tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251576232024-03-12T21:53:00.968-07:00Sounds of Light and FuryA post for poetry, short fiction, movies, and other bits of prose.Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.comBlogger721125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-41704326533406240452013-04-28T16:21:00.000-07:002013-04-28T22:01:01.368-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 47<br />
<br />
Cody yanked hard on her hair pulling her face up to his. She let out a grunt but didn't speak, just stared at him. He could see the tears forming in the corner of her eyes but she was putting on a brave face. He admired that. It made him hard. She looked away but he used one hand to roughly grab her cheeks and turn her face back towards him.<br />
<br />
"I'm gonna hear you beg bitch. You can put on whatever brave face you want. But I WILL hear you beg."<br />
<br />
He jerked her hair so hard a few strands pulled free and continued pulling her up the staircase of the hotel. She struggled but his grip was to strong. Her feet, knees, and shins smacked hard against the steps until he reached the top floor and she let out a few small grunts, but still no scream. Not yet. He kicked open the first room at the top and muscled Ally through the doorway, violently throwing her on the bed.<br />
<br />
She tried to scramble off as soon as she hit the mattress but he was on top of her instantly. He pressed his weight on top of her and she tried to hit at him with her free hands but he used his legs to wedge one of them down. With his position and weight she couldn't get much leverage against him and he let out a smile as he ran a caressing finger along her cheek. He fondled the split he'd caused on her lip before she took a bite at his finger. His smile quickly lapsed into a frown as he punched her hard in the eye. That did ellicit a cry from her. He watched it welt and start to turn purple as she writhed beneath him.<br />
<br />
"Now we'll really have some fun."<br />
<br />
She tried squirming left, tugging at her free arm as he slid back on top of her a little. He grabbed one of her breasts hard as his free hand gripped the collar of her dress. He pulled at it, tearing fabric and popping buttons, exposing the tender white flesh beneath, still ripe with the bruises he had given her. That sick, thick grin came back as he used that hand to undo his gun belt, tossing it beside the bed. He kept his other hand around her throat, keeping her eyes on him anytime she tried to turn away. His fingers were stiff and cruel as he forced her to look at him as he spoke.<br />
<br />
"You can start crying now."<br />
<br />
He slapped her across the face again for good measure before tugging at the button on his pants. This would feel so good. He'd killed to many people to have ignored this urge this long. It had been days since that whore at the farmhouse, and this nectar was twice as sweet as she had been. He let go of her face and used both hands as he slipped his pants down, rising off her slightly in the process. It was in that momentary lapse in pressure that the whore made her move. Her arm suddenly free, he saw her hand blur and felt a searing pain across his eye. He let out a scream and fell backwards off the bed, red filling his vision. He clutched at the socket, feeling the flap of skin where his eye use to be and the salty flecks of blood dribbling on his lips from between his fingers.<br />
<br />
"YOU FUCKING BITCH!"<br />
<br />
With his good eye he saw her stand up, clutching the steak knife from her meal in her hands. The whole world was a vision of red and pain, but he still felt that white hot urge in his gut. He stumbled towards the bed, still holding his eye as he tried to stand up.<br />
<br />
"I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU!"<br />
<br />
She drew close to him, her voice small and hard.<br />
<br />
"It's okay to start screaming now."<br />
<br />
He did scream then, after he felt her jam the knife into his stomach.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-17354240515578272112013-04-27T21:59:00.000-07:002013-04-28T21:59:52.916-07:00Flash Fiction: The Sea<br />
The Sea <br />
<br />
<br />
Everett flicked the tail end of the cigarette away, watching it spin end over end into the sea. He let loose the last remnants of the precious smoke from his lungs and brought the bottle to his lips. He drew a pull of the liquor, cheap, dark, and brown, but serviceable for his needs. He took several more pulls, wishing that hadn't been his only smoke and watched the tide push in its refuse, the beach resembling some waterlogged junkyard. He felt the booze burn his throat and wished it would dull some of his other senses, but it wasn't enough, not yet. <br />
<br />
He sat on the shoreline until the tide began to lap at his feet, blending in with the rest of the trash on the beach. Everett laid on his back, holding the bottle in his hand and looked to the sky. It was dark, but the smog and carbon monoxide of the city formed a film over the skyline. Only the brightest stars shown through though and even then they were but a pale reflection behind a scummy veneer. He tuned to the moon, the only thing that held any light at all. On a night like this, he wished it had been full, bright and warm, lighting the darkness in its pale ether.<br />
<br />
Instead the moon was but a sliver, a slim crack of light in the inky paleness of the night sky. Not even a crescent, just the barest of curvature hinting at the lunar globe. An outline of his loneliness. He held the bottle high, letting the sliver of light shine through the bottle, covering himself in a brown moon shadow. In an offered toast, he took one last drink and flung the bottle into the sea. Washed away to wash ashore again, unwanted by the land and the sea, just like him.<br />
<br />
It was there he sat on the beach, letting the waves lap at his feet as he watched the moon circle across the sky. The chill of the water and the windy bite of the breeze didn't seem to faze him, nor did the graininess of the sand, wet and cold beneath him. The night seemed to pass in a mire, slowed by the wet slickness of the sea. It blended into the darkness of a night sky meeting a blackened sand. A dead sky meeting a dead beach. It was hard to tell where the horizon ended and the Earth began. A moment in space lost, lost among the refuse of the discarded.<br />
<br />
He sat unmoving, numbness slipping into his limbs as the tell tale red trim of the sun approached to the west. The tide had begun to reduce, retreating into the cold green spray of the sea. He sat waiting, wondering if the dawn held the answers that the night had kept from him. Wondering if the beginning of today could be worse than the end of yesterday.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-5154207801487752862013-04-10T13:30:00.000-07:002013-04-10T13:30:05.573-07:00Flash Fiction: All I Ever WantedAll I Ever Wanted <br />
<br />
<br />
The place smelled of death. Slow rotting, antiseptic death. It was there, underneath the smells of bleach, sanitizer, and the squeaky rubber aroma of the nurses' orthopedic shoes. It permeated the place, underlying the offered lonely peace of the hospital bed. A peace belayed by the beeps of machinery and the sounds of respirators pumping oxygen into so many people who still clung to this precious life. Their time trickling away as they watched re-runs of Dr. Phil in the fading moments of a life well wasted.<br />
<br />
In the time that we had left I had tried to cut those distractions away, the only sensation I wanted was the feel of her hand in mind, as we brushed each others fingers softly. She looked at me, tears in her eyes and I tried to smile through the lump in my throat. We didn't need words or sounds, just that soft touch, just the feel of her hand in mine. The knowlege of a life shared, of a dream come true. Of a dream that was soon to end.<br />
<br />
She opened her mouth to speak but I softly shook my head no. Words couldn't come to me, not in that moment, not in this place. I closed my eyes and squeezed her hand tighter. I didnt want my last vision of her to be in this place. I wanted to remember her the way I do in my dreams. I wanted to remember that first day I saw her in school, holding her books and laughing at something someone had said. Her shy nod yes the first time I asked her out. The taste of her lips when we first kissed. The day she agreed to marry me. I wanted to remember her from everyday in our life. From every morning she woke, till every night when she slept. I wanted everyday... but not today.<br />
<br />
I licked my lips and reached for my own words. How could I sum up everything this woman had meant to me? How could I put into words the meaning her life has had in mine? What do you tell the meaning of life?<br />
<br />
I lifted her hand to my cheek slowly, nuzzling it every so gently. Weakness and time had wrought it's toll and life faded with each passing second. I tired to impart with touch what I couldn't with words. To put a lifetime of memories and love into each caress. I couldn't find my voice, but I hoped she heard my message.<br />
<br />
We stayed like that a long time. I knew the end was close, creeping upon us. I could feel it coming, I knew our time was almost over. I tried to feel her hand, to let her know I was still here, but my limbs felt numb. I opened my mouth to speak but my voice had already failed me. The only thing that escaped my lips was one last breath, slow and drawn out, the last moments of my life leaving my body.<br />
<br />
I wanted to stay with her. It was all I had ever wanted.<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-68915446111406219662013-03-24T00:54:00.000-07:002013-03-24T00:54:19.737-07:00Poetry: Still and StarkHey all,<br />
<br />
I've really been feeling some poetry lately so wanted to try my hand at crafting another poem. This is based on an image I saw on TV about a old man looking at himself in the mirror. The subject matter was completely different than the topic of the poem, but I like how easy this was to write. Maybe a total of 30 minutes all together? It just came really easy.<br />
<br />
Anyway, enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Still and Stark </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Softly lit under light bulbs glow,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The darkened recess ebbed of flow,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And the mirror shown in sheerest sheen,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Revealing a haggard man, a sight unseen.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>His bristled face a mask of age,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Lines and wrinkles, a time wrought cage.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Hair gone white, thinned and bald,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>With sallowed skin, whitened and palled.</i><br />
<br />
<i>He brushed his mouth with gnarled hands,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Withered with hurt, from hour wrought sands. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Eyes grown milky, dimmed from time,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The lust of life so far from its prime.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>He knew his time was near the end,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Days gone by, just moments to send.</i><br />
<br />
<i>He touched his echo in reflection's gleam,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Fingers tracing death wrote seam. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>His voice croaked from chappened lip,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Muttered prayers of regrets let slip.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He closed his eyes and reached on high,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Smashing the bulb with nary a sigh.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And in the dark he waited still,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As life blood's flow waned to nil.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In the quiet and lonely dark,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>He died a death, still and stark.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-38703578054271094602013-03-23T23:59:00.001-07:002013-03-24T00:55:02.076-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 46:<br />
<br />
Morgan's Winchester thundered as he barrelled towards the female rider. She had already mounted her horse and was spurring it towards the stalled stage. He glanced as he rode by, the huddled mass of undead tearing at the body of the downed rider, gore and viscera flinging madly about in the mixture of claws and fangs. He tried not to let the image root in his brain. Morgan shifted the reins to his teeth as he chambered new rounds into the rifle and angled his horse around the herd with his knees. He spurred the horse faster and rode hard.<br />
