The Saddle

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There is a saddle high, where a good man fell…

There is a trail leading to it with countless stories to tell…

Shifted earth and trodden grass…

Footprints, water jugs, and mounds of trash…

That night in October, Nick walked up this hill…

Unknowing, assuming it was to be run-of-the-mill…

Things went wrong and Nick fell there…

Up in the saddle, in that fresh air…

“Nick’s Saddle” is how it is now known…

As a reminder that our earthly bodies are but on loan…

The soul of that man watches over those he left behind…

While they patiently await for their own time…

There is a saddle high, where a good man fell…

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The Face

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Barking. Incessant barking. My wife’s chihuahua is so close to being physically thrown out the back door.

“FITZY, SHUUUTT UUUPPP!!!”

This room is black. The darkness in here is so complete. I raise my hand in front of my face only to find no indication of something breaking the space immediately in front of me. It’s only black in here. I must have enabled the sleep timer on the television before I got too tired to set it. Usually when I fall asleep in front of the television, I forget to set the timer and my wife lets me know about it.

Continue reading The Face

Scene Stealers, Number Two

coyoteAnna watched the sun come up for the fifth day in a row. Sleep had eluded her since the accident. The insect sounds she recalled from her childhood were absent. The silence was deafening. There was nothing out here. She didn’t know how their car had gone this far off the road. The last thing she remembered was fumbling with her phone as she drove, sending a text to her mother, letting her know they were on their way, and then she no longer had control of the car.

Turning her head was painful, but she periodically looked over at John. The entire right side of his face was blackened from his head smacking into the passenger window as they had left the road. He didn’t seem to be cognizant of what had happened or where they were. Even though she tried to ask him how he was doing, her voice, weak with exhaustion and hunger, would barely make a sound. She tried to clear her throat, but the force it took to raise enough breath left her head spinning again.

As her vision settled, she turned to look out her shattered window. Two coyotes were both looking at her, each with their head cocked at an angle. Slowly, the pair turned their heads in the opposite direction of each other, their eyes never leaving hers.

John gasped sharply, coughed and then sighed slowly. She rotated her head again to see if he was coming around, but he was still unresponsive. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of motion. Turning back, there were now four coyotes looking at her. They were closer now to the broken driver’s window. Each head tilted opposite of one another, they didn’t appear to blink at all. They were waiting.

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Back in December, I had posted another Scene Stealers entry as an exercise in creativity. This is the entry for ANOTHER one from their archives.

The rules are as follows;

  • You must use the exact wording provided by the site’s editors.
  • Your scene/story must be 300 words or less.
  • Your work must be original and not previously published.

The sentences provided were “Anna watched the sun come up for the fifth day in a row. Sleep had eluded her since the accident.”

I just “built” around that. What’s funny is that I was listening to Marc Streitenfeld’s score to “The Grey” while writing this.

Hmmm.

The Rider – Part 6

Hitchhiker1The next afternoon my brother called our parents from the Marine recruiter’s office. He was not emotional in the least; it was only a call to let them know that they were having some paperwork issues and he would be late for dinner. The printer in the recruiter’s office had been acting up and they were in the process of repairing it.
Continue reading The Rider – Part 6

Getting the milk for free?

Profits in the bagsI have been writing for just about as long as I can remember. There are millions of words out there that I’ve laid down, some public and some not. As I come into my late 30s I realized that I have never made a dime off the stuff that is bouncing around inside of my head. My wife has asked me over the last couple of years, jokingly, when I am going to publish a novel so we can retire and live off royalties. On the one hand, I am a bit of a dreamer, but on the other I am a realist. I am aware that the writing market is saturated with people who think that others want to hear what they think, maybe even NEED to hear what they think, and they’re willing to charge a fee for those thoughts

Continue reading Getting the milk for free?