Patrick Elliott's Blog, page 8
August 20, 2015
New Books, Old Books
Alright folks. Two new books are now up on Kindle, but not KDP. They are books of shorts, Half Flashed is longer and lighter, all the dark stuff and things with social and political commentary is in Too Dark for Television. These are mostly flash fiction and short stories but each has some novellas too.
These are lower priced than Old Odd Ends and a bit of an experiment for me. The on Kindle is because Amazon is faster than everyone else. Createspace (for the physical copies) is processing and should be up shortly. They are also processing to be available on Kobo, Google Play and Google Books, and the Nook For my friends who only use Apple books, how are we still friends? Seriously, I would put them up there too but they require a publisher or a third party that acts like a publisher with none of the benefits so, no thanks and sorry.
If the shorts get more sales due to the added distribution channels I will be removing Old Odd Ends from its exclusivity in a few months and putting it up in all other methods and then switch to that as my standard. So, if you love KDP go buy Ends on Amazon and pick up the new books too. If you prefer another reader wait a day or two and buy it on Kobo/Nook/Google. One or all three, I prefer all three.
If you want to give Amazon and unfair advantage, I have you covered there too. Old Odd Ends is available on a free promotion from 8/21 through 8/25 as a way of saying thank you. Of course, if you want to thank me for thanking you, you can pick up the new books at the same time. Have a great day!
#author #novel #shamelessselfpromotion #shortstories #thoughts #writer #writing
These are lower priced than Old Odd Ends and a bit of an experiment for me. The on Kindle is because Amazon is faster than everyone else. Createspace (for the physical copies) is processing and should be up shortly. They are also processing to be available on Kobo, Google Play and Google Books, and the Nook For my friends who only use Apple books, how are we still friends? Seriously, I would put them up there too but they require a publisher or a third party that acts like a publisher with none of the benefits so, no thanks and sorry.
If the shorts get more sales due to the added distribution channels I will be removing Old Odd Ends from its exclusivity in a few months and putting it up in all other methods and then switch to that as my standard. So, if you love KDP go buy Ends on Amazon and pick up the new books too. If you prefer another reader wait a day or two and buy it on Kobo/Nook/Google. One or all three, I prefer all three.
If you want to give Amazon and unfair advantage, I have you covered there too. Old Odd Ends is available on a free promotion from 8/21 through 8/25 as a way of saying thank you. Of course, if you want to thank me for thanking you, you can pick up the new books at the same time. Have a great day!
#author #novel #shamelessselfpromotion #shortstories #thoughts #writer #writing
August 18, 2015
In the Beginning - Counter Offer
So, this is part 21.
Jack was settling in to being a cop again. Despite his foray into murder, being part of the thin blue line ran in his blood. Some things just needed to be done outside of the brotherhood. The preacher had been one of those, crossing into that category with his own murder. When your dog is rabid you put it down yourself, Jack’s father taught him that.
Paperwork was part of the routine, not Jack’s favorite part. Some of the other detectives thrived on it but Jack needed two cups of coffee to get through his. He was on his way to get that all-important second cup when he looked out the window and blinked.
Across the street stood Nicole, Jack would recognize the psycho bitch anywhere. Her presence was not the real shock though. That she stood on the street to the side of his precinct in her bra and panties was. Jack was not attracted but he could appreciate, ascetically, why a few men seemed willing to do her bidding to their detriment.
The sign she held was stranger still. In big bold letters it called him out. ‘Don’t like what you see? Call…’ there was a number, one Jack assumed was to the cell phone taped to the cardboard. It was a threat. Even in this day and age he worked in a profession where gay men were accepted, so long as they were part of them and not us. He calmly gathered his coffee and called from his own cell.
“First, let me apologize for what happened to your boyfriend.” Nicole launched in as soon as she answered the phone, in lieu of saying hello. “That was my father, not me.”
“I thought you were daddy’s little girl.” Jack whisper-growled, his eyes sliding closed to keep the tears that sprung up inside. “I thought you agreed with everything he said and did.”
“Not that. Your lover was not a part of this.”
“What do you want?”
“A simple meeting.”
