A Storied Man

Realized I probably needed something besides the end of a story to greet folks. I will post another story here as soon I have one. Thanks for stopping in. The latest story, “Avenger’s Lament,” is written from the point of view of a 16-year-old boy living during the Civil War.

I turned my head back to look, and made out a man carrying a lamp. He was only a few steps onto the bridge, so I jumped to my feet and ran the other direction.

“Stop! Who are you?”

The sound of gunfire pierced the storm’s din. I did not stop until I reached the Maryland bank. Though the wild shots clearly came from a gunman unsure of his target’s location, I immediately took refuge in the wood. I trudged up the hillside, switching back to make the ascent less steep and to eliminate any chance for a precise fix on my position. The mud made my going slow, but I reached the top.
(more…)

Through my pain I managed the presence of mind to avoid returning to my home, as I knew soldiers would be lying in wait. I fled to the nearby wood and hid myself. The cold rain falling from the sky could not rival my tears as I sat sobbing for my loss, and the hunger I had felt during my trip home was replaced by an immeasurable emptiness. They were humiliated, then executed before their peers.

I could not leave them that way. I would rather cut them loose to a burial in the Potomac than allow one more day to pass with them suspended in humiliation. My plan was to slip quietly through the woods around the town, and then along the river bank to the bridge. The clouds would hide me from the moonlight and the rain would muffle my footfalls. Armed only by my rage and the knife on my belt, I crept. And I cried.
(more…)

I dread accompanying my regiment in the invasion of Harper’s Ferry. Our success is almost certain, so it is not failure I fear. What plagues me is the memory of how invading troops treated my family when we lived there. Although I sometimes wish I could forget, the horrible memory will stay with me until my last day. Pondering what I have become, I almost wish that could be tomorrow.
(more…)

Earth is almost out of water. You must help, or all life on Earth will cease.

We used a somewhat temperamental time machine to send you this letter, so we do not know exactly when you will be reading it. A small device attached to the envelope will return it to us one hour after you opened it. Please attach a small note to the original informing us of the year you received it and whether you will help us. It is imperative that you read this letter. We wanted to send a person, but the time-space signature left when sending a living being is easily detectable, and resistance to our efforts has grown.
(more…)

My advisor turned to a young boy of about nine years and said, “Now, Jimmy, when he starts goin’, you turn loose of that rope.”

I climbed a few rungs of the homemade ladder and reached high to grab the handle. This position would make anybody feel vulnerable, and I wasn’t exactly flashing my Coppertone tan. I took a deep breath and kicked off of the tree. I was gliding with my feet about six feet off the ground.

Just as I started building up a little speed, I slowed suddenly to a halt, swinging above the edge of the cliff.
(more…)

I gave her the finger, too. The “I need chewing time” finger. After finally rendering the potatoes lumpless, I swallowed. “I know, I know. I was just crunching through a bite of food. So, why, Dad?”

“Snakes.” The word slithered slowly from his mouth. I was no friend to poisonous reptiles, despite my slogging around snake-infested ponds at an early age.

I remembered the time my best buddy and I had walked around the edge of his farm pond lifting large, thin sections of Styrofoam. The mother snakes had built their nests there, and from under each piece a handful of tiny snakes would wriggle, leaving trails in the mud. During that moment of recall I realized why some city folks called country people stupid. I didn’t know for sure that uncovering snake nests was more dangerous than walking around New York City at night, but it certainly seemed dumber.
(more…)

People fall into two philosophical categories in life: stump finders and stump dodgers. You see, when it comes time for a group of kids to sled down a new hill, someone has to go first. When the snow is deep enough, you can’t see exactly what’s on that hill. The first one down usually has a few mishaps, possibly even smashing a finger or two as he makes his way to the bottom. A stinging faceful of snow also is common.

After one or two more kids meet a similar fate, down go the stump dodgers. They make their way as smooth and easy as if they’d made that run a hundred times. Stump dodging might not have been as exciting, but it usually was a lot less painful.

It was the middle of the summer, but it was a year ’round philosophy. I needed a stump finder, but I had the unique problem that day of staring at a big group of stump dodgers.

(more…)