I’ve come to love the silence.

As a victim of violence I never thought I would.

My last thoughts as a human child was running from my father. I had forgotten to finish raking the yard and he had come home early from the bar. I had no idea what he was going to do. All I knew was that I had to run.


I can’t run anymore, but run is what I did that day. I ran to save my life. I heard his yells… his screams… I was terrified and ran. I ran through the woods, praying for something. I didn’t even know what I was just praying for something… an out. A hiding place. A savior. Anything at all.

I could hear my father growing closer and fear grabbed me in its iron grip. I couldn’t see anything. I just ran.

Terror struck me just as the tree did. I had run full speed into a tree. I could feel the lower branches gripping me, hiding me. I prayed… begged off all that was holy that I was truly hidden as I had the crashes of my father running through the woods.

I can save you. But there’s a price.

There’s always a price, I told the voice in my head. I sobbed silently as I thought about my childhood so far. What other price could I pay?

Stay and be calm. I have you, little seedling.

I felt more branches push closer around me. The crashing of my father came closer and I could hardly breath in my fear.

They went past.

I could scarcely believe my fortune. I couldn’t think of what I would have to pay for this. I could never go home again. I refused to think of him again.

You are my seedling now.

My eyes grew wide as the import of my situation became clear. I could feel myself growing smaller, until myself was nearly not. I could feel my hardened body picked up and carried away. I didn’t know then where I would end up, but I knew that I would no longer be hurt or threatened by my father again.

I have come to love that silence.

Short fiction based on a planned novella story.

Jello Eaters

My prayers go out to Jello Eaters

Living by the beep of meters

The ones who give blood to know

Waiting on the lab coats to show

Visitors and guests that pester

While their anxiety still festers

Constant tests and hospital fluff

All the while finding words tough

For every ouch and every meal

Pain center being a little too real

For those watching the chart readers

My prayers go out to the Jello Eaters


For anyone expecting a brilliant blog, you’re going to have to wait. I’m working on some things, but when I saw The Daily Prompt’s prompt for today I had to write something. They’re asking us to blog about  some of the more meaningful hand-me-downs that we’ve gotten.

There’s a lot of hand-me-downs that I’ve gotten through out my life. Clothes, bags, toys. You name it, I’ve probably received it. My grandmother used to send us used clothes or pocketbooks and tuck folded up bills or small checks into the pockets.

I think my favorite hand-me-downs is the postcard collection that I received from my mother. It wasn’t just her cards, but also cards that had been given to her by other family members. I can’t even read some of them because of different languages. Postcard collections are more than just cool pictures. They are cool pictures with a family story to go with them. It’s a little like sitting down with an elderly family member and their photo albums. You can see the pictures of where they went and the message on the cards gives you a little bit about what was going on when they sent it. You get a bit of the story even when the participants are gone.

It’s one of many reasons why I started messing around with Post Crossing. You send out post cards to random people across the world and the website enters you into a log to receive a random postcard back. I’ve received post cards from places I had never heard of before. It gives you a chance to learn a little bit about other cultures, other people, and sometimes even a little bit about the language.

People rarely take the time to send postal mail these days. When was the last time you sent or received a post card? Or even a letter?


Serial Story: Going Fishing

We had agreed to meet at the old rundown bait shop near the end of the road. I had told her that I would wait for her by the old wooden Indian that almost every old bait shop seemed to have. It was to be a simple picnic date out by the river. A little lunch. A little fishing. A little conversation. It was supposed to have been a simple getting to know you sort of date.

We hadn’t been dating that long. It was our third date, unless you count our first chance meeting at the grocery store. We had met over the watermelons and started talking about gardening and other hobbies. The next weekend had me heading over to her apartment to look over her tiny herb garden on her small balcony. Later that week she showed up at my tiny house in the woods to comment and help harvest a few of the vegetables from my own garden.