“Just come by your house, meet the husband and the kids. Sounds like fun. Do you really think seeing your domestic bliss, the girls you have chained up in the basement and your cute kids will make me jump sides?”
“I think it couldn’t hurt. Besides, you know the girls aren’t chained up.”
“Not all chains are physical.”
He let the silence spin out and so did she. They played the game of metaphysical, emotional chicken like two stars of the game. Nicole was good, but Jack was better. She finally broke the quiet as he heard her start a car.
“You are more open minded than you are pretending. I assure your safety so long as you start nothing and leave in peace when it is done. We can work together or continue fighting at your preference then. Seven tonight?”
“Fine.”
Jack should have thought to tell father O’Reilly about the meeting. So the father had some idea of why the detective fell silent after it. But he didn’t.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Jack was settling in to being a cop again. Despite his foray into murder, being part of the thin blue line ran in his blood. Some things just needed to be done outside of the brotherhood. The preacher had been one of those, crossing into that category with his own murder. When your dog is rabid you put it down yourself, Jack’s father taught him that.
Paperwork was part of the routine, not Jack’s favorite part. Some of the other detectives thrived on it but Jack needed two cups of coffee to get through his. He was on his way to get that all-important second cup when he looked out the window and blinked.
Across the street stood Nicole, Jack would recognize the psycho bitch anywhere. Her presence was not the real shock though. That she stood on the street to the side of his precinct in her bra and panties was. Jack was not attracted but he could appreciate, ascetically, why a few men seemed willing to do her bidding to their detriment.
The sign she held was stranger still. In big bold letters it called him out. ‘Don’t like what you see? Call…’ there was a number, one Jack assumed was to the cell phone taped to the cardboard. It was a threat. Even in this day and age he worked in a profession where gay men were accepted, so long as they were part of them and not us. He calmly gathered his coffee and called from his own cell.
“First, let me apologize for what happened to your boyfriend.” Nicole launched in as soon as she answered the phone, in lieu of saying hello. “That was my father, not me.”
“I thought you were daddy’s little girl.” Jack whisper-growled, his eyes sliding closed to keep the tears that sprung up inside. “I thought you agreed with everything he said and did.”
“Not that. Your lover was not a part of this.”
“What do you want?”
“A simple meeting.”
“Just come by your house, meet the husband and the kids. Sounds like fun. Do you really think seeing your domestic bliss, the girls you have chained up in the basement and your cute kids will make me jump sides?”
“I think it couldn’t hurt. Besides, you know the girls aren’t chained up.”
“Not all chains are physical.”
He let the silence spin out and so did she. They played the game of metaphysical, emotional chicken like two stars of the game. Nicole was good, but Jack was better. She finally broke the quiet as he heard her start a car.
“You are more open minded than you are pretending. I assure your safety so long as you start nothing and leave in peace when it is done. We can work together or continue fighting at your preference then. Seven tonight?”
“Fine.”
Jack should have thought to tell father O’Reilly about the meeting. So the father had some idea of why the detective fell silent after it. But he didn’t.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
August 16, 2015
Check Out Margaret Daly
Check out Margaret Daly. An awesome person, a fellow author and #Awethor. Links to her site are listed below and I will shortly be listing one of them in the links at the right of the page. Check out her blog for inspiration on both life and writing.
What's more? She has links where you can buy many fine books, mine included. These are physical copy books so you have to be old school or hard core, like me, to purchase from this site. Go, check it out, spread the love. Buy some of her books for yourself and do your Christmas shopping very early this year. Do it now!
Margaret's Website and Book Store - http://dusgadh.weebly.com/store/c1/Featured_Products.html
Margaret's Book Blog - http://dusgadh.weebly.com/my-book-blog
Margaret's Blog - http://dusgadh.weebly.com/just-a-blog
#authors #writers #thoughts #novel #shamelessselfpromotion
What's more? She has links where you can buy many fine books, mine included. These are physical copy books so you have to be old school or hard core, like me, to purchase from this site. Go, check it out, spread the love. Buy some of her books for yourself and do your Christmas shopping very early this year. Do it now!
