Tag Archives: Short story

Time

Oh future where are you? Who are you? Why are you ever changing? What factors am I partaking in that will lead me to you? You are always on the run fleeting no matter how clever, well planned I am you are always one step ahead. Oh why do I spend time obsessing over you when in reality we will never catch each other even on my death bed there is eternity which I cannot fathom because its outside the parameters of time. Then there is you past, you always catch up to me, you always follow me. It seems you define me. I can’t ignore you and pretend you never happened, but what good is that? If it were not for your occurrence, face it who would I be now? Sometimes you’re my best friend that makes me content then you are my enemy, reminding me of what could have been? But is that really so or do I take you for granted since I believe everything happens for a reason. Then present you are by far the most complex and trickiest. You get neglected and ignored, pushed to the side and taken for granted. Who are you? Who am I? We are always together we are soul mates until the day I leave this earth. Its like a marriage to death do us part . Through my trials and errors you are always there as a reminder time hasn’t stopped life goes on. You are my alibi and my mirror. Where I go you are there whether I want to face you or not, we are one. You sometimes feel like a gift and other times a curse, but either way like a film I’m watching for the first time you bring out all my emotions and deepest thoughts. We aspire and grow by the second. Time is a conundrum that is overlooked, misunderstood and taken for granted its not linear. No humans are linear beings.

 

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Burning Fields

A breeze gusts over the rows of empty fields lined with untrimmed grass obstructing his path. He plows through until a light comes into view. Burning bright consuming the village he once called home leaving it in charred ruins. From afar, he sees the outline of an army of mighty men brandishing swords and breast plates pillaging the remains. He pivots around sprinting away, but the edge of blade meets his chin. His eyes move upwards to meet the face of a man glaring.

“There will be no survivors.”

The Tragic Protagonist

She wondered who the first person was to get burned by fire. Whoever was unfortunate enough to experience the sting had a moment of clarity. If only humanity got a preview of the pain poor decisions brought. Maybe it would prevent heartache and tragedies

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https://www.pexels.com/search/fire/.

One minute her life was average. Not a wrinkle of tension. When she compared her mundane existence to others she grew dissatisfied. That was her first mistake, wishing for conflict. To her demise she got her wish. They say a good story revolves around conflict. As she learned, conflict is only fun from the readers point of view rather than the protagonist.

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https://www.pexels.com/search/problem/

Once the drama started, the plot unfolded for all to see. Her thoughts on display on each page. Her actions studied and criticized by those who would’ve acted differently.

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https://www.pexels.com/photo/blurred-book-book-pages-literature-46274/

Here she was, caught in the crosshairs of a tumultuous situation.  She knew it to be the beginning of the end as the main character of a horror story, but she had to keep it together for those she entertained.

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The Cab Ride

I wove through the congested streets on the lookout for a new customer, but so far not a prospect in sight. Then I spotted a young woman as thin as the lamp pole she stood beside, gesturing for me.

The cab slowed to a stop at the curb. She squinted from the glare of the afternoon sun and shoved a gaudy, purse up her arm. The corners of my mouth pulled upward as our eyes met, and I unlocked the door, but her red, lips remained in a tight line. Her head jerked back as if she were looking for someone. She turned back to me, and pulled the door open, and dropped change in my hand.

“Where to?” I asked

“The airport,” she said softly, as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her black skirt.

“How are you today Miss?” I asked. Her mouth didn’t move as her gaze stayed fixed ahead. I looked away from the reticent woman with the realization that there would be the sole sound of the radio blaring for the rest of the ride. She sniffed, which took me by surprise. “What’s wrong?” I glanced back at her.

“You wouldn’t care.” She shook her head with tears brimming in her honey colored eyes. Although, I wasn’t one to pry, the fact that I had gotten her to talk intrigued me.

“Lay it on me,” I said, glancing back at her as she twiddled her thumbs.

“That’s what they all say” She laughed, although the timbre of her raspy voice oozed sarcasm.

“Well, I’m not the rest,” I chuckled.

“Ah, fine.” She chewed on her bottom lip before her mouth parted. “I was supposed to deliver a package, but bailed at the last minute.”

“A package?” My brow rose.

“Six pounds of cocaine,” she said so casually, as if it were no different than a package of textbooks.

“Cocaine?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, pushing her elbow against the window. In that moment I realized I had picked up a drug dealer on the run and just the thought had my stomach aching. What if one of her criminal friends caught me driving her around, and she had the drugs on her,

“You can have your money back. I’m not getting involved.” I said as my foot eased onto the break at the stop light.

“Please don’t do this to me,” she pleaded.

“Give me one good reason why I should get involved.”

“I’m trying to get out of town and live a clean life.” Her voice cracked.

“Oh, don’t cry.” I said. But her whimper resurrected memories of how I had failed my own daughter, when she tried to escape her abusive boyfriend that murdered her because I was too late getting to her.

