual this one was the best! If you've never read them or seen the films; get started - you wont regret the experience.

Birthday Wisdom Gone

2009-07-13T09:44:00.003-05:00

The day before my 46th Happy Birthday I had two molars extracted; one upper and one lower on the left side of my mouth. I'm still drugged and dealing with the pain though it is going away. Glad Wisdom doesn't come by and lost with teeth.

Still plugging away on my epic, and finding inspiration with my other two short stories. I can't seem to just write, seems bits and pieces come to me at a time. Usually through dreams or collaborations of ideas during conversations with others.

Throbbing in my jaw, ache in my ear, and lack of interest in any thing else must mean its time for another pain reliever...

My Writings...

2009-07-10T08:25:00.003-05:00

THE WATCHERS REQUIEM; An epic fantasy.

INSTITUTIONAL ME; humorous horror flick

DEAD SECRETS; serious murder mystery

I'm trying to discover a new nich in life. Seems becoming a writer is sneaking up on me. Well if I do have any kind of readership I would be encouraged to hear their thoughts. I'd like to published one before I die and become forgotten, and forget.

Dead Secrets

2009-07-10T08:23:00.000-05:00

David DeLaine Snow

Next to a pile of bills and collection notices on the coffee table lay George’s final note; which read: “It all got out of hand and I’m so sorry, but I can’t stop.”

George’s gambling debts had drained their joint bank accounts, and now Jillian was left holding several unpaid Payday loans. She lost her land line, Cable, and her utilities were being threatened with getting shut off as well. Now, she had to wait for his Insurance policy to kick in and pay for his cremation. Their eight months of marriage had not seen them do any more than verbally plan for their future old-aged deaths. Hence the wait began.

…………..

Jillian entered the bustle of the Police Department, and walked up to the information desk, telling the clerk, “I would like to report a murder.” Everyone turned and looked at her. “Actually, I think I may have some information about those missing people in the news.”

　More forth coming...

INSTITUTIONAL ME

2009-07-10T08:20:00.001-05:00

A short story by

David DeLane Snow

“Douglas stop that!” Yelled a staff from across the room.

Then uncharacteristically, the client spoke out, “Eerey yehaa Cthulhuoot!”

“Shut it up, Douglas, now!” Admonished another staff who came running out of the dinning area, adjacent to the long hallway off the dayroom area. The first staff threw him unexpectedly to the ground binding his flying arms underneath him, while the other laid across his legs.

“Calm down, Douglas - and damn it, you know what that means!” Said Thomas, who bore across the pinned man’s shoulders.

“He probably thought that he saw you-know-who’s car.” Robert said as he restrained the limp legs.

“Jason’s?” asked Thomas.

“Man, let him up.” Which they both did, assisting Douglas to his feet with earnest sincerity, then Robert injected, “Geesh, I’d have a behavior episode too if I saw him coming in this early.” They both laughed, then turned and began looking out the window with the glass-licking client in the middle, just to make sure it wasn’t a black Ford pickup after all.

About that time I began rocking back and forth, hoping they would not start yelling at me next. My first two weeks here had been rough, but manageable. The food wasn’t quiet Red Lobster, but neither was crazy aunt Bertha’s cooking either. Bathing was a little embarrassing at first, but -

-Shit!

- What happened?

- Marshall crapped on himself, again.

- What? He knows better than that.

- Ronnie, what are you looking at?

I quickly began looking out the clouded saliva-smeared window, tilting my head with a rocking shake.

-What’s a matter with him.

- Strange.

- No duah, their all retarded man.

- Yeah, well -- He’s just weird.

Robert took the wet and soiled Marshall by the elbow, redirecting him down the long hallway to the restroom as Thomas completed arranging the tables for the evening meal. The sounds of a rushing waterfall and bird calls artificially filled the dayroom with its repeated annoyance; but along the scenic-box’s picture frame, that hung of the opposite wall from me, I saw my reflection. My face seem to have thinned in two weeks, my hair was only finger combed and I was left unshaved for the second day in a row. As I observed the behaviors of the other clients around me with grave interest, I began wondering where in the world I landed myself.

　More forth coming...

Sorry, No Copies Follow.

2009-07-02T11:44:00.001-05:00

To my shame. After his passing I was so distraught and angry; about how his last few years were lived, and his death itself. When cleaning out his apartment, much of his own things had been sold or discarded and when I came along to clean up after him I followed suit, and did the same thing. Yet, weeks/months later I became eaten up with the regret that I had discarded what precious little I did come across: ancient poems from his college years, portions of his role playing story notes, and beginning chapters of a fantasy novel about Casmar and Duke. My only redeeming quality in this matter is that I have come across Chapter One of his story. My raw thinking at the time was that I could not allow myself to “waste” my time finishing his life when my own life, and novel need completion. Now, how much of my own life will be discarded upon my passing? I am all the more pressured to publish my first novel. Though there is a small homage to him I can never undo with did; I’m sorry Michael.

2009-07-02T10:55:00.001-05:00

What's the next big thing?

2009-07-02T10:13:00.003-05:00

My whole life I have always felt like I was waiting for something. The Jestsons had us looking for flying cars and jet packs, Star Trek had us looking forward to sliding doors and cell phones, and Space 1999 had us looking for Moon Base Alpha. The Maya 2012 and the Jehovah's Witnesses 1975...

The Furturist; so, what's the next big thing?

ICONS die too

2009-06-25T12:04:00.005-05:00

Sign of the times that my generation is getting old and dying out; ending of an era. I loved Michael Jackson's music but wasn't like a real crazy fan of his weirdness. I use to have this poster of Farrah, like every teenage boy in the late 1970's. Kinda sad to hear of her passing; she gave it a good fight, something we could all learn from.

Tehuti The Dreamer

2009-06-24T10:30:00.005-05:00

Well! Since he didn't like the picture I used for my last post, so I redid it for this one. My best-good friend! Mike and I have known one another since sixth grade, Junior and Senior High Schools, best-men at the other's weddings, and blogger along the way. Our lives always seem to cross and weave just when we need each other the most. True life long Friends.

Mike is a true artist. He's imagination sparks the creative gifts in others, yet he himself is imbued with originality. A special person and great friend! Thanks for being who you are.

My Book YOUR FACE!

2009-06-18T21:41:00.003-05:00

I have really come to be impressed with FACEBOOK. Through it I have rediscovered individuals I have not seen since Junior and High School. I droped out in 1982, shoud have graduated in '83 but got a GED in '87 - wasn't quiet the same. I am publicly very proud all of those folks who did so and have gone on to do great things... Check out FB, and get back in touch with your past, it's never too late to start the future!

Iconic Photos that Stay with you

2009-06-17T10:54:00.005-05:00

This shocking photo depicts a starving Sudanese child being stalked by a patient vulture. It is a horrific picture that gave people a true look at the dire condition in Sub-Saharan Africa. Kevin Carter, who took the photo, won a Pulitzer Prize for this work. Kevin then came under a lot of scrutiny for spending over 20 minutes setting up the photo instead of helping the child. Three months after taking the photo, he committed suicide.