<br />
He watched the female swing free from her saddle and open the door of the stage. She was in such a hurry she didn't see the monster coming up from behind her. Morgan smashed another creature with the butt of his rifle and drew a bead on the one bearing down on the female. She was pulling at someone inside the cabin, her back exposed. His rifle cracked, bucking hard into his shoulder and teh creatures head exploded in a shower of brains and pus. Morgan was impressed watching the woman spin around and snapping up her pistol incredibly fast. they locked eyes momentarily before Morgan fired again, catching another of the monsters as it rounded the back of the stage.<br />
<br />
He drew his horse up and looked at the woman. She was shapely, almost poured into the tight leather chaps and shirt she was wearing, but looked comfortable with the feel of the pistol in her hand. She kept the gun pointed at him but he reined the horse about, putting his back to her, unconcerned.<br />
<br />
"Best be quick ma'am. There's more of these bastards than I've got bullet's for. I also reckon you may have some business with that fellow who killed yer friend."<br />
<br />
Morgan watched as more of the masses drew closer to them and fired two more shots, two more kills. Then he laughed to himself. Killing what was already dead. God damn.<br />
<br />
"Listen mister, I don't know who the fuck you are or what the fuck your angle is. But if you help me get my father out of here, I'll make it worth your while. You help me get that sonuvabitch who killed my friends, and you can name your price."<br />
<br />
Morgan looked back as she was pulling out an old man from the stage's cab. He could see the man's withered legs and the look on his face, grimacing in pain. He glanced back at the shambling masses heading towards them. he pulled out his Cavalry revolver and clocked the hammer.<br />
<br />
"Well the we'd best make this quick if either of us want to live to cash in on those promises."<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad! Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-36708231871275123892013-03-20T00:16:00.002-07:002013-03-20T00:51:30.199-07:00Poetry: Bare to the EarthHey all,<br />
<br />
Minor activity abounds here at the old blog. It feels like a very long time since I have posted but I am really trying to get back to writing with some regularity. I intend to dial into more of Under A Dead Sun very soon. I really want to finish this tale that I feel like I started so very long ago.<br />
<br />
As to poetry, this is the first one I've written in a very long time. I wanted to take the sort of excuses and bullshit of life and strip it away, the same sense I am trying to apply to getting back into writing. Welcome back and enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Bare to the Earth</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Hardened beats upon the petals blade,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The spine of rain sluices the glade.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Earthen grass of greenest flush,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>'Neath waters hail of skyfall's rush.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Trees wain in windy frowns,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>From the gale of heaven stormy downs.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I stand in the meadow of the deluge,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Awash in those thoughts I can't refuse.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I don't feel the cold or shivers of chill,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The water overflows, my vessels at fill. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The past and present, futures are told,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In this momentary storm, they come, unfold.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>Niether wind nor weather can purchase a gain.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Nor will water's fall wash away the pain.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But torrents peal still in hammering blows,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Battering at the truth, as if it already knows.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Nature's attack is mirrored in soul,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Patience and time unending in their toll.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>I spread my arms to welcome the sky,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's thundering clouds and lightning's cry,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Cracking to earth in bolts of pure rage,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Shattering the illusions I've cast with age.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Left bare to the Earth, I lay unfurled.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A rebirth in the storm, newborn to the world.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-59842981271147942732013-03-18T15:02:00.001-07:002013-03-24T00:00:06.625-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun:Past SinsChapter 45<br />
<br />
Ally's scream echoed in the small hotel lobby. It was him, the man who had taken everything from her. Her family, her life...gone. His blond hair and oily smile were locked into her brain, no amount of undead or death would scrub that image from her memory. She saw the strangers eyes light up when he saw her and he held his arms wide open in greeting.<br />
<br />
"My my my.... If it isn't my lost little love. I seem to remember you and I missing an appointment earlier. You certainly must have been missing me ever so bad to come all this way for little ole me."<br />
<br />
Ally's eyes went wide with fright and she clawed at the worn Colt still around her waist. the stranger thought was so fast, his hands a blur going to his own revolvers.<br />
<br />
"Now now honey.... dead or alive, I'm going to take what I want. You couldn't do a damn thing before, and you'll not do a damn thing now."<br />
<br />
"Van Cleft, get their guns."<br />
<br />
"Aye Cody." <br />
<br />
The one eyed man ripped the gun from her waist and pushed her back down into her seat.<br />
<br />
"Now Padre, I'm not sure what relationship you have with my litttle bird here, but I'm not inclined to kill a man of the cloth, but do not mistake this as mercy. No, no... I'd as soon fill you full of lead as piss on your boots if you get in my way."<br />
<br />
She watched as Van Cleft took Enrico's gun as Cody sauntered over to her. He shoved Enrico down to his chair and looked over his shoulder as Cody loomed large above, terror and memory flooding her. He smacked her hard across the face, splitting the scab on her lip. Ally looked back up at him, her eyes filled with tears and fresh blood trickled down her lip. She didn't make a sound though. She tried to steel herself for what she knew was coming.<br />
<br />
Cody turned, flashing one of his Colts free and pointing it at Clement.<br />
<br />
"Put the Padre here with the others Clem and then get yer fat ass on the wall."<br />
<br />
He tossed the saddle bags he'd had slung over his shoulders to Van Cleft as he grabbed Ally by the hair, yanking it so hard she inadvertently let out a small shriek. <br />
<br />
"Get the boat ready, the lassie and I have a date."<br />
<br />
Fresh tears spilled from her eyes as Cody dragged her up the stairs. <br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad! <br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-25714507362026545822013-03-10T16:57:00.000-07:002013-03-10T16:57:08.651-07:00Flash Fiction: To The Last CountTo The Last Count<br />
<br />
The world went black for a minute before my eyes registered the white of the mat. I turned my head sideways, my jaw radiating pain and the coppery taste of blood pooling in my mouth. I sluggishly forced one hand down and pushed myself partially up. I spit out a glob of blood, bright read on a field of white, and reached down for my mouth guard. I craned my head to the side, sound still not registering over the ringing in my ears and saw the blurry white and black stripes of the referee's shirt. He was counting, his hands raised high and I forced myself up, stumbling until I made it to the ropes and steadied myself.<br />
<br />
The ref came over to me as I jammed my mouth guard in, asking me a series of questions. I couldn't tell what he words he was saying but I'd been playing at the fighting game a long time. I knew the questions he was gonna ask so I made the appropriate nods and mumbled that I didn't want to stop. I snapped my gloved hands together and shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I couldn't quit, not yet.<br />
<br />
I squared up my vision and found the man who had knocked me down. He was smiling through his own mouthpiece, his brown body rippling with muscles, his arms covered in sleeves of tattooed fire and webbing. His black hair was slick with sweat as I swallowed another mouthful of my own blood. I could see the ref gesture for us to start fighting and tried to keep my defense up.<br />
<br />
I've had a lot of fights over the years, in my youth I use to rely on my strength and stamina to outlast my opponets. Now I had to rely on my defense. I could feel his blows rain down on my arms and ribs as I tried to keep him away. I threw out a few half hearted punches, but the man was to big, to fast to do more than concentrate on keeping my guard up.<br />
<br />
I didn't realize the bell had even rung ending the round until I stopped feeling his punches. I groggily turned and lurched back to the stool my trainer had put out. I spat out my guard and washed the blood from my mouth in the spit bucket. Coach was telling me advice while I took a whiff of smelling salts and felt part of the world slam back into my brain. The roar of the crowd came back behind coach's words but I just looked for the ring girl. I found her as she walked around the ring, holding the placard marking the round. It was the start of the sixth round. I'd made it this far.<br />
<br />
Coach was still yelling instructions so I repeated what I did with the ref, nodding my agreements and saying yes until I heard teh bell ring. felt my mouth guard get slid back in as I puled myself up. I tapped gloves with my opponet and pulled my guard up. Far to slow. I felt the crunch in my jaw before I even heard teh sound. Pain radiated across my face as my head whipped to the side. My guard arched over the ring ropes as I collapsed against the ropes. I spit again and noticed a small kernal of white in the blood. The bastard had knocked out one of my teeth.<br />
<br />
I had used the ropes to hold myself up but he was on me immediately. I felt another clubbing blow across the back of my head as I stumbled forward. He stalked me across the ring as I pinwheeled around. I launched myself into a flurry of punches, not much muscle behind most of them, just an effort to keep him away. He seemed caught off guard at first, but only for a moment. The first sound other than the bell that I registered was him laughing. He actually dropped his guard as I glanced two blows off his jaw. His face was like iron though, my blows hammering uselessly on him. He cinched me into a hug to stave off my inneffectual punches and until the ref eased us apart. I could hear him taunting me without ever really registering the words. I came out swinging again but he brushed my punches to the side and landed a punishing blow to my ribs.<br />
<br />
I felt the wind rush from my lungs and my eyes went wide with pain. On the second punch I heard something break and I dropped to my knees, clutching my side. I didn't have to much time to think about the pain in my ribs before another crushing fist exploded across my temple and the world went red and starry. What little sound I had been hearing suddenly went mute and everything seemed to slow down. Time inching into stillness.<br />
<br />
My brain seemed to belong to a different body, knowing that it needed to force my muscles into working and getting up, but nothing seemed to respond. My arms were like rubber, as I tried to gain some kind of purchase. I managed to roll over and find the faded smudge that I assumed was the ref again. Counting... always counting. I kicked with my feet, sliding across the mat to the corner of the ring. My brain forcing my limbs into a semblance of order. my entire body cried in protest and I could feel something wrong inside me. I forced all that down, forced the pain and the hurt and the regret away, the only thought in my mind being her. My little girl.<br />
