C.L. Moses's Blog, page 3
February 1, 2016
The Interloper
A story by CL Moses
With assistance from Isabel Moody
Earth
The northern continent
1985
I stand before the archway that leads onto the balcony and look’s out over the pastures and trees which stretch far and wide in any direction. A slight fog lingers on the ground below surrounding my building then flows down through the eroded wrinkles of the sides and furrows leading down into the bowl of the valley below and coils itself into the branches of the trees and other brush, the rising sun’s lig...
November 5, 2014
Making new friends
Thank you for the friendships! We're all here either looking for a new book to read and/or trying to make our own writings available to all to enjoy. I appreciate all of you!
October 9, 2014
short story for you to enjoy!
Before I post Chapter 1 of Darby, I'm going to post a short story that will be in my next book. The book as of yet is untitled but it will be an assortment of short stories.
As always, feel free to comment or ask questions.
Again, thanks for the friendships and page likes. I appreciate all of you!
Leviticus
By C.L. Moses
It seemed to Leviticus as if his whole life was spent hunting. Perhaps searching would be a better description. Always looking, always hungry.
But then again, so far as he knew, everyone that he was associated with had been driven by the same primal urges for as long as anyone could remember.
Eat, drink, procreate and sleep. Wake up and repeat.
That was the give and take of his being as well as the others like him.
But it wasn’t always like this. He had heard the tales. They all had. Tales of the times before the invasion.
A time before the tall ones. The giants.
Stories of a time when his kind roamed the fields and valleys, the mountains as well as the meadows. They lived off of the bounty of nature. Feasting on the plentiful grains in the fields, the fruits of the vines and nuts from the trees and stashing enough to wait out the freezing winters all the way through the frosts of spring time.
Its was an ideal society. No wars or famine.
Kind unto kind. Live and let compete, but most of all let live.
Each one born to live out their lives and leaving the land as close as they could to the same shape it been found in from one to the next generation.
It was by no means perfect. It had it’s share of fights, some of them quick and deadly, but all of them in the end final.
But by and large it was, to them at least, both fair and balanced.
When the giants came it was without warning or remorse.
As benevolent as they where to each other to the clan of Leviticus, they where monsters. Some even bending at the waist and snatching up the young to raise as pets, others trying their best to scare us away. They were cold ruthless killers in the eyes of those on the receiving end of their graces. Striking out at anyone and everything that stood in the path of their progress. Killing literally millions of the indigenous populate.
The machines they used to, in their words, develop the land worked day and night. Chewing up this bit and flattening that, until there was hardly any land at all that wasn't “developed.”
Leaving Leviticus and the small band he seemed to have attracted, at least those who were left, to scavenge and steal what little they could to survive.
Long gone where the days of plenty. All that was left now was a constant gnawing hunger. A hunger so bad that no mater what you did you could not fill the pit.
And tomorrow he would venture out and try again to do just that. Others be damned.
He had not spent the night on the warm and comfortable bed the female he had mated with last night had, all cotton, straw and other soft materials she had found here and there, but instead on the cold hardwood floor.
A male in this society would be insane to let himself fall victim to the luxuries of comfort.
He rose as quietly as he could and exited the portal that led to the cramped passageway which stretched upwards far beyond his sight. To the front and rear the view was the same.
Most times ‘feel’ was his sense of choice. But as he stepped into the alleyway to begin another day of hunting he was assaulted by a scent he had never experienced.
He had smelled the giant’s cooking before, from the slabs of meat roasting in the massive furnaces, to the weeds and roots they threw into huge cauldrons and boiled away at until it was just a gooey mass which they seemed to consume with much gusto, to the colored waters they seemed to prefer over the cool clear waters of the streams.
No, this was a different scent. More woody and at the same time pungent like, well like nothing he had ever smelt. And just as a compass will always point north he was compelled to find the source his nose pointing the way towards his tormentor.
He moved quietly through the alley knowing that stealth was his best ally at this point, but driven by the constant gnawing hunger.
He had at this point passed by two portals sniffing lightly but deeply at each when the smell struck him again. But this time he could practically see it pouring from the next portal. There was just one problem.