“Fine” I sighed.

“Thank you.” She perked up as I continued to drive.

“So how long have you been a drug dealer?” I asked.

“Since I was fifteen,” she said.

“And how old are you now?”

“Twenty”

“Well, I hope today you can leave that life behind.”

“Me too,” she muttered.

“Say what made you decide to deal drugs?”

“I needed to feed my son.”

“Where is he?”

“With my mother in Boston.”  The airport was coming into view, when I noticed a state trooper driving behind me. My pulse lurched as I tapped the break hoping he wouldn’t stop me for going five miles over the speed limit.

I looked back at the woman. Her face was a blank slate again as she twisted her matted hair around her finger. When I glanced at the rearview mirror, I noticed the officer signaled to pull over. With a gulp, I stopped on the shoulder of the road just a block from the airport and rolled down the window.

“Maybe you should tell him about your situation and he can help,” I whispered to her. She shook her head against it and I sighed at her unwillingness to get help.

The officer hobbled around to the side of the cab and leaned into the window.

“Good afternoon folks,” he said. The edges of his dark hair were graying and his breath wreaked off black coffee.

“Good afternoon” I said. She didn’t utter a sound instead she looked down at her dirty, sneakers.

“You know that you’re driving with your fuel door open,” he snickered.

“Oh, I am?” I laughed as beads of sweat trickled down my neck. The car felt as if it the temperature rose with each second the officer stared at me with his piercing green eyes, despite it being mild outside.

“I must have forgotten when I pumped gas this morning.”  I said, remembering how I had been in a rush. The officer’s smile faded and his eyes moved from me to the woman in the back. Her eyes remained fixed on the window, ignoring him.

“It happens to the best of us.” He laughed breaking the silence.

“Thank you for pointing it out,” I said.

“No problem,” he said then started to walk back to his car. I got out and closed the fuel door and waved at him.

“Nice day to you,” he said.

“Same to you, sir,” I hollered back as I got in and drove away.

“Why didn’t you want to get help?” I asked her.

“The less I talk the safer I am,” she said. Her words tightened the knot straining my stomach.

Three minutes later I swung into the parking lot of the airport.

“We made it.” I smiled at her.

“Thanks.” Her mouth curved into a grin for the first time.

“You’re welcome, and good luck…?” I paused as I realized I didn’t know her name.

“Angel” she said, closing the door behind her. I watched her plod away, and I wondered what would become of her. Just as my hand reached for the gear shift, the screech of tires caused my eyes to tear upwards.

A car with tinted windows was right beside her. She didn’t seem to notice as she meandered along with headphones in her ears. The windows of the car rolled down, revealing a group of masked men with guns drawn. A cry rose in my throat as the sound of gun shots led to her collapse.

The car sped away, and hot tears filled my eyes as I rushed out of the cab and took her limp body into my arms. There was no response as she bled out. My head dropped as I muttered.

“You were almost free.”

Restless

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Squinting between the sun and horizon, a tumble weed scurries past my blistered feet. My throat aches from dehydration as I swallow the salty taste of the blood from my busted lip. Ever since I stepped foot in this godforsaken, wasteland, I’ve lost track of the days, alone so long that my tears have dried against my blackened skin. It’s a miracle I haven’t gone blind from wandering through the midday sun like a car with a broken GPS, past the dunes of sand and sparse wild flowers that give color to the homogenous setting. Although most of my hope is all but gone, there’s still a part of me that believes there’s an oasis ahead. Perhaps, my days as a restless nomad are almost over, and I’ll find a place to rest. A place I can call home.

 

The Preacher’s Secret

Wedding rings on a dictionary showing the word infidelity

Horacio remembered the day he first saw her at a revival youth seminar. He was busy laying hands on the youth for prayer when he spotted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her long jet black hair and warm set of dark eyes and lively smile caused him to stutter as she asked for prayer.