Margaret's Website and Book Store - http://dusgadh.weebly.com/store/c1/Featured_Products.html
Margaret's Book Blog - http://dusgadh.weebly.com/my-book-blog
Margaret's Blog - http://dusgadh.weebly.com/just-a-blog
#authors #writers #thoughts #novel #shamelessselfpromotion
August 15, 2015
#Awethors Awareness Day
If you are here please do a search on twitter and/or facebook for #Awethors then follow the people posting it. When you find a link to a book buy it and leave a five star review. Because I said so!
This is a really amazing group of people, all independent authors, and awesome ones at that. If you can't find a book or genre you love amidst us then you are dead inside and the bad guys have already won! If you're not up for buying a book then just send a shout out on twitter or Facebook with the hashtag #Awethors. You are more than welcome to mention me, and my blog and how all around cool I am. Trust me, I won't mind.
Please help us to get this trending! If you are an author and on Facebook then you might consider asking to join the group. If you're an independent, though I would also argue for you with the group owner if you're Stephen King, George RR Martin, or Jim Butcher because you're that cool. Though if you're one of those three and you read my blog why haven't you read and reviewed my book yet? Okay, I'm getting seriously loopy and need sleep.
Again, please help out and get #Awethors trending. This is a group of people who work very hard and do excellent work. If authors going a different route continue to toil in anonymity they may be forced to get day jobs. It's possible they will decide they want yours. Your boss will like them better because I will write it that way. This is bad for everyone! I don't normally soapbox for other people, so you know these guys have impressed me greatly. Thanks for your help.
#shamelessselfpromotion
This is a really amazing group of people, all independent authors, and awesome ones at that. If you can't find a book or genre you love amidst us then you are dead inside and the bad guys have already won! If you're not up for buying a book then just send a shout out on twitter or Facebook with the hashtag #Awethors. You are more than welcome to mention me, and my blog and how all around cool I am. Trust me, I won't mind.
Please help us to get this trending! If you are an author and on Facebook then you might consider asking to join the group. If you're an independent, though I would also argue for you with the group owner if you're Stephen King, George RR Martin, or Jim Butcher because you're that cool. Though if you're one of those three and you read my blog why haven't you read and reviewed my book yet? Okay, I'm getting seriously loopy and need sleep.
Again, please help out and get #Awethors trending. This is a group of people who work very hard and do excellent work. If authors going a different route continue to toil in anonymity they may be forced to get day jobs. It's possible they will decide they want yours. Your boss will like them better because I will write it that way. This is bad for everyone! I don't normally soapbox for other people, so you know these guys have impressed me greatly. Thanks for your help.
#shamelessselfpromotion
August 11, 2015
And a Win
Oh, and on the prompt contest that I mentioned a couple weeks back. I won my second time in. Go check it out, and check out the author lady. She is pretty awesome. If you are a writer you should be entering her contests here.
http://tipsylit.com/2015/08/10/thirte...
#author #shamelessselfpromotion
http://tipsylit.com/2015/08/10/thirte...
#author #shamelessselfpromotion
In the Beginning - The Fifth Sign
So, remember when I mentioned that these were following a prompt? Yeah, this one is short because the prompt was a poem, but I added a bit of story to the end anyway. This is part 20.
Daughter, son and grandfather’s ghost
Making of a paper host
Woman’s orange of gain
Boy’s green of pain
Beige suits of prophet never seen again
The ally turned ron, towards the bullish end
On secrets in kangaroo pouch of his mind we depend
Without coffee God waits in the slumberless deep
Director ready to wrap when play we for keep
The future, mental yogurt, healthy but stings deep
Mother, savior, computer of death
Interpreting the book unto her last breath
Father laments nicety, like a tuxedo put away
No staple but kindness brought out on special day
Crunch, is the last word, the earth has its say
Chester looked at the poem written on his daughter’s wall and wondered where she got the crayons. He also wondered at some of the words that she could not yet speak. This was probably another one of those signs the detective and the priest wanted to stop.