<br />
I pulled myself up just before the ref counted ten. I could see my nemesis prancing across the ring and I willed myself to stay upright. He seemed even bigger as my world grew even smaller. He came at me immediately and I braced for another punch, one I knew I wasn't getting up from. it was only the ring of the bell that saved me. A distant chime that seemed to come from somewhere else. He turned his back to me and dropped to the mat, this time for good.<br />
<br />
I could feel people around me, the ref, coach, the ring doctor, but the fuzzy haze of the world had lost sound completely and faded to black. The last thing I remember seeing was my little girl. She deserved so much better than a bum like me.<br />
<br />
I went six rounds with the champ. I covered the spread before my last ten count. I did it baby.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-65138173337936255952012-10-02T02:29:00.002-07:002012-10-02T02:35:09.765-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 44<br />
<br />
Father Enrico was rushed into the harbor door of Desperation, just behind Ally as the one eyed man held the door open. He, along with two other heavily armed men Enrico marked as deputies, guarded the door as they were pushed inside. A clean shaven man in a large hat, impeccably dressed, was introduced to them as Mayor Clement, and he guided Ally by the arm deeper into the town. Enrico only half listened as she begged to be allowed to the top of the wall, to watch that damn fool Morgan. He has seen him turn back towards that stagecoach. Back towards the woman and the downed rider. Part of the old Enrico pulled at him, marveling at the man's selflessness. An older part of him though still feared that kind of bravery. He'd seen what happened to brave men, and it wasn't something noble at all.<br />
<br />
He reached to absently clutch at his rosary beads, an age long habit it seemed since assuming this face, but remembered he'd tossed them into the river. He let his arm fall to his side as Clement lead him and the agitated Ally towards the hotel, with a promise of hot food and drink for information about what laid beyond the walls. As the walked towards the hotel, Clement motioned for the one eyed man, whom he called Van Cleft, to watch the walls and inform him. Van Cleft spat a large hunk of tobacco on the ground and gestured to the other two armed men to follow. As they headed towards the main gate, Enrico followed Clement into the hotel.<br />
<br />
There were several people inside, most looking haunted or hurt. One man had a heavily bandaged hand, while several women looked like they had been crying. Clement was all cheer and smiles though as he called out to the heavyset woman at the counter to bring some food and drink for his guests. She nodded, her tight, wrinkled face was lined with worry, but he couldn't blame her for feeling that way.<br />
<br />
Within minutes she had brought each of them a plate of food. Two strips of steak and beans for Enrico, and the haunch of a chicken and some small potatoes for Ally. Clement drew a large beer and brought the two of them water, which Ally gulped down. Clement then started asking questions. Ally didn't want to talk about what she'd seen, but Enrico told the story of his parish and the death of all his brothers. He left parts out, particularly where he had left all those men to die. He wondered why he didn't feel more shame or guilt at the matter, but if he was honest with himself, he didn't feel anything anymore. Unless empty was a feeling. He talked for about 15 minutes, until Ally spoke up, again asking for information on Morgan. <br />
<br />
"My dear, my dear, Van Cleft will most assuredly fill us in on any information. He is a man without repute. Since this dastardly outbreak this man has come be be our stoutest protector! "<br />
<br />
It was only moments later when Van Cleft came in, followed by his two armed cronies, and another man that Enrico didn't recognize. He was a tall, with blond hair. His eyes were immedately drawn to the twin Pearl Handled Colts, set in a crossdraw about his waist. Fancy guns, and the man had the look of someone who could use them.<br />
<br />
It was then that Ally screamed.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-6888992896875242682012-09-17T01:36:00.002-07:002012-11-10T19:19:00.747-08:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 43<br />
<br />
The smell was the first thing Eva's noticed. A cloying kind of rotten spoil, a decay that wouldn't seem to leave her nose. She curled her lip and tried to force it out by pulling a hankerchief around her face but the smell permeated everything. She could feel the cold tendrils of fear around her heart as she spurred her horse towards the mass of undead in front of her. She drew out her pistol and glanced over her shoulder at Moore. The damnable fop had nearly passed out when she told him what she intended, but true to his word here he was. Taking a glance back at the stage one last time, she saw sweet old Bartley holding his hat down as maneuvered his team down the switchback.the stranger, Johnson, was leveled on the roof top, holding the scatter gun at the ready, his precious saddle bags tied around his neck. That sonuvabitch rubbed her the wrong way, she could feel it deep inside. He would try something. She only hoped that it would be after they reached Desperation.<br />
<br />
Eva turned her attention back to the matter at hand, the giant mass of walking dead that mounted in front of her. She cleared leather on her Colt and drew aim on one of the creatures. He was a huge bastard, shirtless, with mottled black and green skin. His distended jaws worked up and down over a a slaver of bile. She watched coldly as his head exploded into bloody fragments and took aim again. She continued to fire intermittently as she urged her horse off the road to town. Eva glanced over at Thomas, who was doing the same thing, though with far worse aim, on the other side. The plan involved them drawing as many of the monsters as they could off the main road, drawing them out into a large circle before looping back around and repeating the process, allowing the stage to get a relatively clear path to town. Eva cut hard out in to the surrounding farmland, not allowing herself to get to far ahead of the surge of creatures. She calmly reloaded her pistol, snapping off another shot at one of the beasts as it got to close and urged the horse around. She could see Moore in the distance race his horse back around. He hadn't taken it out far enough before looping back, even from this distance Eva knew that the monster were too close. Bartley knew it too, she could see him urge the horses to move even faster. That's when her nightmare came to light. <br />
<br />
Moore brought his horse racing by the stage and Eva saw Johnson stand up. The scream caught in her throat as she watched in horror as Johnson bore down on him, the thunder of his gun echoing through the valley floor. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl as she watched Moore tumble from his horse, near the river of undead that seemed to flow in behind him. A scream ripped from her throat but she couldn't hear it, pure instinct driving her. She kicked her horse hard, jolting as she surged forward. Her gun snapped up as she tried to draw a bead on Johnson, but her shots went wide as she didn't have the range yet. Eva looked on again as he busted Bartley across the face and jumped from the top of the stage onto one of the horses pulling the wagon. Eva kicked at one of the creatures as she cut across the plain, feeling the beasts claws rub ineffectively across the hard leather of her boots. It sent a shiver up her spine, but she forced it down, focusing on the stage, on her father.<br />
<br />
She reared the horse hard as she watched Johnson bullet from the horse train. He held a knife in one hand as he slapped the rump of the lead horse with the flat of the blade. His horse veered towards town, while the other three horses bolted in a panic, the severed ends of the bridal and reins flopping behind the panicked creatures. The last image she saw was his maniacal smile as he hunched over his mount, as he gave her a jaunty wave. She fired off a shot that went wide, but swung her gun around as she drew up on the slumped figure of Thomas. Two of the herd had advanced close and she fired quickly. She dropped one with her first shot, but it took two to take the second down. Eva slammed her Colt into her holster and leaned over in teh saddle. She grabbed Thomas by his coller and pulled him over. He was clutching his neck and Eva looked in horror as she watched blood spurt sporadically from the wound. His eyes were wide and he'd truned an unnatural shade of white. She didn't have to be a doctor to know that kind of wound was usually fatal. He clutched at the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. His voice sounded like wet gravel, as he sprayed flecks of blood with each word.<br />
<br />
"Just...Go."<br />
<br />
Eva's eyes went wet, and she felt a lump in her throat. She never really liked or respected the damn fool, it was only now, only at the end, that she realized why her father had kept him around all these years. He really did love her. '<br />
<br />
Thomas rolled over and pulled out his gun. The herd had drew in close, mere paces away from them now.<br />
<br />
"Go."<br />
<br />
He fired at the mob, who had caught the smell of blood on him and surged towards him. Eva spurred her horse, looking away. She couldn't close out the sounds though, the roars and gurgles of the creatures. It wasn't until she heard the empty click of Thomas's gun that she felt the hot tears on her face.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-35261559216967970692012-09-12T04:00:00.000-07:002012-11-10T19:19:32.812-08:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 42<br />
<br />
Dawn had come, or what past for it these
days anyway. Cody watched the cold black orb rise from the east and hung
his saddlebags over one shoulder. He still held the scatter gun in his
free hand as he headed towards the stage. He'd hoped to be able to talk
Moore or Eva into him letting ride one of the horses, or worse case,
ride double with one of them. He felt a flush of heat as he imagined
Eva's tight breeches rubbing against him on the horse and suppressed a
smile. He owed that bitch one and she was sure gonna pay for punching
him. Still his murder of their friend Rex last night had not endowed him
into their good graces and he was consigned to ride with that fat tub
of lard Bartley atop the stage. Having a horse would have made things
easier, but in the end, it wouldn't matter much.<br />
<br />
Eva's
plan had him atop the stage to protect it. Ideally he could fire at any
of the undead that got to near the horses or the coach, protecting
Bartley and the old man, allowing them to focus on moving the old stage
with as much speed as possible. That fossil, Caleb, hadn't liked Eve's
intention of riding out in front of the stage with Moore, who'd gone
white as a ghost at the mention of it, Her plan was to ride in large
circles, drawing some of the monsters away, giving them a clearer path
to Desperation. ll him what to do. It wasn't a terrible plan and that gauled Cody almost as much as having to listen to a woman tell him what to do. He grimaced as he approached the coach. There were four horses drawing the stage, and Cody
marked the reins and truss in his mind as he passed by. He stashed his
knife loose into the top of his boot and threw his bags and the scatter
gun onto the roof of the stage before climbing up himself. <br />
<br />
This
will still work he told himself. He took a small piece of rope he'd
stolen from the camp earlier and used that to tie the saddle bags around
his shoulders, making sure they were nice and tight and wouldn't fall
off. He made sure the flaps were securely shut as well, he didn't want
the bag falling off when he made his move. He'd worked too damn hard for
this money to fuck it all up now. He laid down on the stage and checked
the loads in his twin Colts and the breech of the scatter gun, wrapping
his feet through the edge of the railing for support.<br />
<br />
Cody
watched as Eva saddled her horse, fighting the primal urges that he
still hadn't tended to since killing Rex last night. The tight
suppleness of her pants, the curve of her chaps over her thighs, the
quick glimpse of her cleavage from a button loosened top, all of that
set a boil in Cody's gut. He bit his lip and looked west, towards the
walls of Desperation and drew a deep breath. He was so close to the
route to Old Mexico now, so close, he couldn't screw it all away now for
a roll in the hay with some bitch. The rest of the crew mounted up as
Cody fought to regain the cold calm that usually came before a heist. He
needed to be on guard, he needed to be steady. He needed to be clear.
