Max M. Power's Blog, page 11

Lover's Lane - Based on Actual Events

Preface
“You’re not suppose to be here.”The whispered plea was drowned out by the soft crashing of the surf.  The predawn breeze blowing cool and gently in rhythm with the Texas waters making their way onto shore, pulling away anything caught in its undertow.“You’re not suppose to be here,” the harsh tear filled whisper kept repeating over and over.The man made his way to the surf, clutching the bundle in his arms close to his chest.  As the water splashed over his feet, he fell to his knees and laid the bundle down in the water, silently begging the ocean to take this child.The waters receded but the baby remained, crying out for help, pleading for its life.  The man muffled the screams with his hand, waiting for the next wave to come and wash over them.But the waves refused to come, refusing to be a part of this evil deed.“You’re not suppose to be here,” the man whispered one last time as his knife found its way to the baby’s throat, cutting clean through in one fluid motion.A dark calmness washes over the man as he stands up slowly and fades away into the predawn shadows.

Chapter 1
“Detective Dasan?”Devon Dasan didn’t hear the person calling his name.  He was in a haze, looking at the wall in front of him full of photos of people he never got to give peace to.  Every time he was unable to solve a case their picture went up on his wall.  There were not many pictures but for Devon just one picture was one too many.“Detective Dasan,” the soft voice repeated.  “Detective?”This time she touched his shoulder, breaking the haze.“What,” he asked, startled as he turned around to see a young lady standing before him with a notebook clutched tightly against her chest.“I didn’t mean to startle you Detective,” the teenager with the deep green eyes said.  “I’m Amy.  Amy Neal from LaPorte High.  You agreed to let me interview you for the school paper.”“Yes,” Devon answered.  “I thought our appointment was for 12:30?”“It was,” Amy answered.  “It’s 2 o’clock now.”Devon looked down at his watch.  He lost time again.“I’m so sorry Miss Neal.  Please forgive me.”“I understand,” Amy smiled.  “You must be very busy getting ready for retirement.”“Sadly no,” he answered, swinging from side to side in his chair, his open hands displaying an empty desk.  “They’ve already taken all my cases away from me.  I just have to sit here and look pretty for the next seven days.”“What about those,” she asked, pointing toward the few pictures on his wall.“Those,” he said, drawing the word out slowly, trying to think how best to answer the question.  “Those, to put it bluntly, are my failures.”  Seeing the blank look on her face he continued, “have a seat Miss Neal.  You don’t want to hear about those.”“You can call me Amy,” she responded as she sat down.  “And I don’t mind if you don’t.  As Mrs. Gonzales always says, ‘A good reporter doesn’t just write a story, she follows it where ever it goes.’  There seems like there’s a story on that wall somewhere.”“You’re a smart girl.”“Top five in my class,” she blurted out proudly.“And modest,” Devon said sarcastically.  “A noble trait.”“Excuse me,” Amy said, sounding a bit offended.“Nothing,” Devon answered.  “Shall we get started?”Amy put her notebook down on top of the empty desk and started digging to her purse.“Where did I put that damn thing,” she mumbled to herself.  “I swear every time I need it it hides from me.  I know it’s here some… Ah here it is.”Amy pulled out her cell phone and started swiping the screen to the right as she looked for the app she wanted.“Okay I’m ready,” Amy said as she laid her phone face down on the desk between Devon and herself.  “This is Amy Neal, interviewing Detective Devon Dasan of the LaPorte Police Department, Homicide.  Detective if you would, please speak clearly so the recorder can pick up your voice.  It’s not the best recorder but it’s the best I have.”“Sure thing.”“Thank you.  I see you have this wall with four pictures on it.  You just told me they are your failures.  Could you elaborate on that?”“Weellllll, they are cases I could never solve.  Even though I never promised the families directly that I would catch the killer I always made that promise to myself.  