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FB-THE GAZEBO



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   The heat of the long day and his Lasagna supper were weighing heavily on him with drowsiness  The action on the TV screen seem to have blurred out again from his field of vision.  Surely the wave of numbness that soothed his thoughts was simply him dosing off again.  He had fought that feeling of nodding off for the last half hour or so.  This time he allowed himself to be over taken by the sensation.
   His vision blurred back into focus from a soft blackened-gray to a brilliant green glow.  At first his eyes hurt.  But quickly they adjusted to his woodland surroundings as the forest colors he found himself in were less saturated in light.  A fallen tree on his left and the moss covered branches overhead had a familiar look; like the area near his own apartments.  Yet they were not.

   He found himself walking along on a pathway. Naturally cut through the woods by its lack of foliage. The smells of damp leave and distant bird calls felt somehow comforting and all the more inviting to him, so he continued. There slowly appeared from the thickness of trees, a clearing. In the midst of the open area was a stair-stepped gazebo encircled with paved stones inscribed with designs of stars, moons, swirls, and names he couldn't make out.
   Just as he was standing there taking in the fascinating sight the figure of a young woman emerged.
   “Who are you?” He called to the woman on the other side of the woodland’s strangely place gazebo.  She seem to have appeared out of nowhere, or having just stepped out from the shadows.
   Her hair was up in a high fashion with ringlet curls along her smooth jaw line. Short sleeved white blouse, and a long blue jean skirt; very attractive, but conservative look.  She answered back through the frame work of the structure before her, “You don’t know me?” Making him suddenly blush in his ill-recognition of her.
   “Hum - Sorry, should I?” Her expression was as if she it was her turn to have been caught off guard.  Her wide eyes puzzled to place his bearded face, framed by shoulder length graying-hair.  The man was in his late forties but his aged highlights always got him pegged as being older.  With John Lennon glasses riding his nose she caught him smiling at her from fifteen feet away.
   "My name is Neil.  Neil Lindsey, and you?"
   "Sabrina." Then with a brilliant smile, beamed, "Sabrina Huffman."
   The black haired woman could have been brunette, but who could tell for sure in dreams, he thought to himself. She looked to be in her late twenties maybe, yet her youthful looks and soft blue eyes had captivated him already.
   She held an upright pose as her well formed body seemed to gracefully glide closer to the gazebo that stood between them both. Speaking as she glanced about for a moment, “Well, you are in my dream.” She intoned emphatically while climbing up the three steps as if she owned the cushioned seats personally.

   “No.  You’re in mine.” He nudge with a softer voice making her smile back as he edged around approaching the pristinely painted steps.
   “Well, looks like we’re both dreaming the same dream here.” She said with an almost seductive blush on her high cheeks.
   He quickly added as he beamed back, drawing closer to where she sat. “…and in the same one it seems.”
   “I must have went to sleep ‘bout an hour ago on the couch reading a Ted Dekker novel on my Kindle.”
   His brows furrowed for an instant at not knowing her favorite author’s name, “Hum - well, I was watching an episode of The Tudors on Blue-Ray.”
   Feeling a little pleased in an odd way; she had never heard of his movie either, “Strange how different we are and yet we’ve found one another in the same dream-scape it seems.” Her cutting eyes had a captivating charm to him as he blushed back, wanting to know more of her.  His eyes soaked up her form and his thoughts raced with imaginations.
   Hoping his fishing for a compliment would work, offered up, “Not all that different I guess.  Seems this gazebo’s tiled-courtyard could have been from both of our imaginations, hum?”
   Half buying his offer, conceded,  “I suppose.  Could have, I am a ferocious reader.” Then looking about for any extra book or movie props added, “Who knows?”
   Giving her a full smile, “You - are just - beautiful.  Gorgeous in fact, if you don’t mind me being so bold…”
  Accepting his boldness with a smile of her own and deep inhale, “Not at all.  Flattery is nice sometimes.” Quickly glancing him up and down she offered her own complimentary remark, “You seem perfect yourself.”
   Yielding up a blush, “Ha - I’m anything but - but thanks all the same.”

   “Well… Now that we’ve found ourselves here what would you like to do?”  She smiled and folded her hands in her lap.
   “You’re voice is like a song. Wow! I hear you so clearly yet your lips aren’t even moving.”
   She smiled a brilliant grin, and blushingly rolled her eyes, brushing off his compliment.  “Seems anything goes here; dreams are that way ya know.”
   Continuing his thought filled answer, “Well, I love it! Makes you all the more fascinating to me.”  She rolled her eyes again with a slight grimace of annoyance at his endearment, but gave him a second chance to redeem himself as he continued with, “How about we just sit up here awhile and chat before to reality of the world comes crashing in around us and we both wake up."
   A little more uplifting, she smiled and rewarded his efforts with, “You’re cute.”
   His whirling thoughts searched through the expressions and asked her, “How’s that?”
   She softly pronounced her surprise, “Wanting to stay with me, I was just thinking the same thing about you. Are you reading my thoughts?”

   Surveying the woods as he paced back and forth from one railing to the other.  After a moment or so Neil finally took a seat across from his dreaming companion as a light mist of rain began to haze about them.  As a purple butterfly fluttered between them he suggested, “I guess I should just share who I really am instead of complicating things with a lot of wishful thinking or complex fantasies, ‘eh?”
   Then almost completing his thoughts, she injected, “…and just what are we to one another; if not, apparently each other’s ‘Happy Thoughts’?”