He gently rubbed the pearl hilt of his beloved Colt and felt that calm
click into place, a cold, remorseless detachment he'd first discovered
long ago. He was ready.<br />
<br />
Eva called out the charge and
he felt the old stage lurch to life, Bartley spurring the horses on as
Eva and Thomas Moore vaulted out ahead. Moore looked less pale today,
he'd turned a sickly green shade instead and held that shiny gun so
tight his knuckles were the only thing that even remotely resembled his
pallor from the night before. The stage lurched down the switchback path
of the bluff face,winding towards the bottom. Eva and Moore didn't
really burst ahead until about the last quarter of the trail, Eva
hollering out first at a breakneck pace. She was the first to fire and
Cody looked impressed as she caught one of the monsters square in the
head.<br />
<br />
The creatures surged after the riders,
drawing a large portion of the herd along with them. As Bartley drew the
stage off the incline and onto the trail, he whipped the horses into a
full on sprint towards Desperation. A few of the creatures got close and
Cody could see Bartley flinch as the scatter gun shredded the undead
creatures. He calmly reloaded and watched, waiting. It would only be a
few moments more moments now. a few more moments until Cody Jarrett
showed these people who they'd really been fucking with.<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
GerradGerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-69287694259526395512012-09-11T23:32:00.000-07:002012-09-11T06:27:47.313-07:00Poetry: After the FallHey all!<br />
<br />
Look at this. Two posts, two days! Crazy I know!.....<br />
<br />
I really wanted to write some poetry after working on that Dead Sun piece yesterday and before I started working on the next chapter. This poem is sort of a companion piece to the last poem I wrote a few months back, Afterglow. That poem was about making love with someone you love. This poem mines though same fields but comes at it from a different perspective, its more of a poem about a one night stand and what happens when two people don't feel the same way about it. I thought about writing this as a short story, but I really just thought it worked better as a mirror to the other poem I wrote. <br />
<br />
Anyway I hope you enjoy the poem. As always I welcome feedback on anything. Thank you for reading.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>After the Fall </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Strange lips brush my own,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Softest murmurs in dulcet tone.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Unknown hands upon my chest,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Nestled close, to sleep, to rest.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Passion's thrust a faded glow,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As urgency has rut and row.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<i>A passing glance down at the bar,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Led the night so ever far.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And two strangers laugh and drink,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>An electric touch as hands do link.</i><br />
<br />
<i>That simple spark leads to flame,</i><br />
<br />
<i>A burning need to which each must tame.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>So the the two did lead to bed,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Where passion's lust needs were fed.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Lips and limbs grown, intertwine,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Chased by sweat, love, and cheaper wine.</i><br />
<br />
<i>They gave their bodies to basest needs,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Sex and love were wont to feed.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>But now the night has come to pass,</i><br />
<br />
<i>And she feels the haze of liquor grow to pass. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She lay beside this man unknown,</i><br />
<br />
<i>Whom she met one night in roam, </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And now she knows not his name,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Fearing last, that walk of shame.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>He feels her body start to stir,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The pieces of his mind, a blur.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The night before a faded dream,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But now he wakes, lost in stream.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Yet one clean thought bubbles to rim,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This lovely woman had chosen him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>She mutters words she cannot hear,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Wishing now, she wasn't so near. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Sliding free of grip and sheet,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Moments soon, her escape complete.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She gathers clothes and is out the door,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>As he looks lost, wanting more.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>He never saw the girl again,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>A memory he could never quite begin.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But she was never far from his thoughts,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>This perfect girl his memory has wrought.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Because for one lone night he had it all,</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's just the hardest part of love is after the fall. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-51792914580275679972012-09-10T06:47:00.001-07:002012-09-10T23:33:36.568-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 41<br />
<br />
Morgan gripped the reins in his teeth as he loosened the pistol on his belt. Satisfied that it was in easy reach he freed his Winchester and cartridged in the first round. A calm sort of ease had spread through him, the tension of the situation almost melting completely away. Despite the things he had told Ally and the Padre he knew this was most likely a one way trip. There were to many of hells creatures out here and not enough bullets in his gun. Still, if he could hold out long enough, maybe. just maybe little Ally would have a chance. He'd pull every one of the mother fuckers towards him if he could. He nodded to Ally and the preacher and prepared to spur his horse. They were ready. He paused one last time, laying his rifle across his lap. With his hands free he took the tomahawk from his belt and drew a line across his palm. the red blood blended with his dark, tan skin and he traced to trails across his cheeks, like his mother had shown him all those years ago. He clenched his left hand tight to staunch the blood, and picked the rifle back up. Let the bastards smell him coming. Hell wasn't the only thing walking the earth to be feared today.<br />
<br />
Just as he spurred his horse a huge clamor across from above them, down the winding trail from the top of the bluff. He craned his head to the right to see a large stage coach, being driven by a heavyset man hell bent on leather. There was another man on the roof of the stage, and two separate horses running in front of it. He could swear, even from this distance, that the lead rider was a woman. Morgan watched as the shuffling masses of undead shambled toward the team, and Morgan knew this may be a better break than he could have hoped for. As much as he was prepared to die, he'd made a promise to get that girl to Desperation. This could be just the distraction he was waiting for.<br />
<br />
"Change of plans lass, follow me."<br />
<br />
Morgan spurred his horse, keeping the rifle aimed at any of the monsters that drew to near. He heard Ally and the pastor behind him as the hugged the coastline, using the protection of the river on his left as he watched for monsters on the right. In the distance he could see the stage curl around the bottom of the incline and head hard up the road towards the central gates of town. Morgan hoped that he could find one of the side entrances by the river to get in through, but worse case he would have the duo stick to the wall and head towards the center. He didn't allow himself to think what would happen if no one would open the door.<br />
<br />
Morgan brought the Winchester to bare and snapped off two quick shots at two errant creatures who had wandered in to close. The sound of gunfire lured another small herd towards them but the group was well past the danger of the creatures before they could pose any real threat. Morgan could taste the sweat in the leather of the reins and his levered the rifle again, snapping off another shot at a lurker emerging from the water on his left. He felt the slather of his horse as it charged along the bank, and the feel of the wood on the butt of the Winchester, his senses flaring out in anticipation. He continued looking left, twisting slightly in the saddle to check on Ally and the pastor. Ally's teeth were gritted as she urged the horse faster, but Morgan could see the tell tale sign of tears at the corners of her eyes. Father Enrico had a detached look, as he thumbed back the hammer of the old pistol. He had one hand on the side saddle mount as he fired. The old gun barked once as one of the undead's head exploded in a mixture of bile and teeth. Morgan couldn't help but be impressed, for a man of God he sure had the aim of the Devil.<br />
<br />
Morgan snapped back to attention as the sounds of new gunfire erupted from his right. He glanced over and watched as the second lead rider of the stage group lurched from his horse, falling in a sickly thump from the fast moving mount. He looked again as the figure atop the stage lashed out with his rifle, catching the driver across the jaw. He watched as the heavy set driver lurched forward in the seat and the other man made a daring leap from the moving stage onto the horse train. After a few moments the train was free from the stage and the lone man took off towards Desperation.He watched as the first rider, the woman, fired shots at him but quickly gave up as she spurred her horse towards her fallen friend.<br />
<br />
Morgan looked at the walls of Desperation loomed closely overhead. He saw a few ragged men atop the harbor door lookout and waved to them, pointing to the preacher and the young lady. A clean shaven man in a brown hat and a scraggly older fellow with one eye nodded. He saw the old man drop from sight and a few second later the gates of the harbor door cracked open. He fired the rifle until the weapon clicked empty, clearing the few stragglers from the area. Several heavily armed men emerged from the door, including the one eyed man, as he reared his horse up short, snapping out his pistol. Morgan looked back at the woman and the stalled stage, then glanced quickly as Ally pulled her horse up into the doorway. She caught his eye as he looked back and she shook her head no, her eyes heavy with tears as Morgan kicked hard into his horse, heading right towards the thick of the monsters.<br />
<br />
<br />
Hell rides hard today.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-13490639387018051262012-07-08T14:09:00.002-07:002012-07-08T14:09:34.869-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 40<br />
<br />
Ally felt Morgan gently shake her awake, the last vestiges of her troubled sleep falling away. She had slept fitfully throughout the night, or at least what passed as a night these days. Every time she woke though she was always greeted with the reassuring sight of Morgan, standing at the edge of their camp site, his rifle cradled in his arms, his eyes searching the surroundings. He stood so still, but she knew his eyes never stopped moving, looking for danger.<br />