Beyond that portal lay the giants.
“Maybe just a quick peek” thought Leviticus as he crept up to the portal just close enough to poke his head around the corner and see what was in the room.
And there it was.
The prize of the giants.
It must be, because it sat in the middle of an otherwise empty space.
All green and sparkling, a combination of the green of the grasses in the fields which he had seen in his youth, and the darker leaves on the trees and flowers that covered the area with a smattering of colors he had never seen before.
But it was the odor that made him put aside all logic and caution and enter the area.
It was the smell of passion. Nirvana on the wind. His head swam with delight at just the first whiff and now here he stood, mere arms reach from the stockpile of manna dropped from heaven.
A plan sprang to mind!
He would carry as much of this as he could back to the others, then he and a few others would come back for the rest a bit at a time until they had it all. Not a bad scheme in and of itself. There was, however, one flaw.
He hadn’t tasted it yet.
That was always the risky part.
The tasting.
Most times he would get someone more dumb and more hungry than him, but this time he couldn’t resist. It taunted him this pile of food in an otherwise empty space.
So close. So inviting.
Before he knew it, he had reached out and grabbed a piece of the pile and clutched it close to his chest.
Oh the smell of it! He had to know how it tasted.
His teeth met with some resistance at first, then the smooth shiny exterior cracked and he bit down harder and with his mouth full he busily chewed away at the crust while his eyes remained transfixed on the core.
It was a different color but somehow the same. At this point, however, it was moot because this was truly the food of the gods.
He swallowed hard and even before the first bite was down his throat the second bite, the one from the center, was in his mouth.
It was soft but at the same time firm and he found that by combining it with a piece of the outer shell he could get the best of both worlds.
Before he knew it, the first was gone; then another and yet another until in all five had been consumed.
By now he was feeling both quite full and quite selfish. He had to run and get the rest of his brethren to fetch back the last of the bounty he had found.
His heart filled with glee and his ego filled with the promise of a secure place in the tribe as he turned to quietly (as quietly as you could on a gorged stomach) run back and fetch the others.
That’s when the first pain hit.
At first, the fiery hot pain and the cramp in his stomach seemed to be the end result of over-eating on the local shrubbery.
Then, as he tried his best to take another step, the real pain set in. A pain so intense that it doubled him over.
He tried to hold back the screams of agony but in the end he knew it was a futile gesture so he screamed, or at least tried to. It not only seemed that every muscle and every fiber that it was composed of in his body was being twisted as hard as it could be so as to draw out all the moisture and flexibility, but it was indeed a fact.
His fingers and toes where drawn together against his inner pads so tight that he felt them snap at the joints.
His back arced until the back of his scull almost touched his buttocks and then he pitched forward.
The far end of the cold space he lay in began to slide away from him. An intensely bright light filled the area as he lay trying to breath through a wet sponge held against his lips like an elephant sitting on his chest.
His last vision in life was that of the giant’s already huge and hideous face scrunching up into an even more grotesque expression. Then the foul smell of his sickeningly sweet breath rolling over his body like death itself pulling the blanket over your face. The reverberations of his roar almost lifting his body from the floor.
In the last seconds he was conscious, he saw the giant reach in with a cloth covered maw to seize him and drag his dying body into the skies above.
And with that he slipped into the dark unknown.
Meanwhile…………..
After his discharge from the military in ’74, Bob Tansy had been recruited by an exclusive security company.
On a personal level the fact that he had no, and didn't want any, children, wife or any other kind of significant other, the job was perfect for him.
He got to travel the globe, carry a weapon, and at this time in his life that’s what mattered most to him. A fine point of light hit his heart each and every morning.
Would I get a call today?
Ground or air?
How would I leave and come back?
So went business and it was doing gangbusters.
After entering the room, he dropped his bag by the door to his bedroom and then went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of water from the otherwise empty refrigerator, call in an order from Annabel who lived next door (she not only made the best gumbo to ever pass his lips but wasn't shy with her kisses), then went back to his room to change into his sweat pants and tank top. After returning to the living room, he dropped to the prone position to began his evening workout of push ups, set ups; then an hour or so wrestling around with Annabel.