Every case I got I worked hard to give peace the grieving families.  These were the ones that never got it.”“That’s impressive though, only four out of hundreds of cases that must have come across your desk in your long career.”“There’s nothing impressive about not finding a killer Miss Neal,” he snapped, not realizing the venom he spat out with those words.  “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.”“No I’m sorry,” she said.  “That wasn’t what I mean to say.”“Next question,” Devon said, trying to save them both.“What made you want to become a Detective in the first place?”“He did,” Devon answered, pointing at the picture of a baby on the wall.“Who is he?”“My greatest nightmare,” Devon answered, his eyes hazing over like they were when Amy first walked in.  “Daryl and I were just kids when he died.”“Daryl?”“Yes,” Devon said as he drew in a deep breath, blinking away the tears in his eyes and trying to regain his composure.  “Daryl was my best friend.  We did everything together.”“What happened to Daryl?”“He died in Vietnam,” Devon answered coldly.  “He could never get that image, that face,” he pulled the picture off the wall gently and brought it closer to himself, “out of his mind.  It haunted his dreams as it did mine.  One night he woke up, screaming from his nightmare and the enemy heard the screams and opened fire on his platoon in the jungle.  He died and I survived.”“I don’t get it.  If you were a kid when this boy died then how did he affect you so much?”“Cause we were the ones that found him,” he answered, tears filling his eyes again.“We can stop if you want,” Amy said, not sure how to react to where the story just turned.“No,” Devon took out a handkerchief and whipped his eyes.  “We can keep going.”“It was Friday, April 21, 1950. The sun had just come up and we wanted to catch some fish before school. Daryl and I went to the beach at the end of Lover’s Lane.  We never caught anything but it was fun for us.  Mostly we would walk around the beach and look for washed up treasure.  It’s what boys did.”“We would poke dead things with our fishing poles to see what would happen.  As we were walking up to the water we saw something rocking back and forth in the surf.  It was as if the water was rejecting it, not willing to carry it out off of the beach.”“As we got closer we saw it was a bath towel wrapped around something.  There was blood on the outside of the towel so he figured it was something a fisherman left behind from the night before.”“‘What do you think it is,’ Daryl asked.”“‘Fish guts most likely,’ I answered because we saw a lot of that around the beach.  Excited we ran up to the towel and I kicked it toward Daryl.  That was the moment that changed both our lives.  The baby’s head had been completely severed from its body and flew into Daryl’s hands.”“We both screamed, getting the attention of a couple on a morning stroll.  They came running over to see why we stood there motionless, screaming.  Daryl dropped the head in the sand and as soon as it hit the ground the surf pulled away.  It was like the water didn’t want to touch the baby now that it had been uncovered.”“The police were called, as well as our parents, and we were taken home and questioned about how we found the baby.  We told them it was just lying there.  Nothing was ever done about it.  There was no DNA testing back then, no way of identifying the baby.  There was no case and it has haunted me everyday since.”“If there was no case how did you get the picture?”“My father was friends with the mortician and he gave my father the picture.”“Do you mind if I take a picture of it for the paper?”“Sure,” he answered, handing the picture over to Amy.She picked up her phone and stopped the recording.  Opening the camera app she took a picture of the baby.  It looked peaceful, like it was sleeping.  The mortician had done a good job of sewing the head back on and covering up the wound.“I think that’s enough for today,” Amy said as she picked up her notebook, dropping her phone back into her purse.  “If you don’t mind, I would like to make turn this into a multi piece article.  Can I come back tomorrow to ask more questions?”“I don’t see why not,” Devon answered with a sigh.  “I’ve got seven more days of doing absolutely nothing.”