<br />
Ally stood up, stretching the kinks out of her sore back. Hell, everything was sore still, her ribs, her lip, her cheek. She felt like one big god damn bruise. Sleeping on the ground hadn't helped, but she felt better than she had yesterday. Ally looked up, the sun breaking in the east, casting its black pallor over the horizon, and worked as much of the soreness in her muscles as she was able before strapping back on her gun belt. She walked down to the river edge and took a deep drink, running the cool water over her face and neck. She watched Morgan and the preacher break down their little camp before saddling the horses.She walked over and rubbed the neck of her horse gently as Morgan finally broke the silence that had permeated the camp.<br />
<br />
"Listen, we're about the run to Desperation. It won't be easy. Once we round the cliff bank, the valley floor flattens into a grassland that runs to a point, Desperation. Now last night I saw lights across the walls of the old fort the town was built around. The outlying town, and the plains leading to them, are over run with the dead. This won't be an easy run."<br />
<br />
Ally looked to the preacher, who just lowered his head and looked to the ground, then back to Morgan.<br />
<br />
"We'll lead the horses on foot around the narrow shoreline, then you two will double up on Ally's horse and break for the fort walls. I'll ride out first and try to pull as many of them after me as I can so you can have a head start."<br />
<br />
"But Morgan... you can't leave.."<br />
<br />
"Ally, listen. I can ride faster alone, I'll loop them out then cut back up around the narrows. Once I loose the majority of the creatures, I can cut back upriver before turning back and meet you inside Desperation. Splitting up is the only way we have a chance at this. Besides, we don't even know if Desperation will open up and let you in. This way if there is a problem you can cut back too."<br />
<br />
She wanted to argue, she wanted to tell him how much he had come to mean to her in the past day. How in the moments that things felt the worst, she felt safe with him. But she didn't. She nodded her head and set her face as strong as she could. More than wanting him to stay, she wanted to show him that she wasn't weak. She wanted to prove to him that she was worth a damn.<br />
<br />
She watched as the preacher, who had simply nodded, absently rubbed the rosary beads at his waist. He moved silently through the camp, picking up the old pistol that he'd brought with him. He reached into one of the pockets of his robes and slowly loaded the gun as Ally and Morgan lead the horses to the narrow. They secured the saddles and the bags tightly, before moving onto the shore.<br />
<br />
The cliff face was sheer, with just a scraggly strip of beach running along the edge of the river. The current really picked up as they were less than a quarter of a mile from the merge point of the twin rivers. Another river from the east met this one at Desperation, creating a major trade route by water that eventually spilled into the Gulf. Ally remembered wanting so much as a little girl to ride the big boats down the river, how it had all seemed so magical and impossible. Now it seemed like a long, long time ago.<br />
<br />
The trio moved single file through the narrow, Morgan in the lead followed by Ally and Father Enrico, each leading one of the horses. The narrow stretched a good quarter mile and they took it slowly. The path was safe enough, but an errant buck of one of the horses would make it a lot more dangerous. You could see the water rushing by, reflecting the blackened sun back towards them. Morgan kept his rifle out, and eventually motioned them to hold back as he moved forward. He peered around the end of the cliff face, and beckoned them over.<br />
<br />
Ally peaked around the corner, her heart dropping. There were hundreds of the monsters, some mindlessly shuffling around, others hunched over the fallen forms of the once living. How would they ever be able to get through all of these things? She looked again at Morgan, who was checking the the barrel of his rifle. He glanced up, and gave her a small smile, an unfamiliar sight on his weathered face. She smiled back, a small flush creeping up her cheek, as he helped her mount the horse behind the already saddled Father Enrico.<br />
<br />
"Be ready to move after I draw them off. Stay as close to the river for as long as possible before turning towards the wall. Father, would you like to say a prayer before we move?"<br />
<br />
One of Enrico's hands held the reins, but the other absently rubbed at his rosary still. He looked down to his hand as if realizing for the first time that he'd been rubbing them. He pulled them free, the beads clacking against his leg and held them in his hand. He looked east, directly into the dark sun, before speaking.<br />
<br />
"I'm not sure there's anything to pray to anymore. Heaven has forsaken this place."<br />
<br />
He let the beads fall and Ally watched as they washed down into the river, away from them. Morgan shrugged noncommitally but gave Ally a reassuring pat on the leg before mounting his own horse. He wrapped the strap of the rifle around his arm and cleared the pistol on his hip.<br />
<br />
"Well then Padre, time to see if Hell's a more welcoming place."<br />
<br />
Morgan gestured his horse and pulled up beside her, giving her a side long hug and whispering words of strength in her ear. He told her that they'd see each other soon. Ally felt a shiver run down her spine as Morgan then spurred his horse, bursting from the narrow. It was then she heard all the gun shots.<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-5098966760669747102012-06-25T03:18:00.000-07:002012-06-25T16:47:01.393-07:00Poetry: Afterglow Hey all,<br />
<br />
As you can see I've been posting a bit lately, mostly Flash Fiction as I approach the final chapters of Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins. I haven't mapped out each story individually, but I have the plot set up and we are certainly ramping up in bringing the group together. You can expect a new post of Under a Dead Sun every Sunday, with the exception of the week I'll be at Comic Con in July.<br />
<br />
Anyway I still want to post poetry and other bits of fiction and stuff, which brings us to this post. I think the subject matter, and the poem itself for that matter, is pretty self evident. I'm not sure where I really got the subject matter for the poem, I just sat down and wrote it. It took maybe an hour, the actual poem itself was pretty fast, I just used a lot of time to tweak lines and rhymes. The poem is an idealized thought on the after moments of sex, of what two people think after making love. I think anyone who reads my poetry knows that a lot of what my poems are about are idealized loves. Whether loves lost, or unrequited, or of a love captured, I tend to like the idea of pure loss and pure hope. Of what love can be, or could be. I'm not sure this poem actually deals with those topics... but I think there is still a message there. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Afterglow </i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Softly lit drips candle wax,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>As passions throws begets, gone lax.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Sounds of breath and labors love,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Climaxed so hard, crying to Him above.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Intertwined, they writhed and groan,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>This expression of the love they've shown.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Without words of praise or scorn,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>They feel the bond their souls adorn.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>And in the afterglow of candles flame,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Each can feel no guilt or blame.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>With fingers clasped, in hearts embrace.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>They lock their eyes, now face to face.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>The depth of stare, each other eyed,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Their bodies spent from crafts then plied.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>But in each they know the others truth,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Spoken in a language known to aged and youth.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>But before they turn themselves to sleep,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Cuddled close and nestled deep.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>They say those words that meant the most,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I love you spoken in twin riposte.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>As the candle light does snuff,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>The flame extinguished in a tiny puff.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Our lovers turn and big good night,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>Because everything feels just right. </i></div>
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-16630751821298767822012-06-24T00:00:00.000-07:002012-06-24T00:00:09.175-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinChapter 39:<br />
<br />
Father Enrico rode slowly next to the two strangers. He wasn't sure what their deal was, the young girl, Ally, walked with a limp and her face was bruised. She stayed close to the big Cavalryman, never far from him, though the girl seemed scared, almost withdrawn. She was the easy one to read. The Cavalryman though, he was another story. He loomed tall and hard, his face a stony mask. The revolver and hatchet on his hip looked well worn, he seemed a hard man. He'd seen men like him before, men born to war and bloodshed. Haunted men. Men he'd once left behind.<br />
<br />
When they had ridden up on him by the riverbank, his hand still holding the smoking gun, they'd been wary. After all, you had to wary of everyone in this damned new world, and a preacher with a gun was no exception. He'd told them his story, or a version of it at least. He told them how he had left his parish to seek help from Desperation and that he'd found the old pistol as he fled the monsters. He left out the part about leaving his brothers, and his flock, to die. Lying was the least of the sins he'd committed this day.<br />
<br />
The pair had agreed to travel to Desperation with him, the big man, Morgan, saying that they were better sticking together than traveling alone. Since they only had two horses, Morgan had dismounted and lead them by the tether. Enrico felt as if he'd aged a hundred years in the past day, the soreness seeping to his bones. He hadn't felt this old, this tired, since his days in the camp during the war. The only thing that was same though was the pain, the regret....and the failure. The failure was always the same.<br />
<br />
Ally rode beside him, half asleep in the saddle. She'd shared a little of her story and the poor thing seemed to be beyond the limit of her endurance. Morgan just moved with a limitless resolve, never faster, never slower, just a steady pace. His eyes always scouting the horizon, always watching the trail for signs of recent travel. He seemed to take in every detail as he moved and Enrico could tell this man had been a scout at some point. Enrico wasn't sure what kind of a man he had been, but he had a feeling he would know before to long.<br />
<br />