 After service was over, he caught up to her and the two of them talked exchanging telephone numbers beginning a long distance relationship over the phone since he traveled regularly. When he’d come to town, he would visit her and take her out on dates. At first her parents were skeptical of him, but after they saw how much of a gentleman he was they grew to love him. He proved himself to them by showing them that he shared their same morals and convictions. It also helped he was an upcoming pastor.
She was innocent unlike most women he pursued, which made her a prize to him. At the time, she was the woman of his dreams. He earned her trust by not letting his true colors show and succeeding in marrying a young virgin, but he soon grew dissatisfied with her. He had always been a playboy in his personal life and he was sure that she really wanted him. A long time ago he wasn’t a womanizer and actually tried to have real relationships with women, but when he was mentored by his senior pastor they would sneak out together seeing various women realizing the shameless nature of many he lost respect for them. He knew his senior pastor was constantly cheating on his decrepit wife who was unaware believing she was living the dream Christian life. There was a difference between being a pastor’s wife which was dull and the mistress, which was for having fun with. Catalina at first seemed she could be both since she was physically perfect to him, but she wasn’t sensual enough to fulfill his sex addiction. At first he gave up his aggressive, strange sexual fetishes trying to be a perfect husband, but when Adrian came along he took up too much of her time and his old desires returned and he sought out mistresses that could do the kinky things his wife would never be willing to do since she strongly was against going outside of the natural uses of sex.
When she had that kid, he loved Adrian. He resembled him and it looked like his boy would always love him, but he began to become annoyed of him because he loved to follow him around even when he needed to sneak out causing him to feel condemned. Adrian was brilliant. The kid could read by the age of two and was already starting basic math at a kindergarten age, which brought a great deal of pride to Horacio, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from withholding his rage. Adrian was his shadow quoting scriptures he memorized them like a robot. Those were the days he loved his son then something changed. He met this woman she was everything he sexually dreamed of and she had a few kids of her own and he began bond with them. Adrian soon became a shade of his mother. He no longer minded beating his son it was no different than beating his stupid wife. When Adrian would cry it would make him feel guilty and he would tell him to shut up. After all he wasn’t a bad person, he was a philanthropist having donated money to numerous charities, went on mission trips feeding the poor. Not to mention a pastor. If he were evil he wouldn’t have family’s basic necessities, and provided the extras, but no; of course they were ungrateful and undeserving of his kindness. When his son would say he was an evil man, he would beat him worse. Adrian used to say God wouldn’t like it or be pleased. How did that kid know he was only a child and he was a pastor? In past Christmases he would either beat him and his mother on that day or go on “revival retreats” in which he spent the holidays with his mistresses and their kids instead. Horacio had been through multiple mistresses probably near the hundreds and didn’t regret it, he was a man and he wasn’t getting what he needed at home.

After the Deluge

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“I can’t truly create I can only emulate,” Claudius muttered as he stood beside me.

“What?” I shook my head confused. In my eyes, he was next to a god.

“Art is something unique to mankind. As a Watcher, I can only recreate through a muse,” he said. “And you’re my muse”

“Me?”

“Yes.” He grinned. A heat rose in my face and I turned away to conceal the smile creeping onto the corner of my face.

“Was there any divine intervention with the construction of the ancient ruins? I said.

“After my incarceration, there were a remnant of the Nephilim who took refuge underground since the earth is hollow. The ancients referred to this subterranean paradise as Agartha”

“Get out, the earth has a crust, mantle and core composed of elements. How else do explain the tectonic plate activity?”

“Humans” He closed his eyes and sighed.

“What?”

“How do you explain the earthquake lights?” He said as his eyes popped open.

“A disruption in the earth’s electromagnetic field and ionosphere?” I said.

“You have so much to learn neophyte”

“Occam’s razor, sometimes the simplest explanations are the right ones. People bend their minds way too far out of shape trying to understand the world.”

“And sometimes the strangest conclusions are the soundest. Perhaps, the earth is flat as well.” He grinned.

“Yea right”

“Let’s not argue about the obvious, and I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“Go for it”

“Ancient ruins like Baalbek was one of the former headquarters of the ancient ruler Nimrod. The first king of post-flood earth. At first he was a foe to my descendants as he was a mighty hunter targeting the remnant of the Nephilim.”

“Why did he hunt them?”

“He had been brainwashed by the doctrines of his grandfather Noah.”

“It sure sounds like it.”

“In the end he altered his DNA and deemed himself the very first god king as it is put in Akkadian lore with the stele of Naram-sin.”

“Wow, a thirst for power will make you do anything,” I said.

“Prior to our imprisonment, we left a series of instructions discovered by one of Shem’s sons. He followed them to revive a post flood society.”

“Explains the post flood architecture” I grinned.

“The remaining fallen angels refrained from sex with women. In place of copulation with humans, there was an influx of genetic altering. It was far safer and less problematic,” he said.

“Is there a consensus among the angels and people who create Nephilim?” I said.

“Sometimes”

“ls in not unethical to conduct experiments on people without their consent? Even if it’s to advance the species.”

“Mankind could use an age of peace that’s all we’re trying to do. The tower of Babel was set to be in modern day Tiwanaku Bolivia, but the never saw the deluge coming.”

“So there was contact between pre Columbian and eastern civilizations long before recorded in modern history?”

“Yes, the Nephilim traveled between continents influencing each civilian.”

“Explains the similarity in the ruins”

“Most ruins gave ancient people a sense of closeness to us. Mountains, hilltops and high places are sacred because that’s where the gods dwelled. The pyramids, ziggurats and temples where their way of trying to capture the idea of ascension into heaven. Nimrod was the closet with the tower of Babel until God confounded their languages.