Nicole’s reaction was much simpler. She grabbed a pad and copied the newest addition to the prophecy down. Then she started to interpret.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Daughter, son and grandfather’s ghost
Making of a paper host
Woman’s orange of gain
Boy’s green of pain
Beige suits of prophet never seen again
The ally turned ron, towards the bullish end
On secrets in kangaroo pouch of his mind we depend
Without coffee God waits in the slumberless deep
Director ready to wrap when play we for keep
The future, mental yogurt, healthy but stings deep
Mother, savior, computer of death
Interpreting the book unto her last breath
Father laments nicety, like a tuxedo put away
No staple but kindness brought out on special day
Crunch, is the last word, the earth has its say
Chester looked at the poem written on his daughter’s wall and wondered where she got the crayons. He also wondered at some of the words that she could not yet speak. This was probably another one of those signs the detective and the priest wanted to stop.
Nicole’s reaction was much simpler. She grabbed a pad and copied the newest addition to the prophecy down. Then she started to interpret.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
August 4, 2015
In the Beginning - The Fourth Sign
And this is installment 19.
Even in his new surroundings Peter could not resist a drink. When the unimportant cellmate offered him a sip, Peter took a guzzle. When he awoke in a nightmare land of cartoons he knew the shine was on the jug. Feeling an urge to hunt a rabbit, he also knew it must be Easter. Wasn’t he supposed to do something on Easter this year?
Peter could not remember what his task was. The urge to hunt down the rabbit, the one that taunted while munching carrots and sometimes turned invisible, was all consuming. Though… his mind might be combining fantasy bunnies. That wasn’t important. He needed to kill the varmint. Something important depended on it.
Peter did not have a gun, but he found a hammer and some spikes. Not ideal, but better than nothing. He set out on the hunt, determined to take the rascal by hand. That would feel pretty good actually. It would feel… biblical.
He traipsed through the woods, whistling a jaunty tune. He almost skipped and felt like he was going in circles. Some small, rational part of his mind knew he was, around his sell. That part of his mind was lost behind the veil of inebriation though.
Finally, Peter saw the critter. He crouched, a sick smile sliding over his lips. He crept forward but knew the creature saw him. It did not chew his carrot and give some smart aleck response though. Instead, it threw Peter a look. It looked, terrified. That was new, Peter thought. Perhaps word of his association with the divine was spreading. It might explain the change. No time to wonder about that though.
It was much simpler than Peter anticipated. He pounced on the rabbit, pinning it to the wall. Mighty strikes of the mallet drove the spikes home. It squealed and begged for its life. It promised to convert and spread the word. Peter was beyond reason though. The task was more important than any one thing.
After nine months in prison most of the inmates found themselves swayed by Peter’s words. There were so many converts to the men’s army that the repercussions of Peter making his unimportant cellmate into an important figure were of greater benefit than keeping him in the cell.
Peter did not feel bad about crucifying the man on the wall of the cell they shared. Sacrifice was necessary. Besides, with that loss of one human, Peter’s ten to twenty stretch became a life sentence. Due to the manner of it and the fact that he really thought he killed a rabbit, for a long time anyway, he was transferred to a high security mental facility. There were more men to convert at the hospital and they were easier to sway. Their minds were already open to things that most could not comprehend. Besides…
With the change in venue, sometimes Nicole could come and visit him. She was proud of him. She told him so often.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
Even in his new surroundings Peter could not resist a drink. When the unimportant cellmate offered him a sip, Peter took a guzzle. When he awoke in a nightmare land of cartoons he knew the shine was on the jug. Feeling an urge to hunt a rabbit, he also knew it must be Easter. Wasn’t he supposed to do something on Easter this year?
Peter could not remember what his task was. The urge to hunt down the rabbit, the one that taunted while munching carrots and sometimes turned invisible, was all consuming. Though… his mind might be combining fantasy bunnies. That wasn’t important. He needed to kill the varmint. Something important depended on it.
Peter did not have a gun, but he found a hammer and some spikes. Not ideal, but better than nothing. He set out on the hunt, determined to take the rascal by hand. That would feel pretty good actually. It would feel… biblical.
He traipsed through the woods, whistling a jaunty tune. He almost skipped and felt like he was going in circles. Some small, rational part of his mind knew he was, around his sell. That part of his mind was lost behind the veil of inebriation though.