Morgan called for a stop as the river banked hard to the right. The right shore was mostly rock, a tall cliff overlooked the river. The sandy shoreline had thinned immensely as the river had picked up speed at the bend. They would have to lead the horses around the treacherous footing of the coast, the walls of the cliff to their back and the trail was just too narrow. Just around that corner though was Desperation, laying at the bottom of the cliff face, a grassy peninsula that met as another river flowed into this one. The opposite side of the cliff ran a soft ascent back up to the main road they had left behind earlier in the day and the access of both the road and the river had made Desperation a key stop on the trade route to and from old Mexico. No one was quite sure why the town had been called Desperation, though the name seemed quite appropriate now. It seemed like desperation was all they had left.<br />
<br />
Morgan told them to make a small camp, warning them against starting a fire as it might bring unwanted attention. Enrico and Ally unsaddled the horses as Morgan scouted the bend on foot. A chill had fallen as Enrico looked to the sky. The dead sun had long since settled in the west and the moon was full and bright, though you could still feel the unrest in the air. He wasn't gone long before coming back. He placed a saddle blanket around Ally shoulders and offered the other to Enrico, who gladly took it. They settled down and broke out their meager rations before Enrico finally broke the silence.<br />
<br />
"How does Desperation look?"<br />
<br />
Morgan didn't say anything for a long while, instead taking a short pull from his water skin as he studied the dirt at his feet intently. When he finally looked up and spoke his eyes were hard, glinting with such intensity that they seemed to spark. <br />
<br />
"The towns there all right, with the gate up. I can see lanterns and torches lighting the city. But the valley floor is covered in those things. Hundreds of undead monsters roaming outside, blocking our way."<br />
<br />
Ally gasped and bundled herself under the blanket as Enrico looked down. He softly caressed his old rosary beads in one free hand and wondered what fresh hell awaited him now. He thought about turning and running right there, but where would he go, alone, low on ammo. With no friends, no family....no faith. It wasn't just him that God had forsaken, it was the whole damn world. Like it or not, his lot was with these two strangers for now. Enrico took his own swallow off the water skin, before speaking again.<br />
<br />
"Then what do we do now?"<br />
<br />
"Simple, for now we rest. In the morning we ride."<br />
<br />
Enrico took one last look at the moon and let go of the rosary beads, his hand moving towards the pistol, rubbing the butt of the gun softly. Moving from his old faith, towards the only one he had left.<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-37693566779820568792012-06-17T03:35:00.000-07:002012-06-17T03:35:20.947-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 38<br />
<br />
Eva watched the man she knew as Beau Johnson walk back to his saddlebags, her face still locked in an expression of mixed hatred and disgust. She felt her father grab her hand and pull her into the cabin of the stage as she reluctantly looked away from him. Her father tried to catch her eye as she settled into the cab, but she pointedly ignored him, trying to get a tether on the seething rage she felt as she grabbed one of the sets of clean linen they had brought with them. She was unfolding the sheet when her father finally spoke, breaking the thick silence that hung in the cabin.<br />
<br />
"Eva...sweetheart. I'm sorry. He was my friend too, Rex helped raised you, he's been a member of this family since you were a little girl. But as much as you hate that man, hell, as much as I hate that man, part of you has to know he was right. Rex was going to turn, like little Evan had. We were to late."<br />
<br />
Eva listened to her father's words, but she couldn't bring herself to really hear them. Rex had been like a second father to her. He'd taught her how to ride, how to rope, how to shoot. He'd never tried to force her into a dress, he'd always said she was to much like her real father. There was no changing that man's mind, and there was certainly no changing hers when she set to it. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, as she choked back a sob. She felt the brush of her father's hand, his gnarled, weathered fingers wiping away the lone tear that trickled down her cheek as her body let out a small shudder. So much death. So many friends.<br />
<br />
"Remember him as the man he was Eva. Remember him as I will."<br />
<br />
Her father pulled her into a tight hug and held her for a long time, the kind of hug they hadn't shared since her mother's death. She stayed in his arms, trying to remember Rex's face, and not the look on that man's. Not his damnable smile. Eventually she found her breath and her composure, and sat back up. Caleb gently released her as she used the edge of her sleeve to wipe her face. The two of them then dressed Rex's body in the new linen, covering his ravaged face. The red of his blood had already turned a ripe, greenish black and Eva tried to ignore the truth in what Beau had said. She knew his reasoning had been a lie, coated in a measure of truth yes, but a lie none the less. That man killed because he liked it, not because he had to. She knew not to ignore her instincts when they flared like this. That fore sight, her trail sense as Rex had called it, had never steered her wrong. Her emotions might be frayed after what she'd seen this day, but that tell tale flair around that man was the one thing she knew was true. Beau Johnson was not a man to be trusted.<br />
<br />
"Eva, as soon as we reach Desperation, we'll dispense with the man. Until then, out here, with all those ...creatures out there we need to stay in a group. Just a little longer my dear."<br />
<br />
" I know father, I know. Just don't judge me harshly if I keep my gun handy."<br />
<br />
He smiled sadly as she let herself out of the cab. She straightened her clothes out as she touched down, seeing Thomas and Bartley standing at the edge of the bluff. To her left, Beau Johnson sat, his saddle bags slung across his legs as he idly rolled the chamber of one of his Colts across his wrist. He had a small smile, which unnerved her. She fought back another shudder threatening to slip down her spine as she walked over to Moore and Bartley. As she neared she knew they were talking about Beau and the incident with Rex in hushed tones. They stopped in silence as she drew beside Bartley.<br />
<br />
She looked down at the scattered masses of undead that ringed the valley floor, stretching across the grassland to the softly lit walls of Desperation at the edge of the peninsula. It would be a difficult stretch, but if they rode hard, really pushed the horses and watched each others backs, they just might make it. She glanced back at Johnson, her lip curling, and wondered just when he'd make his move. She already knew when she was gonna make hers.<br />
<br />
"We ride at dawn."<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-21708613111936670172012-06-10T22:17:00.000-07:002012-06-17T00:41:41.920-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 37<br />
<br />
"YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!!!!!!"<br />
<br />
Cody felt the woman fly into him, throwing her weight against his body and driving the two of them out the door of the stage. Cody landed hard on his back, the air momentarily driven from his lungs. The impact had knocked his precious Colt from his hand when the woman, Eva, landed on top of him. She was not a large woman, but she was strong. He felt her shapely curves as she writhed for position, never belittling the hardened muscle underneath her the form fitting clothes. He tasted blood as she smashed her fist into his jaw, screaming at him. If this old maid didn't have such a stick up her ass, he might even have enjoyed this.<br />
<br />
"HE WAS MY FUCKING FRIEND YOU SON OF A BITCH!"<br />
<br />
The momentary impact passed and Cody managed to find a small measure of breath. He grinned, blood trickling from the cut on his lip as he used his now free right hand to force it into Eva's face. His left hand grabbed at her right, blocking it from landing another free blow as he brought his knee up between her legs. He bucked his knee twice in fast succession between her legs, admittedly not as effective a move against a girl than some other bastard, but he outweighed her by a good hundred pounds and the sheer force behind it helped to dislodge her from his chest. He could hear her grunt in pain as the impact of his knee reverberated up her spine.<br />
<br />
With her weight shifted, Cody moved his right hand away from her face, where he had been pushing her away, and brought a hard slap across her face. His first instinct had been to hit her, and hard, for laying her hands on him, but his peripheral senses had kicked in and he'd noticed the other members of her group joining the fray. That fat stage driver had pulled his rifle and the old man had his pistol out as well. Even that foppish dandy that fancied himself a gunman had his gleaming sidearm out. Despite his natural instinct, Cody knew that if he really hurt this bitch there was no way he'd get out of this alive. Still, the slap had felt good and he made a mental note to continue this line of action later. No one treated Cody Jarrett this way, especially not some uppity bitch.<br />
<br />
The slap had jogged Eva to the side and with his leg free he used his boot to kick her off of him. He rolled to his right, coming up by his gun, which his hand hovered over quickly, before coming to his feet, his arms raised in submission. Eva, her face red from the slap, roared to life and tried to take another swing at him until the dandy, Thomas, pulled her back, away from him. Her arms and legs flew out as she screamed obscenities at him.<br />
<br />
"YOU BASTARD! YOU FUCKING COCKSUCKING BASTARD! I"LL KILL YOU! DO YOU HEAR ME, I'LL KILL YOU!"<br />
<br />
Cody wiped the blood from his lip and looked at it briefly, before sliding an oily smile across his face. His eyes never left the rifle trained on him by the stage driver, nor the pistol from the old cripple in the stage door as he spoke.<br />
<br />
'Listen...listen... I acted rashly, I see that now. It's just that your friend was infected. I've seen that kinda wound before, the pus, the black seepage, it's the sign that he's about to turn into one of those fuckin' creatures. I watched two of my best friends succumb to that fate, if he'd have turned in that cart then he'd have infected all of you. I didn't want that to happen. So I acted. I realize now I should have said something, but I didn't want to take the chance. I'm...I'm sorry."<br />
<br />
He noticed the fat driver, Bartley, lower his rifle and the old man's gun started to waver, and he knew he was nearly in the clear. He turned his attention to Eva, who was still fuming with anger, trails of tears running down the dirt on her face as she sneered at him. He hated biting his tongue, especially to this cow, but this wasn't the time or the place, not with Desperation so close, not with freedom at hand. Besides, he could see that Bartley and the old man could see his line of thinking, hell even that fop Moore had holstered his gun.<br />
<br />
"Eva... my dear, I acted rashly. I left my fear govern my thoughts. I didn't think about what this man must have meant to you. I only feared that he would turn. that what had happened to me would happen to you."<br />
<br />
Eva sneered at him as she shucked off Moore, throwing him to the side. Her face was mixed with disgust and anger as she glared at him. It was the old man who spoke first though, breaking the tension.<br />
<br />
"Listen...Mr. Johnson, you an travel with us until we reach town. Then I think its best for all of us... if you made your own way. I'm sure you understand."<br />
<br />