Chronicles of the Huntress - Rewrite

I have had a three different stories floating around in my head and this morning it hit me that they are all connected. This is why I was having so such trouble writing anything about these stories, until now. I have combined the stories so they all flow as one story.  Below is the opening scene.  Tell me what you think.

“It’s been said that when you die your life flashes before your eyes.  If that’s true then I die every night in my sleep.  Every time I close my eyes the nightmare begins again.  All the lives I’ve taken, all the faces, all the pleas for mercy, everything, it all comes flooding back.”“I have often wondered if it’s true for those I’ve killed.  For those that died instantly without warning, was there a flash?  For those that died slow and very painful, was there a flash for them as well or was the pain to great, overshadowing the sins they were atoning for?”“It’s a shame I will never find out.”“Why do you say that,” a nervous voice answered, her hands chained to the stone wall behind her, she was unable to look away from the soft golden eyes staring deep into her soul.“Because in seven thousand years I have yet to figure out how to truly die.”“Is that what you’re going to do to me?  Kill me?”“Why,” she asked with an evil grin, “have you done something that deserves me destroying your soul?”“No,” the other woman snapped quickly.“Yes you have,” she answered coldly.  “You have a stain on your soul so black that you want to die.  Otherwise you would not be here.”The other woman looked away from those golden eyes, ashamed of herself as a memory flashed before her.“You broke into this place to kill me,” she said as she lifted the other woman’s chin so she could look into her eyes once more.  “That was your first mistake, I can not die.  Your second mistake was thinking I am one of my children, who, unlike me, can be killed.”She paused to let that statement sink in.“Which one of my children were you trying to kill?”“I wasn’t trying…”“Come, come,” she snapped, cutting the other woman off.  “Lies will not be tolerated.  If you wish to become a Huntress, that is the first lesson you must learn.”“Who… who are you?”“I am Rosil,” the golden eyes woman answered.  “And I am the mother of all vampires.”Horror flooded the other woman’s face at the word vampire.“Relax my dear,” Rosil cooed.  “I am the mother of all vampires, I am not a vampire myself.”“You lie,” the woman shouted, pulling against her chains, a renewed anger filling her. “I was right to come here and kill you.”“And what a fine job you’ve done so far,” Rosil mocked.  “But I am not lying.  Have you forgotten the first rule of being a Huntress?  Lies will not be tolerated.”Rosil looked down at the table next to her prisoner, drawing her eyes to the table as well.  There, spread out, were all weapons the woman had brought with her to the house.  A wooden stake, a plastic bottle filled with what Rosil assumed was Holy Water, and a machete.“You do realize that none of this stuff will kill a vampire,” Rosil said, picking each item up, looking at it with disgust before setting it back down.  “Except this,” she picked up the machete.  “This will take a head off but it’s very messy and not very quick.”“Why do I want to give a blood sucker a quick death,” the woman snapped.  “They all deserve to die slowly.”“That they do,” Rosil answered softly, taking one last look at the machete before setting it back down slowly.  “But attempting to do so will only get you killed.”“Why are you telling me this?”“Because I am looking for a new apprentice and I see a fire burning deep inside you.  You have a desire to become a Huntress.”Rosil drew her dragon katana and raised the blade to the woman’s neck.  The woman looked deep into Rosil’s golden eyes, the fear she displayed earlier gone.  She accepted her fate, she longed for death.“That’s what I thought,” Rosil said with a smile.  She lifted the sword and tapped the chains, freeing the woman from the wall.  “What is your name?”“Kara,” the woman answered.“Kara,” Rosil repeated, “The Huntress.”

What Super Being Are You?

What Super Being are you?  There are certainly plenty to choose from, be it Hero or Villain.  These Super Beings that we choose are a part of us, a part of who we are and how we live our lives.  As a writer I know what it is like to create a character, bring it to life, and have them live in a world where we only dream of.  No matter whom you are, how famous or rich you are, you have a Super Being that you look up to.
While I was growing up there were three Universes that I read from.  There were always more than one Being that I could relate to, which is why I spent most of my allowance on comic books and graphic novels.  Despite all the Super Beings there was only one from each Universe that I felt fit me.
Superman – For those who know me know without a doubt that Superman is my top pick.  First and foremost, above all else, simply put, I want to fly.  While Kal-El is suppose to be a ultimate Superhero he has his faults.
He can be hurt, even killed, yet he stands up for what is right.  He is willing to help others, no matter the cost to himself.  He is willing to do whatever it takes to stop a threat, even killing someone, even though it’s a last resort, contrary to popular belief that he would never do so.
He knows he can turn bad, has done so in the past, but tries not to let it happen. He fights the bad guys, not joins them.  It’s a burden he must bury deep inside.  Same as me.  By remembering all that is good he is able to battle any evil that may come his way.
Hulk – “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”  I recite that quote to myself when I feel anger bubbling up.  Knowing you have a problem is the first step to dealing with it.  I have anger issues.  I joke all the time that they are a family trait and I have no control over it but that’s not true.  I can control it instead of letting it control me.  It’s a struggle at times and sometimes I lose but I always try keep it contained.
Like Dr. Banner, I felt I was doomed to wonder this world alone.  It is the only way to be sure that your love ones are safe from your own destruction.  But despite being an angry Super Being the Hulk is still a Superhero so why can’t I be too?
Darth Vader – “I would like to think I live my life as a Jedi but truth be told, I’m a Sith.”  Like Anakin, I too struggle between the light and dark side of life. I acknowledge the dark, know it, live it, embrace it, however I do not let it consume me completely.  There is still good in me, the Emperor has not driven it from me fully.
In the world of make believe this is where I stand.  Those are my Super Beings.  What are yours?