Finally, Peter saw the critter. He crouched, a sick smile sliding over his lips. He crept forward but knew the creature saw him. It did not chew his carrot and give some smart aleck response though. Instead, it threw Peter a look. It looked, terrified. That was new, Peter thought. Perhaps word of his association with the divine was spreading. It might explain the change. No time to wonder about that though.
It was much simpler than Peter anticipated. He pounced on the rabbit, pinning it to the wall. Mighty strikes of the mallet drove the spikes home. It squealed and begged for its life. It promised to convert and spread the word. Peter was beyond reason though. The task was more important than any one thing.
After nine months in prison most of the inmates found themselves swayed by Peter’s words. There were so many converts to the men’s army that the repercussions of Peter making his unimportant cellmate into an important figure were of greater benefit than keeping him in the cell.
Peter did not feel bad about crucifying the man on the wall of the cell they shared. Sacrifice was necessary. Besides, with that loss of one human, Peter’s ten to twenty stretch became a life sentence. Due to the manner of it and the fact that he really thought he killed a rabbit, for a long time anyway, he was transferred to a high security mental facility. There were more men to convert at the hospital and they were easier to sway. Their minds were already open to things that most could not comprehend. Besides…
With the change in venue, sometimes Nicole could come and visit him. She was proud of him. She told him so often.
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
July 30, 2015
Your Help Appreciated
Hey,
Do you just need, I mean need more flash fiction? Follow this link and like my story. I mean, how often do I ask you for something? Other than to buy my book, which many of you haven't done. So do that first, then go vote for me. You get to read a bunch of other awesome shorts at the same time. I suppose you could vote for one of them, but I'll be watching you.
http://tipsylit.com/2015/07/28/prompt...
#shamelessselfpromotion #contest #shortstory #aboutme #amwriting #author #writer
Do you just need, I mean need more flash fiction? Follow this link and like my story. I mean, how often do I ask you for something? Other than to buy my book, which many of you haven't done. So do that first, then go vote for me. You get to read a bunch of other awesome shorts at the same time. I suppose you could vote for one of them, but I'll be watching you.
http://tipsylit.com/2015/07/28/prompt...
#shamelessselfpromotion #contest #shortstory #aboutme #amwriting #author #writer
July 28, 2015
In the Beginning - Folsom
Part 18 - Rougher than the rest this will need some clean up and likely get expanded into a full conversation when I compile them.
“They told me seeing a turtle on your wedding day would bring good luck.” They were the first words Peter spoke after entering prison.
His cellmate, a man of little import, stared blankly. Peter was thankful that in the end times men didn’t need smarts. Telling his story to this neanderthal was next to pointless, so he started telling the man about the prophecy. Peter’s mind wandered though.
His parents told him about the turtle. Superstitious and half-mad at the best of times at least they brought him up in the church. He met Templeton there, and his lovely daughter years later.
He met his wife in the church. After a whirlwind courtship, Templeton married them. The then five-year-old Nicole stood in as flower girl. Even then Peter knew she was destined for greatness. There was no turtle at the wedding, he looked. His wife killed herself a year later. There was always something suspicious about the circumstances.
The police wouldn’t look into it. It ate at him. Until he ended up on the streets. Years later he found himself sleeping under a newspaper announcing the preacher’s death. He was sad and angry for a moment. If the preacher had not been born in the year of the rabbit Peter’s marriage might have had a happier ending.
He thought little more about it, until fate intervened again. Peter was outside the bookstore when the rough man sold the preacher’s books. He remembered that golden child, and bits of the prophecy. He had to help. He snuck in and stole them, barely hiding them before being arrested. After tormenting the Father for a while, Peter dug up the books and took them to the sacred couple.
After cleaning up he was introduced to the ladies. He met the daughter, she had a lot of big words for such a young girl. He even got to look in on the infant son as the baby slept. He dined with them. They even included him in the taking of the body and blood of Christ, which tasted much different than back when he bothered with mass. After dinner they explained it all. Peter barely kept the Eucharist down upon realizing he was a double cannibal. Chester put a task to him he would not refuse. A man brought as low as Peter, given an opportunity to be part of something great will rarely pass it up.