He nodded to Eva, who climbed into the cab with him with Moore, but not before giving him a final look of derision. Moore followed them and the three started to wrap Rex in a blanket. Bartley gave him a final look and started to haul his fat ass up to the drivers seat and Cody turned his back, walking over to where he'd left his saddle bags. He checked the load on his scatter gun again and shouldered it as he patted down the prized contents of his bags. Cody cast a last look over the cliff ledge, down into the valley of death, at the grim lights of Desperation in the distance. The valley teamed with undead, getting across the flats wouldn't be easy, even with the extra guns these damnable fools offered. He shouldered his gear and turned his eyes back to the. A slow smile crept to his bloody lip and suddenly he knew just what to do. He just figured out the perfect distraction.<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-75884660298006011212012-05-31T01:22:00.001-07:002012-05-31T10:42:37.419-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 36<br />
<br />
Morgan looked at Ally, riding slightly behind him, her face expressionless as she looked forward. He'd found the horse running in a field still saddled a few hours after leaving the house and had helped Ally calm the animal down. She was a fairly good rider, having been around horses most of her life, but she was still ginger from the beatings she had taken. Each mile they traveled though seemed to ease her more into the saddle though and Morgan took that for a good sign.<br />
<br />
He'd considered camping at the old farmhouse, but with what little light the darkened sun was giving off, he thought it best to make towards Desperation while he could still see. Desperation sounded like the best option at this point. It was the closest populated town with any kind of protection. The core of the town had been built around an abandoned Army fort that had doubled as a shipping and supply depot. It was there Morgan was most likely to get some answers, and maybe be able to leave Ally with people who could look after her. People better suited than him.<br />
<br />
They stuck to the main road, following the trail as it lead to Desperation. Occasionally Morgan would stop them and dismount, scanning the ground for tracks. He'd been seeing signs of travel, recent travel even, but he didn't trust the signs. It'd been too long since he'd used them, to long since he'd had to be the kind of man he'd tried to forget. Still, this was a pretty heavily traveled road and that could explain a lot of the tracks he'd seen. But one man had recently come down this road, he was pretty certain of that.<br />
<br />
It was at the crossroads he finally got confirmation that they weren't the only ones traveling this road today. He'd scouted up-road, away from the trail to Desperation, Ally never far from his side, and he'd seen the carnage on the road. Bodies, the undead kind, shot, and recently. Also the lone tracks had stopped, running across the path of a stage with riders, two at least. They were ahead of him, he was sure, by a few hours at least, but they were getting closer. He wasn't sure what he felt about running into strangers on the open road. More men meant more guns, and with these damnable monsters running around that could be a good thing. But his mind kept going back to that shed at the farmhouse. That poor woman, assaulted and killed. About the things he had told Ally.<br />
<br />
"It's not just those god damn monsters out there. Regular folk are just as bad as they are."<br />
<br />
He closed his eyes, trying to force down the images that ran through his mind. The things he'd seen the last time he'd worn this uniform. The things he'd seen since he'd taken it off. Damn right regular folks were just as bad. He'd proven that time and time again on his own.<br />
<br />
They'd long since doubled back and made good time down the trail. Morgan hadn't seen any of the creatures, walking at least, since before the farmhouse. Still the sun was getting low in the west and the dim brightness was beginning to ebb. He reckoned that Desperation lay a good 10 miles down the road. It was better to keep moving than risk camping this far out in the open. He told Ally as much an she just nodded, her face still an expressionless mask.She hadn't spoke much since the incident at the shed. Morgan could only hope that was a good thing.<br />
<br />
He heard the gunfire as the last dregs of black daylight clung to the sky. It was off the road, maybe a quarter mile through the sparse brush towards the shoreline of the river. Those instincts he had doubted earlier kicked in, as he spurred the horse through the underbrush, heeding Ally behind him. He'd kept the river to his left, trusting the road to be a faster, if not necessarily safer way to get to Desperation. Besides with what Ally had told him from her experiences on the river earlier, he preferred to have options if it came to retreating. <br />
<br />
Six shots had rung out, pistol fire by his experience. Either the shooter was dead, or he'd emptied his gun based on the staggered firing of the shots. He loosed quickly, one hand on the reins as he lessened the rifle from the scabbard on his saddle bag. He glanced back to Ally, whose grim expression was starting to crack as they neared the source of the gun play.<br />
<br />
"Time to steel yourself girl. Trust me to watch your back. I'm trustin' ya with mine."<br />
<br />
She gave a small little smile and tried to look tough. He wished he didn't have to put her in harms way, but the whole damn world was harms way now. Either she faced what was out there, or joined it. Better here, better now to just get on with the whole damn mess. No sense in denying that the world had gone to the fucking bastards. At least Ally had one of those bastards on her side.<br />
<br />
Morgan's horse burst through the underbrush and he pulled the rifle up, drawing a bead with his eye. Only one man stood at the edge of the shore. The ground was littered with the dead, both the sad and forgotten kind, and the fresh hell of the recently risen. A solitary figure stood by the carnage, splattered with the blood of the pure dead, and the black ichor of the fallen. The smoke wafted from his pistol as he looked up to Morgan with haunted eyes. Morgan heard Ally rein in behind him as he lowered the rifle from his shoulder.<br />
<br />
"Howdy Padre."<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-58257721115720654072012-05-30T00:00:00.000-07:002012-05-30T20:48:56.175-07:00Poetry: You<i>You </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i> I watched the rivers flow,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Sweeping, gone away,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>And I wondered where you'd go.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<i> All the miles of the Earth,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>And in all the depth of oceans blue,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Separated by miles without you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<br />
<i>I longed to hear your voice,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>To feel your soft caress.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Never knowing what I'd done to you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I've read words within a poem.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>And listened to melodies of myriad tone.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>But all the verses sang of you..</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<br />
<i>Every road I walked,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>And all conversations that I sought,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Just led me back to you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>Time came and did pass,</i><br />
<br />
<i>As calendars burned gone past. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>But I never stopped thinking about you.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>But you had long left me alone,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>To love a man I did not know.</i><br />
<br />
<i>But I learned that you could break a heart.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>For when you learned to finally love,</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>I knew what I had failed to see.</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i>You'd shown me love was just a fallacy.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-52908764729845522032012-05-29T16:53:00.000-07:002012-05-29T16:58:56.896-07:00Poetry: Begone Before We Begin<i>Begone Before We Begin </i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Start, then stop. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Without the reason of thought.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>We simply wander away,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Past battles long fought. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Passions are dimmed, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>The headiness of zest, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Simply grow cold, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>As motion begets rest. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>You never mean to leave, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Or give up on dreams, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>It's just the rigors of life, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>As they pull at the seams. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>I didn't want to quit. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Didn't mean to give in. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Sometimes it just happens, </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
<i>Begone before we begin. </i></div>
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-47668219044920125122011-12-30T10:10:00.000-08:002011-12-30T14:10:25.813-08:00Poetry: After the YuleHey all,<br /><br />I've pretty much been at work since Christmas Eve so I haven't had a lot of time to write or do much of anything outside of just that, work. This morning though I took some time to write a poem I have been thinking about this week. As I drove through my brother's neighborhood the day after Christmas, and through other parts of town this week, I kept seeing discarded Christmas trees. When I went into a store I would see discounted Christmas decorations and themed gifts. It all seemed very sad to me. We spend so much time, pretty much starting in October, gearing up and hyping Christmas, only to throw it all away after one day. I wrote this poem with that thought in mind. That the Spirit of Christmas should be more than just once a year, the fellowship of man should be more than that. But it's not, and that's sad. I hope you like the poem, I'd appreciate any feedback.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br /><br />After the Yule<br /><br /><br />The Holiday has come to close,<br /><br />And the Christmas spirit is now repose.<br /><br />For the weathers turned a cold, bleary bleat,<br /><br />As the warmth of the season has grown complete.<br /><br />Lights once bright have turned to dim,<br /><br />The halls once decked have lost their trim.<br /><br />Trees so green with ornaments bright,<br /><br />Now lay in the street, a decay of blight.<br /><br />And the sense of charity, once so profound,<br /><br />Has lapsed again, to hibernate unfound.<br /><br /><br />All the feelings of mirth and cheer,<br /><br />Are fleeting away, like Santa's reindeer.<br /><br />How funny it feels that after just one day,<br /><br />We all return to our selfish ways.<br /><br />Gifts we gave, the meals we shared,<br /><br />Are forgotten again, till next years cared.<br /><br />The White Christmas that we coveted so,<br /><br />Is broken in muck, the melted slush of snow.<br /><br />And we say goodbye with smiles and mirth,<br /><br />To the one day we give them worth.<br /><br /><br />All through the year we push and we take,<br /><br />How often forgetting of charity's sake.<br /><br />So consumed are we with our own selfish needs,<br /><br />That we don't take the time for our hearts heeds.<br /><br />If only we could saved some spirit to tithe,<br /><br />A remnant of this day throughout all of our life,<br /><br />We'd know that feeling everyone of our days,<br /><br />But after the Yule, we lose the tides of our ways.<br /><br />The 26th of December sees Christmas on sale,<br /><br />That thought alone is the reason we fail.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />End of Line.<br />Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-76941589689337110042011-12-22T00:00:00.000-08:002012-05-31T22:28:39.529-07:00Flash Fiction: Under a Dead Sun: Past SinsChapter 35:<br />