My Own App

SWEET!!! I have my own app in the app store on Google PlayTotally free to download. Tell me what you think.

The Farm Print Edition

The Farm is now available in paperback.
After destroying the mafia in New York, Jonathan and Johnson are wanted men. The CIA has offered them safe passage but not everyone agrees they belong, including them.
Going through the motions at The Farm, the training location for all CIA agents, Jonathan and Johnson find themselves outcast by all the instructors as well as some of the top students.
When the lead instructor decides to take matters into his own hands the only result is death. Jonathan and Johnson find themselves on the run once again but can they really out run the CIA?

Writing With Power App

I tried having an app before but due to it's limits I have tried something else.  Here is a new app that is currently in beta testing and who gets to test it, you the fans.  I have 5 apps that can be downloaded right now so only the first 5 people who go to download it will get the app. I want you to look it over and tell me what you think. You can even email me through the app, so please use that feature so I know if it works.  If I get enough positive feedback I will take it out of test and open it up for everyone.  Let me know what you think.
http://writingwithpower.mobapp.at

I'm All F#@cked Up

I started a new book today.  It goes along the lines of Lost Inside.  The disclaimer will show you what my goal for this book is.  What I am looking for, from you, my fans, is to spread the word to anyone who has depression, bipolar, or any other mental issues.  I want to tell their stories, to share with the word how they cope with issues they face daily.  They can choose to remain anonymous if they so desire.  Just email me at writingwithpower@gmail.com so we can talk.
Here is my disclaimer. Please be honest in what you think.



First off let me start this book with a disclaimer.  I do NOT, have a degree in anything, least of all psychology, but then again, I really don’t believe in most that do.I say this because I’ve been challenged in the past for my book, Lost Inside, about what gives me the right to give advice to people with depression, bipolar, or other mental issues.  That my advice is dangerous to them because I’m not a psychologist.Well, what gives you the right?  Just because you have a piece of paper that gives you a title?  Now I said MOST earlier because when speaking with those who have challenged me I ask, “Do you have depression, bipolar, or any other mental issues you treat?” Usually the answer is, “No.”You use phrases like, I understand, I know what you’re going through, and I see but in actuality you do not.  How can you “understand” how I’m feeling if you’ve never felt it before?  How can you “know what I’m going through,” if you yourself have never been through it?  How can you “see” what I’m talking about if you’ve never experienced it?  Simply put, you can’t!  You can guessat it, but you will never know.But you think you know better than me because you have a degree and I don’t.  Well all I can say to that is, would you mind if I wipe my ass with that piece of paper, cause to me that’s all it’s worth.With that stated, all I have left to offer those who have these mental issues is my voice.  I can only speak to what I feel and what I have been through.  If you feel the same, have experienced what I have experienced, then by all means share my words.  I know the hardest thing to do is express how you feel to someone who has no idea how you feel.  My goal is to build a bridge between those two worlds and offer understanding to those who truly do not understand.These are my emotions, my experiences, my joys, my pains, my own words.  I hope you find them helpful.
Sincerely,
NOT a psychologist

This needs a Title

This needs a title. Please leave your "Title" suggestions in the comments.

When you're feeling overwhelmedAnd the world is crashing down.Remember these words,To turn things around.
Someone loves you.Why? I'm not sure.
Who? I don't know.But their motives are pure.
Someone loves you.That should be enough,To get you through the day,And past all the negative stuff.
Someone loves you.Let it be a mystery.Someone loves you...Hey, don't look at me!

Max M. Power

You Call Me Crazy

You Call Me Crazy
You call me crazy,But that’s not fair.You don’t know the terror I feel,When frustrated I grab and pull my hair.
When anxiety sets in,All the voices get loud.I can barely breathe,I am so ashamed, never proud.
On the outsideI am chipper and happy.On the insideI’m screaming but no one can hear me.
I live in constant fear,Afraid of what the world will do.Will they lock me up and throw away the key?Or will they laugh and call me crazy, like you?
You call me crazy,But you do not know the real me.Frighten and insecure,This is not the way I will my life to be.
Max M. Power

Dragon Warrior

I need a woman's opinion. You're an alien hunter hunting reptilians. You have dragon armour. As a woman do you wear the one that covers your boobs or shows them off?