“So, we have the girls, or the beginnings of them, our daughter will lead. This is a war women can wage with grace and charm. Our men must be rough, hardened, willing to kill for the cause. Like you, they must have nothing to lose. We need you to turn yourself in and recruit inside."
So he did. Funny thing, the original theft got him less time than fleeing justice did. Peter shocked himself out of his revelry by saying something he didn’t mean to out loud. He never realized how much he blamed on the preacher. Thankfully, unlike God, he didn’t believe sin was carried in the blood. His cellmate offered him a strange look but became his first convert. In jail and marriage it is better to agree with crazy.
“Now I’m doing ten to twenty and looking for believers in federal prison. Stupid rabbit.”
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
“They told me seeing a turtle on your wedding day would bring good luck.” They were the first words Peter spoke after entering prison.
His cellmate, a man of little import, stared blankly. Peter was thankful that in the end times men didn’t need smarts. Telling his story to this neanderthal was next to pointless, so he started telling the man about the prophecy. Peter’s mind wandered though.
His parents told him about the turtle. Superstitious and half-mad at the best of times at least they brought him up in the church. He met Templeton there, and his lovely daughter years later.
He met his wife in the church. After a whirlwind courtship, Templeton married them. The then five-year-old Nicole stood in as flower girl. Even then Peter knew she was destined for greatness. There was no turtle at the wedding, he looked. His wife killed herself a year later. There was always something suspicious about the circumstances.
The police wouldn’t look into it. It ate at him. Until he ended up on the streets. Years later he found himself sleeping under a newspaper announcing the preacher’s death. He was sad and angry for a moment. If the preacher had not been born in the year of the rabbit Peter’s marriage might have had a happier ending.
He thought little more about it, until fate intervened again. Peter was outside the bookstore when the rough man sold the preacher’s books. He remembered that golden child, and bits of the prophecy. He had to help. He snuck in and stole them, barely hiding them before being arrested. After tormenting the Father for a while, Peter dug up the books and took them to the sacred couple.
After cleaning up he was introduced to the ladies. He met the daughter, she had a lot of big words for such a young girl. He even got to look in on the infant son as the baby slept. He dined with them. They even included him in the taking of the body and blood of Christ, which tasted much different than back when he bothered with mass. After dinner they explained it all. Peter barely kept the Eucharist down upon realizing he was a double cannibal. Chester put a task to him he would not refuse. A man brought as low as Peter, given an opportunity to be part of something great will rarely pass it up.
“So, we have the girls, or the beginnings of them, our daughter will lead. This is a war women can wage with grace and charm. Our men must be rough, hardened, willing to kill for the cause. Like you, they must have nothing to lose. We need you to turn yourself in and recruit inside."
So he did. Funny thing, the original theft got him less time than fleeing justice did. Peter shocked himself out of his revelry by saying something he didn’t mean to out loud. He never realized how much he blamed on the preacher. Thankfully, unlike God, he didn’t believe sin was carried in the blood. His cellmate offered him a strange look but became his first convert. In jail and marriage it is better to agree with crazy.
“Now I’m doing ten to twenty and looking for believers in federal prison. Stupid rabbit.”
#shortstory #novel #author #writer #writing
July 22, 2015
In the Beginning - The Eucharist
This should be part seventeen. All others are below, as per the usual.
Chester knew questions were dangerous. Especially ones revolving around religion or ceremony or, worse, both. The treacherous nature of the footing around such grew more intense when the ladies, the term changed from girls to avoid confusion with their daughter, were near enough to turn the answer into a lesson. Yet, he let the question slip without thinking. The ladies perked up. They did not share Chester’s distaste for Nicole’s monologues.
“It started before I was born. At first it was just secular holidays. My father felt people needed to be shown the foolishness of misusing the word and mocked for building monoliths to the greatness of man when the glory of God was right there. He said it could be celebrated every day. That it was insane to live mediocre, plebian lives that caused apathy to the miracles all around us. It was a travesty to trot out the Word only on special occasions and pretend they were celebrations when they were, in truth, wakes for our faith and souls.
“It always ate at him that the state had more days honoring the people’s mindless obedience to it than God did for giving us free will to ignore him. It incensed him that even when you included the days for false heathen gods, Caesar still had more. So he ‘threw tradition in the face of the Sodomites and Gomorrahans.’