<br />
Ally picked her way through the trunk, looking for a matching boot. She had cleaned herself off using some tepid water from the basin in the room and now was looking to replace the ragged shreds of her clothing. She had dressed her wounds herself as best as she could, and Morgan, the man she had met on the road, had bound the worse of her injuries. She tentatively traced the bandages that he had wrapped around her feet before she laced the once missing boot up.<br />
<br />
She wasn't sure how she felt about Morgan. He was strong and safe, but somehow seemed withdrawn. He wouldn't talk about himself or his past, just that he had fought in the war and that he was heading to town. He hadn't told her what he had found in the shed out back, but he hadn't seemed very happy about it. He had closed the door to the shed and walked back to her. Together, they had searched the house, finding it empty. Most of the house had seemed ransacked, and there were trails of blood and signs of looting, but in one of the rooms they had found the trunk of clothing. <br />
<br />
After Abby had laced the boot she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. The dress was a simple, durable affair of brown wool, buttoning up the side and had a divided skirt suitable for riding. The boots were simple leather with a short heel. Finally she had pulled a heavy cloak from the trunk and pulled her hair back under a scarf. She could see the bruising on her face and eyes, though her lip had scabbed over. It still hurt to breath from her bruised ribs and she limped when she walked, but even so she still felt worlds better than she had a few hours earlier. <br />
<br />
She walked around, gingerly at first, but the more she moved her balance seemed to steady. She felt her nerves settled down for the first time in what seemed forever. She left the room and walked down the stair case, supporting herself on the railing. the wafting smells from the kitchen told her that Morgan had found some food, and she realized just how long it had been since she had eaten. Her stomach growled noisily as she walked in on Morgan, frying some bacon in a pan.<br />
<br />
"I found a couple of unbroken eggs and some bacon in the larder. You need to eat something for your strength."<br />
<br />
Abby murmured her thanks and dug in ravenously. In what seemed like seconds she had finished the meal and was sopping up the grease with a crust of only slightly moldy bread. They didn't talk much, but she watched Morgan eat out of the corner of her eye. He ate methodically, his eyes almost never looking at the plate. They shifted from the door to the big window, which gave him a view from out onto the front drive. He was always looking, always watchful, always so sad. She'd never felt safer with a more intimidating man.<br />
<br />
After the meal was finished, Morgan told Abby to stand up. He led her outside towards the shed, the door still closed. Abby felt her throat grow thick and well up inside her. The feeling of safety she had felt just moments ago were fled from her and those jagged spikes of fear and adrenalin flooded her system. Morgan stopped them just before the shed and turned her to face him. He gripped her shoulders tightly and looked her in the eye.<br />
<br />
"Abby, I can't imagine how you feel right now. With all the bad shit that's out in the world right now, this damnable black sun above our heads and worse yet, the death of your family and the torturous journey you've undertaken in the past day. What I do know is that you have to be one of the toughest women I've ever met to still be alive and still be fighting. You can't be afraid anymore. You need to know what is waiting for you out there."<br />
<br />
Morgan pushed open the door and she saw the woman. Her face bruised and battered, his dressed rips, the ways her legs were spread....the gaping hole in her chest. Abby pulled her hands in front of her face before Morgan roughly pulled them away.<br />
<br />
"LOOK DAMMIT! Look at what happened to her. It's not just those god damn monsters out there. Regular folk are just as bad as they are. You can't be afraid. You have to be strong. You have to be ready."<br />
<br />
With that he pulled free a battered old Colt Revolver and a worn gunbelt. He turned her to face the tragedy in the shed as he buckled the gun belt around her waste. Abby forced herself to look at the woman, to look at the fear on her face, until she couldn't feel anything anymore. She stood there a long time, just looking, as Morgan never moved or said anything. After what felt like an eternity, she looked up at Morgan.<br />
<br />
"I'm ready to go."<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-90677057901349845992011-12-21T10:11:00.000-08:002012-05-30T20:48:42.515-07:00Flash Fiction: The RainYou can smell the rain before it comes in the desert. The air gets thick and heavy, the wetness palpable in the normally dry air. I had felt the rain for nearly a day now, but still it waited. I hiked my hat back on my head and looked upwards, the sun shrunken behind a mask of dark grey clouds. Soon, it would have to fall soon. <br />
<br />
I spurred my horse gently into a trot and kept riding. I felt hot and sticky, the humidity clinging to me. I was still wearing my battered duster and it was starting to feel like a second skin. Dirt had mixed with sweat and grime and I hadn't seen a bath in what felt like a month of Saturdays. I couldn't wait to get out of New Mexico and into Texas, maybe get that bath... and a drink. In the meantime, I'd just settle for some damn rain. <br />
<br />
It was well past mid-day when I came across it. Smoke, thin and trickling, a dark grey plume against the dark clouds of the sky. Maybe three hours in front of me. It wasn't unusual to see other travelers on this trail, though fires at this time of day certainly wasn't normal. Besides there was to much smoke, to much smoke for just a trail fire. Somewhere up ahead, a lot of people were probably dead. I jiggled the empty water skin at my side and cursed. I stared up at the cloudy sky and wondered where that rain was. <br />
<br />
I made good time towards the fire, it was generally along the way on the trail, but I kept my Colt loose on my hip and my Winchester primed across my saddle horn. I doubted what ever tribe that had attacked those people had stuck around, not on this public of a trail, but hell, it never paid to play the fool. I gave my horse Brian a reassuring pat, knowing him to be just as thirsty as me, as we crested the last bluff. <br />
<br />
It was then that I caught it, the wind pushing the smell of burnt death up the hill. It wasn't the first time I had smelled this scent, but Brian reigned up, eyes wide with fright. I calmed down the horse and climbed down off the saddle, throwing the reigns around a small tree as I walked towards the dying fire. I kept the Winchester close as I looked at the carnage. There had to be at least twenty bodies here, scalped, burnt, tortured...raped.<br />
<br />
The fire still flared in spots around the four wagons, and the whole affair still smoked with the flush of embers. I walked through the massacre, taking stock of the dead, noting it for the sheriff in town, or better yet one of the Cavalry troopers that frequently patrolled the area. I scanned the horizon, pulling my hat off, and let out a deep breath. My throat, already thick and parched, felt like sand as I tried to work up enough spit to wet it down. God damn rain. <br />
<br />
I had counted eighteen bodies before I saw her. She couldn't have been more than five or six, a small tow-haired girl, clutching a corncob doll. I'm not even sure when I dropped the Winchester, or when I felt the feel of earth from my knees. The poor girl had been burnt and beaten, like the rest of the victims. She'd been scalped, like some of the others and you could see the blood mix with the dirt on her face. I touched her cold cheek, my fingers trailing the lines of smudged tears on her face.<br />
<br />
I don't know why it was her that caught me so. Maybe it was the fact that she still clutched that doll, or the way her tiny fingers gripped it. I could still see the whiteness in her knuckles. I had seen dead bodies before, hundreds, maybe thousands, in the war and afterwards. I'd seen grown men cry, severed limbs, even the brutal slaughter of homesteads in the wake of other marauders. But here, in this moment, I only saw my own daughter. Like it was her laying there instead of this other poor girl. Like it was my own daughter that had been killed. I closed my eyes and felt my cheeks turn wet. Soft at first, then harder, till the cold wetness seeped through to my very bones. <br />
<br />
The sounds of thunder and flashes of lightning lit the sky, but I only looked at her. I stayed there for a long time, long after the last embers had been extinguished. The rain had finally come.<br />
<br />
<br />
End of Line.<br />
Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25157623.post-29588488154892738802011-12-20T15:06:00.000-08:002011-12-20T19:32:18.671-08:00Poetry: The Tides of ChristmasHey all,<br /><br />My laptop has been down for a while so I haven't updated as much as I would have liked. (well at all to be true) and while I still have no word processing program I can write directly in the blogger format. So I am going to get back to posting, at least one piece of short fiction this week. In the meantime here is a bit of a Christmas poem I started writing after I was struck by an image of the sky breaking over the mountaintops on my way to Flagstaff. It was a very beautiful and serene moment. I have been working on lines in bits and pieces for the last week or so but today i just sat down to type it out. I really like this poem, I thought it was a very different stanza structure with some nice word variations. I'd love some feedback.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Tides of Christmas<br /><br /><br />Reddest sky bursts through stones,<br /><br />The jagged spires of Earthen bones.<br /><br />Azure rays stream from the dusk,<br /><br />As the day rips free last ragged tusk.<br /><br />And as the day gives way to night,<br /><br />I feel the world in years twilight.<br /><br />The wind, so shear, reaps its throne.<br /><br />Cold and sharp, it cuts alone.<br /><br /><br />I stopped the car and gazed out West,<br /><br />The tinge of winter in my breast.<br /><br />I hugged myself against the cold,<br /><br />As snowflakes fell, gently then bold<br /><br />The hills dipped in bends and bows,<br /><br />Fields of pines rest in rows.<br /><br />And from above I looked below,<br /><br />As the tides of Christmas began to flow.<br /><br /><br />The flecks of snow gave to flurries,<br /><br />As the red lit sky begot blue tint furies.<br /><br />Where the twinkled stars began to shine,<br /><br />I saw the moony rays, a stream of line. <br /><br />And the once green pines donned a white coat,<br /><br />While the thistles whispered a windy note.<br /><br />The Holiday was finally here,<br /><br />As wintered sounded its snowy cheer.<br /><br /><br />I saw my breath in a puffy cloud,<br /><br />As the chill wind chimed out so very loud.<br /><br />So I jammed my hands in pockets deep,<br /><br />And watched the snow build in piles steep.<br /><br />I huddled in tight and looked to the sky,<br /><br />To that one glimmering star upon so high.<br /><br />And I thought to myself as I turned away,<br /><br />Merry Christmas to me on this wintery day.</span><br /><br /><br />End of Line.<br />Gerrad!Gerrad McConnellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16093562722200100807noreply@blogger.com0