That’s when he heard it. The high pitched squeal and the thrashing.
It wouldn’t do for his chef to find a mouse in residence. Neither for the dinner or the smooching.
Knowing what bait he had placed and where, he went to the cupboard and fetched a small wash cloth. Then went to the door below the sink and eased it opened it ever so slowly.
After two tours in Viet Nam and then a time spent in Central America, he by anyone’s definition would be called a soldier. Bold. Fearless.
Except for mice.
He could and had dealt with them in the field. But in his house, his quarters?
But the chance of losing the attentions of Annabel won out over all his phobias as he reached in, and with a grunt of disgust followed by a few curses, dropped the wash cloth over the rapidly fading mouse, then after unceremoniously scooping it up grunted, from his very soul
“I hate mice.”
Meanwhile a set of eyes as black as the night, tight set above a long gray nose, the tip of its tail by his rear haunches after wrapping around the front of his body watched and began to plot.
As always, feel free to comment or ask questions.
Again, thanks for the friendships and page likes. I appreciate all of you!
Leviticus
By C.L. Moses
It seemed to Leviticus as if his whole life was spent hunting. Perhaps searching would be a better description. Always looking, always hungry.
But then again, so far as he knew, everyone that he was associated with had been driven by the same primal urges for as long as anyone could remember.
Eat, drink, procreate and sleep. Wake up and repeat.
That was the give and take of his being as well as the others like him.
But it wasn’t always like this. He had heard the tales. They all had. Tales of the times before the invasion.
A time before the tall ones. The giants.
Stories of a time when his kind roamed the fields and valleys, the mountains as well as the meadows. They lived off of the bounty of nature. Feasting on the plentiful grains in the fields, the fruits of the vines and nuts from the trees and stashing enough to wait out the freezing winters all the way through the frosts of spring time.
Its was an ideal society. No wars or famine.
Kind unto kind. Live and let compete, but most of all let live.
Each one born to live out their lives and leaving the land as close as they could to the same shape it been found in from one to the next generation.
It was by no means perfect. It had it’s share of fights, some of them quick and deadly, but all of them in the end final.
But by and large it was, to them at least, both fair and balanced.
When the giants came it was without warning or remorse.
As benevolent as they where to each other to the clan of Leviticus, they where monsters. Some even bending at the waist and snatching up the young to raise as pets, others trying their best to scare us away. They were cold ruthless killers in the eyes of those on the receiving end of their graces. Striking out at anyone and everything that stood in the path of their progress. Killing literally millions of the indigenous populate.
The machines they used to, in their words, develop the land worked day and night. Chewing up this bit and flattening that, until there was hardly any land at all that wasn't “developed.”
Leaving Leviticus and the small band he seemed to have attracted, at least those who were left, to scavenge and steal what little they could to survive.
Long gone where the days of plenty. All that was left now was a constant gnawing hunger. A hunger so bad that no mater what you did you could not fill the pit.
And tomorrow he would venture out and try again to do just that. Others be damned.
He had not spent the night on the warm and comfortable bed the female he had mated with last night had, all cotton, straw and other soft materials she had found here and there, but instead on the cold hardwood floor.
A male in this society would be insane to let himself fall victim to the luxuries of comfort.
He rose as quietly as he could and exited the portal that led to the cramped passageway which stretched upwards far beyond his sight. To the front and rear the view was the same.
Most times ‘feel’ was his sense of choice. But as he stepped into the alleyway to begin another day of hunting he was assaulted by a scent he had never experienced.
He had smelled the giant’s cooking before, from the slabs of meat roasting in the massive furnaces, to the weeds and roots they threw into huge cauldrons and boiled away at until it was just a gooey mass which they seemed to consume with much gusto, to the colored waters they seemed to prefer over the cool clear waters of the streams.
No, this was a different scent. More woody and at the same time pungent like, well like nothing he had ever smelt. And just as a compass will always point north he was compelled to find the source his nose pointing the way towards his tormentor.
He moved quietly through the alley knowing that stealth was his best ally at this point, but driven by the constant gnawing hunger.