“We had foie gras and vodka on Cinco de Mayo. On veteran’s day we ate frog legs and drank German beer. When that wasn’t enough for him we went out on memorial day and painted peace signs on the headstones of soldiers. The best one was his tradition of flying over an English family on the fourth of July. We took them on a tour of the white house, then threw coffee and firearms into the reflecting pool.
“Eventually, God told him to remember the religious days and keep them holy. So while state days were great fun and rebellion Christmas, Easter, Passover, any day celebrating the true God really, became somber occasions. We celebrated as Christ did, by honoring the Eucharist. Now that he is gone, now that we have the children to think of, now that we have these ladies to train I would like to continue the tradition.”
“Okay,” Chester sighed, “but can’t you go get the supplies yourself?”
“You know that’s a man’s job.” She chided in the way she had. Chester could never determine if it was humorous or deadly.
“But why a bum?” He couldn’t look her in the eyes when he asked. “If we’re fighting to change the world we shouldn’t attack the enemies of our enemies.”
“Make sure it’s not the bum working with us! Choose another. Chester, you know why. Nobody misses vagrants or whores. When the movement gains steam, after a few more signs we will attack those holding the power. Once we can’t be stopped we can take the war directly to those standing in our way. Until then, we have to fly below the radar but our traditions must be observed.”
He was about to argue. She stopped his protests with a kiss. The ladies oohed and ahed. He would do what she told him. As he always did. He just hoped his luck with murder was as good as the cop’s.
#shortstory #novel #author #dark #religion #socialcommentary #writer #writing
Chester knew questions were dangerous. Especially ones revolving around religion or ceremony or, worse, both. The treacherous nature of the footing around such grew more intense when the ladies, the term changed from girls to avoid confusion with their daughter, were near enough to turn the answer into a lesson. Yet, he let the question slip without thinking. The ladies perked up. They did not share Chester’s distaste for Nicole’s monologues.
“It started before I was born. At first it was just secular holidays. My father felt people needed to be shown the foolishness of misusing the word and mocked for building monoliths to the greatness of man when the glory of God was right there. He said it could be celebrated every day. That it was insane to live mediocre, plebian lives that caused apathy to the miracles all around us. It was a travesty to trot out the Word only on special occasions and pretend they were celebrations when they were, in truth, wakes for our faith and souls.
“It always ate at him that the state had more days honoring the people’s mindless obedience to it than God did for giving us free will to ignore him. It incensed him that even when you included the days for false heathen gods, Caesar still had more. So he ‘threw tradition in the face of the Sodomites and Gomorrahans.’
“We had foie gras and vodka on Cinco de Mayo. On veteran’s day we ate frog legs and drank German beer. When that wasn’t enough for him we went out on memorial day and painted peace signs on the headstones of soldiers. The best one was his tradition of flying over an English family on the fourth of July. We took them on a tour of the white house, then threw coffee and firearms into the reflecting pool.
“Eventually, God told him to remember the religious days and keep them holy. So while state days were great fun and rebellion Christmas, Easter, Passover, any day celebrating the true God really, became somber occasions. We celebrated as Christ did, by honoring the Eucharist. Now that he is gone, now that we have the children to think of, now that we have these ladies to train I would like to continue the tradition.”
“Okay,” Chester sighed, “but can’t you go get the supplies yourself?”
“You know that’s a man’s job.” She chided in the way she had. Chester could never determine if it was humorous or deadly.
“But why a bum?” He couldn’t look her in the eyes when he asked. “If we’re fighting to change the world we shouldn’t attack the enemies of our enemies.”
“Make sure it’s not the bum working with us! Choose another. Chester, you know why. Nobody misses vagrants or whores. When the movement gains steam, after a few more signs we will attack those holding the power. Once we can’t be stopped we can take the war directly to those standing in our way. Until then, we have to fly below the radar but our traditions must be observed.”
He was about to argue. She stopped his protests with a kiss. The ladies oohed and ahed. He would do what she told him. As he always did. He just hoped his luck with murder was as good as the cop’s.
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