   Over the next few weeks Neil had begun going to bed earlier, and found himself sleeping progressively later and later in the day.  So much so had his obsession with sleeping, and trying desperately at trying to recapture the same blissful dream and its continuation; that he ended up losing his job as a forklift operator at the Wal-Mart warehouse.
   Two days into his search for a new job something from beyond the newspaper’s job listings caught Neil’s ear.  Blaring as background noise came a story from the nightly news showcasing the very gazebo from his obsessive dreams.  The anchorman said the structure, which happened to be a real place near a local wooded area, was to be replaced by a mall’s off ramp.  It was to be bulldozed that very afternoon.

   Rushing in his car to the exact site, Neil drove twelve miles from his Lake Cliff apartments. Jumping out of his car and   He stood in the parking lot and starred with a mixture of emotions.  First at the carnage before him, then at what lay passed it.  For there, just as the last roofing shingles and timbers imploded beneath the roaring force of the reversing bulldozer, was the woman from his dreams.  Dressed in a long blue jean skirt and white blouse was Sabrina Huffman, standing on the opposite side of the newly rubbled heap.  Like him she had raced to the site hoping against hope to find him as well.  So it was how they met for the first time during their waking lives in a parking lot on the verge of creating a new reality

FB- THE ENVELOPES


The Envelope
By
David DeLaine Snow

       As beautiful as Jennifer Lessinger was, the one thing the dark haired court-appointed attorney was not - was stupid.  Lacking any credible alibi, other than a brief morning exchange with a neighbor, her client’s story ran through her head again.  His ramblings were disjointed, and accented with excited gestures.  The round face and uncombed shaggy hair gave him the appearance of an uneducated man.  Looking in need of not only a shave but clean clothes as well, he looked every bit the guilty part.  Yet, was he set up as he had claimed?
     Jennifer’s office was leaning hard on her to put this guy away, and fast.  But her thoughts whirled through the details, searching for inconsistencies and motive.  Suddenly, looking up from her scribbled notes into the green eyes of the nervous defendant sitting across the table from her, she said, “Okay.” Sounding almost like a cop, “Look - the cops went through your place with a fine-tooth comb, and not only did they not find any of these envelopes you keep going on about, there was not even so much as a laptop, iPad or cell phone.   So, your story’s not adding up here, Malcolm. Let’s go through this one more time.  Without the delusions, and don’t throw in any tricky neighbors either.  The truth this time, alright?”
Then adding with a frustrated smirk, “Yeah - and this time without all the breaks and hand waving, alright?”







    

      Motley Crew blared through the speakers with a pounding beat. 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 lanes to exit the freeway did he even glance up into the rear view mirror, noting the 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.  Being a dog catcher was wearing on him; it was all road kill and bites.  A lousy one week, he thought to himself.  His second week of vacation 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 Jennifer Lessinger, his court appointed attorney quietly got up, she hurriedly stuffed her notes back into the black leather satchel, and left the cramped interview room.  She turned to her client with a disinterest smug tone, and said, “I’ll have to see what the senior partners want to do with your case.” Then without waiting for his reply continued leaving.
    Then after going back to his grey jail cell, Malcolm slumped on his bunk’s firm overused mattress and began to have that sinking feeling.  Then, before closing the bared door a squinted hawk-eyed guard shook his head and 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.
   Going in the opposite direction of the lawyer.  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?  Ha, being framed for being a Cop killer.”

FB-THE COMPLEX



THE COMPLEX

   On the outskirts of a small Texas town just north of the Metroplex was The Lake Cliff Apartment Complex.  They had been constructed in the boom of the late 1970’s expansion; but the city’s growth had taken a turn in a different direction over the years since. Times had changed.  The Complex was not the best of the high end apartments, even during its heyday; and yet was not the lowest by any means.  They were just the middle of the road of the middle class on an average income.  The apartments could have been anywhere in America, and that was what made these stories all the more disturbing.  Because it is the lives of those who reside there that make it interesting at most.  Some, but not all have interwoven their lives.  Some are invisible to their community while others are the unseen fabric of the community.  These are just a few of the stories about those incredible lives, hidden in plain sight that you have often wondered about.



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FB-STORIES

  
I "Published" several of my short stories on Facebook, and created pics for each. All of the characters of my short stories are all connected in some way.  Their lives are woven with the fabric having either lived in or currently residing at THE COMPLEX. Those who appear to be simple background characters in one tale are the main players of another story. Hope you enjoy. Comments are welcomed. 


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CAUTION WHEN READING!!!!

http://www.endtime.com/tag/armageddon/

A picture from my childhood as a Jehovah's Witness and why I am so Cautious about listening about Wolves being cried!!!

Me and a Coke what else do you need to smile? LOL


TIME NOTES...


Mitchelton the Cop Killer

In my story THE TRENDELENBUG EFFECT, Lynn a friend of the main character is murdered. In another story THE ENVELOPES the killer "frames" another person for the murder...read How.
:
http://thenephilimage.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-envelope.html

Never too late to live

Depression is the thing I don't address
it slips in unannounced
grabs hold and pulls me down
to its swallowing depth
of blackening grey numbness
a crushing breath non-caring
curling and caving in on myself
the begging of others to understand
but refusing their care in disbelief
yet the slow growing breath of silence
but air of time and renewal
however the mood of change
the smile I may not be alone
the realization of forgiveness
the wake of others before me
the gloom is without doom
and the doom only an illusion
for this too shall pass in grace
I truly am not alone
there are those who've endure
tenacity greater than my own
love deeper than my desires
refreshing comes even in another's
solemn sweet smile they've
been there too; I can over come...

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