He had at this point passed by two portals sniffing lightly but deeply at each when the smell struck him again. But this time he could practically see it pouring from the next portal. There was just one problem.
Beyond that portal lay the giants.
“Maybe just a quick peek” thought Leviticus as he crept up to the portal just close enough to poke his head around the corner and see what was in the room.
And there it was.
The prize of the giants.
It must be, because it sat in the middle of an otherwise empty space.
All green and sparkling, a combination of the green of the grasses in the fields which he had seen in his youth, and the darker leaves on the trees and flowers that covered the area with a smattering of colors he had never seen before.
But it was the odor that made him put aside all logic and caution and enter the area.
It was the smell of passion. Nirvana on the wind. His head swam with delight at just the first whiff and now here he stood, mere arms reach from the stockpile of manna dropped from heaven.
A plan sprang to mind!
He would carry as much of this as he could back to the others, then he and a few others would come back for the rest a bit at a time until they had it all. Not a bad scheme in and of itself. There was, however, one flaw.
He hadn’t tasted it yet.
That was always the risky part.
The tasting.
Most times he would get someone more dumb and more hungry than him, but this time he couldn’t resist. It taunted him this pile of food in an otherwise empty space.
So close. So inviting.
Before he knew it, he had reached out and grabbed a piece of the pile and clutched it close to his chest.
Oh the smell of it! He had to know how it tasted.
His teeth met with some resistance at first, then the smooth shiny exterior cracked and he bit down harder and with his mouth full he busily chewed away at the crust while his eyes remained transfixed on the core.
It was a different color but somehow the same. At this point, however, it was moot because this was truly the food of the gods.
He swallowed hard and even before the first bite was down his throat the second bite, the one from the center, was in his mouth.
It was soft but at the same time firm and he found that by combining it with a piece of the outer shell he could get the best of both worlds.
Before he knew it, the first was gone; then another and yet another until in all five had been consumed.
By now he was feeling both quite full and quite selfish. He had to run and get the rest of his brethren to fetch back the last of the bounty he had found.
His heart filled with glee and his ego filled with the promise of a secure place in the tribe as he turned to quietly (as quietly as you could on a gorged stomach) run back and fetch the others.
That’s when the first pain hit.
At first, the fiery hot pain and the cramp in his stomach seemed to be the end result of over-eating on the local shrubbery.
Then, as he tried his best to take another step, the real pain set in. A pain so intense that it doubled him over.
He tried to hold back the screams of agony but in the end he knew it was a futile gesture so he screamed, or at least tried to. It not only seemed that every muscle and every fiber that it was composed of in his body was being twisted as hard as it could be so as to draw out all the moisture and flexibility, but it was indeed a fact.
His fingers and toes where drawn together against his inner pads so tight that he felt them snap at the joints.
His back arced until the back of his scull almost touched his buttocks and then he pitched forward.
The far end of the cold space he lay in began to slide away from him. An intensely bright light filled the area as he lay trying to breath through a wet sponge held against his lips like an elephant sitting on his chest.
His last vision in life was that of the giant’s already huge and hideous face scrunching up into an even more grotesque expression. Then the foul smell of his sickeningly sweet breath rolling over his body like death itself pulling the blanket over your face. The reverberations of his roar almost lifting his body from the floor.
In the last seconds he was conscious, he saw the giant reach in with a cloth covered maw to seize him and drag his dying body into the skies above.
And with that he slipped into the dark unknown.
Meanwhile…………..
After his discharge from the military in ’74, Bob Tansy had been recruited by an exclusive security company.
On a personal level the fact that he had no, and didn't want any, children, wife or any other kind of significant other, the job was perfect for him.
He got to travel the globe, carry a weapon, and at this time in his life that’s what mattered most to him. A fine point of light hit his heart each and every morning.
Would I get a call today?
Ground or air?
How would I leave and come back?
So went business and it was doing gangbusters.