The fishing trip had been her suggestion. She had never fished before, but she was intent on learning as much as possible to be as independent as possible. I thought it was a grand idea, but somehow I couldn’t see her small, delicate hands cleaning fish or even baiting hooks.

Nevertheless, I found myself leaning against the wall, next to my Indian guard, as I mentally ran through the contents of my tackle box and the picnic basket. Even if she ended up being bored of the fishing expedition, I was determined to make a good day out of both the company and the fishing.

A dust cloud coming down the road had me standing straighter and brushing off the dust from the road. Even if it was just a third date, I wanted to make the right impression. We weren’t close enough to warrant introducing her to friends or family, but our easy conversations were surely a good sign for things to come.

“Hi Johnny!” I smiled as I took in her khaki shorts and tied back blonde hair. She had at least tried to dress the part, I thought.

“Hey Anna Belle,” I said, leaving the wall and walking over to her dust coated car. I gave her a quick hug in greeting before gesturing to both of our cars. “Did you want to ride out with me or did you want to take your car?” I knew that some girls, especially previously city girls, were gun-shy about giving up the control of driving to a guy, a relative stranger.

“Your car is fine,” she said as she started pulling fishing equipment out of her trunk. I was glad to see that she had her own tackle box and fishing pole. I had been concerned that she wouldn’t think to get her own equipment, but to be safe I had quickly dragged my old fishing pole out of storage. I figured at the very least we would both had poles and at the best I would have two lines in the water at once.

“I was thinking that we’d hit part of the river just a little bit down the road from here,” I suggested as I took her tackle box from her and put them with mine in my truck bed. “I’ve been told that there’s decent catfish out there.” Anna Belle nodded, but hesitated after adding her fishing pole to mine in the back of the truck.

“I suppose so,” she said. I walked around to the passenger door and held it open for her as my own father had taught me. “I had kind of hoped to trying some fishing out by the lighthouse.” I watched her climb in and made sure she was completely in before closing her door and making my way around the truck. I was trying to think fast to see if there were any reason why we couldn’t. I didn’t know what sort of tackle she had prepared for, but I had brought my larger box that had a little of everything.

“I reckon so,” I said as I slid into the driver seat. “I think I have enough tackle for the ocean.” I thought I remember putting a small aquarium fishnet in my truck just for catching bait fish. I might actually use it for once, I thought to myself.

“I always wanted to go out there,” she said happily. She just looked out her window, content, as I back my truck out of the parking lot. The lighthouse was just a short distance off from the bait shop. I figured that was the reason it had been built there. It was halfway between the two best fishing spots in the area. I didn’t usually go fishing by the ocean, but it wasn’t because I didn’t like the salty water. I just preferred the taste of the river fish. I had joked in the past about being a born and bred catfish man.

“It’s nice enough,” I said as I turned my truck off of the gravel road and down the path to the lonely lighthouse.


Brought to you Courtesy of:

Tell Me A Story Saturday – Writing Challenge – 5/17/14

(Somebody had to get me working on this idea again)

Advantage of Foresight

With the loss of a single day of your life every time you use it, would you use a power to predict the future?

I’m not altogether certain I would. It would definitely be tempting to take a peek at lottery numbers, but would that really make my life any better? When I think about it, probably not. Sure, I would have a grand time spending it on other people and trying to set up trust funds and scholarships and such. But society as it is these days, too many people believe in taking what they get from others instead of working for what they need. By winning said lottery, not only would I be taking the easy route, I would be leading others into the temptation of the same. Perhaps that’s why God still hasn’t allowed me to win the lottery. That’s what I’d like to believe anyway.

Of course we could always use said power to see how our relationships would work out before getting into one. That would sure be handy. But would it be fair to cheat my future spouse out of even a single day together? And sometimes we’re put into another’s lives to teach them or to be taught something. If we look back, many times it is more our bad relationships that teach us how to treat someone properly. Even a bad example, can show us a good path.


All considered, I think I’d prefer to put my future in God’s hands. At least he wouldn’t lose days of life afterwards. 🙂

Would you use your power?