After entering the room, he dropped his bag by the door to his bedroom and then went to the kitchen to fetch a bottle of water from the otherwise empty refrigerator, call in an order from Annabel who lived next door (she not only made the best gumbo to ever pass his lips but wasn't shy with her kisses), then went back to his room to change into his sweat pants and tank top. After returning to the living room, he dropped to the prone position to began his evening workout of push ups, set ups; then an hour or so wrestling around with Annabel.
That’s when he heard it. The high pitched squeal and the thrashing.
It wouldn’t do for his chef to find a mouse in residence. Neither for the dinner or the smooching.
Knowing what bait he had placed and where, he went to the cupboard and fetched a small wash cloth. Then went to the door below the sink and eased it opened it ever so slowly.
After two tours in Viet Nam and then a time spent in Central America, he by anyone’s definition would be called a soldier. Bold. Fearless.
Except for mice.
He could and had dealt with them in the field. But in his house, his quarters?
But the chance of losing the attentions of Annabel won out over all his phobias as he reached in, and with a grunt of disgust followed by a few curses, dropped the wash cloth over the rapidly fading mouse, then after unceremoniously scooping it up grunted, from his very soul
“I hate mice.”
Meanwhile a set of eyes as black as the night, tight set above a long gray nose, the tip of its tail by his rear haunches after wrapping around the front of his body watched and began to plot.
September 29, 2014
Darby
I've decided to start putting a few chapters from my book Darby on Facebook and GoodReads occasionally to let people see my writing style. Hope you enjoy!
You can read the press release and about the book here:
http://newbookjournal.com/2014/07/dar....
You may also read a few comments at my publisher's website:
http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Prod...
Also, feel free to comment. I am aware of a few typos and other various things. I found it's expensive to get your first book published and paying for editing - well, go figure.
Prologue
Daybreak
There are times when the sun is first rising as it is now and my wife lies sleeping in bed snoring, for the most part gently, when I grab a beer from the fridge put on my boots and parka and slip
quietly out the door, and onto the deck that at this time of year is still
hiding pockets of the last snow that fell in its nooks and crannies, and commune with God. Not that I think I have a sit down with the big boss, or that I’m even being heard.
It just makes me feel good to once in a while air it out. To let him
know how it’s going.
I look out over the lake that is just behind my house and see the trees still cold and dark like the skeletons of a race of giants who one day just froze in their tracks and died. But then I see the tiny buds of green at the tips of each twig and I realize that the giants are just resting up, and soon they will awaken then the leaves will form like green shields to catch the sunlight that for now wastes it’s time dancing on the crests of the waves on the lake. For the most part I thank him for the little things like the food in my belly, the roof over my head, and the boots on my feet. But there are times, not many but a few, when I thank him for not letting me hurt anyone today. Which may seem odd at first glance but if you lift the veil just a little you can get a better perspective.
You see sometimes I don’t see the gilded rose of hope. Not by a long shot. Sometimes I see the light dancing on the water, not like fireflies over a pasture on a warm summer night, but as the muzzle flashes of enemy rifles at night.
And I see the trees as the skeletons of my past that at any time could come back to visit.
And it’s at those times I remember how I came by this sad handle. My name. The politicos and posers of this small community know me as Benjamin Pete Erde. That’s what’s on my driver’s license, but most folks just call me Ben. It’s just that’s not the only name I've ever gone by. Once, oh maybe a million years or so past, I was known by a different name. But that name like others I've had have died. But with the help of my friends and the love of my life I have one last chance at peace within.
To know I did my utmost best. So even though it’s likely past bed time or so where he lives, I go back into the house to call the only person besides my wife, Jhin, and Stone that I can talk to. Well I could call the lawyer but she can be a real bitch sometimes.
I take off my boots and slip quietly into the bedroom and as I enter I hear not only my wife’s gentile snores but also those of the Irish setter we've had for nearly ten years who is always laying at the foot of the bed. He doesn't even lift his head, only one eyelid which he just as quickly closes.
All is right in the Kingdom of Darby.
Taking a chance on waking either of them, I ease the cordless phone from it’s cradle, then backtrack towards the deck stopping along the way to pull a cigar out of my stash and grab a beer from the fridge; then I slip my boots back on. With the hiss and metallic ripping sound of a can being opened, then the scratch of a wooden safety match on its cover, and then the feel of hot smoke billowing into my lungs only to be followed by the cool rush of the beer flowing down my throat, I lean on the railing of the deck and remember. The foggy veil of time parts ever so slightly and I’m once again pulled back in time to see what was and as always the full weight of what happened hits me like a sack of bricks dropped from a ten story building. After all I've done and been through I have no idea why I can’t shake this one time off and I suppose that it doesn't really matter.
Maybe it’s because I found my wife and son through these events. Maybe it’s because my friend Jhin nearly died, or any other of a dozen reasons, I don’t know. My fingers dance over the keypad and I press the phone to my ear and listen to the dial tone.
You can read the press release and about the book here:
http://newbookjournal.com/2014/07/dar....
You may also read a few comments at my publisher's website:
http://bookstore.authorhouse.com/Prod...
Also, feel free to comment. I am aware of a few typos and other various things. I found it's expensive to get your first book published and paying for editing - well, go figure.
Prologue
Daybreak
There are times when the sun is first rising as it is now and my wife lies sleeping in bed snoring, for the most part gently, when I grab a beer from the fridge put on my boots and parka and slip
quietly out the door, and onto the deck that at this time of year is still
hiding pockets of the last snow that fell in its nooks and crannies, and commune with God. Not that I think I have a sit down with the big boss, or that I’m even being heard.
It just makes me feel good to once in a while air it out. To let him
know how it’s going.
I look out over the lake that is just behind my house and see the trees still cold and dark like the skeletons of a race of giants who one day just froze in their tracks and died. But then I see the tiny buds of green at the tips of each twig and I realize that the giants are just resting up, and soon they will awaken then the leaves will form like green shields to catch the sunlight that for now wastes it’s time dancing on the crests of the waves on the lake. For the most part I thank him for the little things like the food in my belly, the roof over my head, and the boots on my feet. But there are times, not many but a few, when I thank him for not letting me hurt anyone today. Which may seem odd at first glance but if you lift the veil just a little you can get a better perspective.
You see sometimes I don’t see the gilded rose of hope. Not by a long shot. Sometimes I see the light dancing on the water, not like fireflies over a pasture on a warm summer night, but as the muzzle flashes of enemy rifles at night.
And I see the trees as the skeletons of my past that at any time could come back to visit.
And it’s at those times I remember how I came by this sad handle. My name. The politicos and posers of this small community know me as Benjamin Pete Erde. That’s what’s on my driver’s license, but most folks just call me Ben. It’s just that’s not the only name I've ever gone by. Once, oh maybe a million years or so past, I was known by a different name. But that name like others I've had have died. But with the help of my friends and the love of my life I have one last chance at peace within.
To know I did my utmost best. So even though it’s likely past bed time or so where he lives, I go back into the house to call the only person besides my wife, Jhin, and Stone that I can talk to. Well I could call the lawyer but she can be a real bitch sometimes.
I take off my boots and slip quietly into the bedroom and as I enter I hear not only my wife’s gentile snores but also those of the Irish setter we've had for nearly ten years who is always laying at the foot of the bed. He doesn't even lift his head, only one eyelid which he just as quickly closes.
All is right in the Kingdom of Darby.
Taking a chance on waking either of them, I ease the cordless phone from it’s cradle, then backtrack towards the deck stopping along the way to pull a cigar out of my stash and grab a beer from the fridge; then I slip my boots back on. With the hiss and metallic ripping sound of a can being opened, then the scratch of a wooden safety match on its cover, and then the feel of hot smoke billowing into my lungs only to be followed by the cool rush of the beer flowing down my throat, I lean on the railing of the deck and remember. The foggy veil of time parts ever so slightly and I’m once again pulled back in time to see what was and as always the full weight of what happened hits me like a sack of bricks dropped from a ten story building. After all I've done and been through I have no idea why I can’t shake this one time off and I suppose that it doesn't really matter.
Maybe it’s because I found my wife and son through these events. Maybe it’s because my friend Jhin nearly died, or any other of a dozen reasons, I don’t know. My fingers dance over the keypad and I press the phone to my ear and listen to the dial tone.