Advantage of Foresight.

Theoretical Cast Change of Doctor Who – The Daily Post Writing Prompt

Today’s daily prompt is putting us in the place of the casting director of our favorite television show or movie. But the catch is that we have to replace the entire cast with our family and friends.

Oh dear. My favorite show is Doctor Who and I can’t think of a single person who would be a good personality fit for the Doctor. Sure, his personality changes a little every time he regenerates but there’s still a quality to him that doesn’t. It’s that essence of fun, danger, excitement, and adventure all rolled up into a human shaped burrito. I’ve lead such a sheltered life that I can’t think of a single person who I could picture grabbing my hand and saying “Run!” The closest I can think of would be the oldest daughter of my friend, John (who I also think of as a friend). She’s an avid Doctor Who fan and with a little encouragement out of her shell I can picture her in his place. Besides, it’s about time the doctor regenerated into a woman.

I’d cast myself as the Doctor’s companion, but that would be a little bit unfair as the casting director. My oldest sister would be the Doctor’s companion because whenever there’s a natural disaster, car crash, house fire, or other sorts of emergencies nearby she always wants to go look at it. She says that she wants to help. but I think it’s primarily wanting to see the disaster itself. I can still remember after hurricane Hugo came through South Carolina, she was always wanting to go look at the damage, especially out by the beaches.

Captain Jack, if he were to ever come back to the show, could be any one of the guys at the McDonalds that I work at. One in particular, a guy we’ll call Harry, would be perfect. He’s a fun guy, definitely appreciates the ladies but is more than ready to step up when needed to help right a wrong. I can’t see him equally flirting with the opposite sex though. Or the aliens. I’m pretty sure he would try for the show though.

The Master, again if he were still in the show, would have to be my second sister. She always likes to think about perfect crimes and ways around the rules, even though she doesn’t believe in breaking those rules herself.

Who would you cast in your favorite shows? Leave your links to your responses to the writing prompt if you attempt it.

Cast Change.

Labor Day… Or Whose Season Is It Anyway?

It’s that wonderful, brilliant time of year again. The South is notorious for it, but I’m sure we’re not the only ones. Labor day is over. It’s fall again.

In the coming weeks, there will be mornings that start out cool enough to need to wear jackets. It’ll be delightful until the temperatures skyrocket halfway to lunch time and we’re sweltering in those warm clothes. In childhood, it meant lost jackets and sweaters. If you’re anything like me, it’s much the same as an adult. I can’t tell you how many times that I’ll be getting ready to head out, feel the chill in the air, and step back in to grab my jacket. But do I see it? Of course not. It’ll be a few minutes, but I’ll realize that once again my jacket has been left behind in the car. And when you’re young it’s usually one of those not quite plastic coats that are ten times colder and seem to take forever to warm up to body temperature. And during the Southern Fall that’s usually about the time to take it off.

Of course we’re not there yet. It’s still hot as anything outside. Which begs the mention of the other great Southern Fall disagreement. White after Labor Day. Some say it’s an etiquette detail and nothing more. Others say that it’s just because of the weather and thusly to be ignored thanks to the strange Southern Fall. After doing my homework I found the truth behind it even more bizarrely annoying. According to an article on the White Rule in Mental Floss magazine (a greatly diverse magazine that always has something in it that you never knew that you didn’t know) the background of the White Rule was less about the weather and more about money. Apparently, it was part of a list of etiquette rules created sometime in the 1800s to primarily let old money know if they were dealing with new money or old money.

That being said, we’re getting to my favorite part of fall. My favorite yearly writing competitions and challenges all happen at this time of the year. And on top of that, my favorite writing clothes have always been sweat pants and sweat shirts. Good comfort clothing. Is it possible to wear during summer and the first part of fall? Of course not.

But that time is coming. My time is coming.

What is your beef with fall? Comment to commiserate or say a few words in support of fall.