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July 21st 1897

To my dearest friend and mentor Father Daniel,

I write to you with desperate haste.  I do hope the mail courier is able to procure this letter in a timely fashion for I require your knowledge and insight.  As you know, Bishop Crane bequeathed to me his post in the town of Fairview New Mexico.  The inhabitants here are finding themselves drawn to God and I find myself his living incarnation fighting for their salvation.  Silver fever has polluted the many souls here and they look to me to make it right.  We are also without a reputable physician so we have become reliant on the trite medical knowledge I acquired under Father Casper during my Monastery days.

The daughter of a prosperous business man Frank Winston, was brutally attacked.  The poor dear was taken from her bed while she slept by something awful.  She found herself clutching to life in their stable with a deep gash in her back.  Daniel, it was unlike anything I have seen in all my forty years.  No known animal or blade did that to her.  Towns folk here formed a lynch mob that did little more than prowl the out-land ranches and scare a few sleeping farmers.  These people are untamed and quick to band together, it makes me nervous.

I write to you because I fear something ungodly might be upon us.  Your work with the young Doctor Van Helsing will hopefully be able instruct me and guide me in this dark hour.

May the mighty shepherd keep you and bless you,
Father Thomas

July 29th 1897

Father Thomas,

I’m sorry to hear your new post is not going to be the highlight of your missionary career, but then again, you might find yourself canonized by the locals should sleuth this attack into a justifiable fruition.  I would much prefer to come to you for direct correspondence, for I fear it will be most grave if not resolved quickly.  Unfortunately, my own duties to the church bar me from such travel.  By the time you receive this letter I predict at least one more soul will have fallen victim to this daemonic presence and I pray it not be you.  So you must act quickly.

You are in the heartland of indigenous Navajo unrest.  You very well might be under attack from one of the most outlawed cultural practices.  Much like the satanic witches that permeated the civil unrest of the new world years ago, the local native inhabitants of this land are no stranger to their own practitioners of the dark art.  You must not under any circumstance venture out during the night.  Encourage the people of Fairview to follow this same instruction, at least until an acceptable explanation can be found.  There are certain tasks ahead of you, a few of which I pray you fail, for if you succeed, you are in a danger of the highest caliber.

I need you to start keeping track of the moon cycles.  Each day, during dawn or twilight, mark down how much of the white face is exposed.  On this same record you must note when the attacks occur.  Write to me when you have two weeks worth of observation.

Second, you must venture into the mountains and look for the Atropa belladonna plant.  The people there are sure to know it as the deadly nightshade.  Look for any sign it is being harvested or cultivated unnaturally.

Thirdly it would behoove you to gain the allegiance of the local correspondent to the indigenous Navajos of the area.  Thomas for your own safety they must understand you are a friend to all of the Navajo people.  Under no circumstance is he to know that you might possibly suspect his people of anything.  Learn all you can about their feelings toward the presence of Fairview’s settlers.

Lastly Thomas, you must persuade some of the local miners to show their support for the church in raw silver ore.  Once you have adequate enough supply, conscript the local blacksmith to make you a walking stick tipped on both ends with silver caps and also a new rosary.  This may be of use and protect you against the daemon, for most cannot bare the touch of silver.

God bless you,
Father Daniel

August 20th 1897

Father Daniel,

You were correct about the attacks, we have seen two more as I write this letter.  The local school teacher, one Miss Lori Kelstin, was found next to a nearby creek with her body completely shredded.  Daniel it was a horror that will scar me for this life and the next.  Also the banker’s son, Phillip Augustus, has gone missing.  It has posed too much for the populous to take.  This place is not safe for anyone, and more people are leaving everyday.  By the time you receive this correspondence my Sunday mass will be attended by the last horde of miners standing steadfast by their government claims.  Still clinging to the hope of striking it rich, they will die before they leave and I fear they will.  God has put me here to erase this evil from existence and I’ll see it done, if it is the last thing I do.

My observation of the moon and attacks directly relate to each other. When the full whiteness is exposed we have reason to be afraid.  The full moon brings this plague of evil upon us without fail.  By  my calculation the next attack will happen in one weeks time when the moon is full again.  Daniel, it is by the simple mathematical principle of probability that I fear for my own life now.

I sought out the Atropa belladonna as you instructed.  I found most of it quite undisturbed except for one patch on the outskirts of a local Navajo settlement.  The berries were picked clean, and some of the leaves were visibly torn off.  I was advised that the plant is completely poisonous in all respects.  Whatever animal fell victim to it’s alluring beauty would surely be dead within a day or two.

The local Navajo correspondent and I have become acquainted, also at your instruction.  The subject of the attacks seems taboo for us to talk about.  I have expressed my concern for his people in the area but he seems very indifferent to the whole situation and fears not for them.  We have discussed at length the history of his people.  It is quite obvious to me now that we have no place here.

I’ve resorted to turning the church into a fortress of God’s light to illuminate this darkness.  I enlisted the services of the remaining craftsman to barricade the windows with heavy timber and reinforce the doors with heavy iron bindings.  Something taps the outside of the building at night and prevents me from getting adequate sleep.

Jesus Daniel what is happening here? What must I do?  Please help.

Thomas

September 1st 1897

Thomas,

It is exactly as I feared.  This letter should reach you eight days time before your relief.  I’ve communicated the gravity of your situation to our people in Albuquerque.  I’ve convinced the proper authorities that it is in the Church’s best interests to extract you from your situation and leave the fate of the town in God’s hands.  I will come myself and receive you in Albuquerque.

Thomas I believe you are in the evil clutches of none other than a native Skin-walker.  No doubt the local Navajo Medicine Man has fallen from grace.  He seeks retribution for the forced March of his people to Fort Sumner by the U.S. Army Forces those many savage years ago.

He is using the extract from the Atropa belladonna to make himself a nightly potion so that he may practice Lycantrophy and manifest the daemon purely out of his own energy.  If you come into contact with the man before the beast, you must not kill the man.  If the beast is created and the man dies, the beast will turn into a ravenous vampire that will kill anything it can.  For the vampire, requires abundant amounts of the life force to survive.  Warn everyone you can to defend themselves with silver if it comes to it.

You should at all costs avoid contact with the beast.  Lay low until they come for you Thomas.  Let God sort it out.  It is not worth the risk to your life my friend.

Praying desperately for you,
Father Daniel

September 5th 1897 – message delivered via Western Union Telegraph Service.

TO: Father Daniel
FROM: Church of Christ Albuquerque New Mexico

FATHER THOMAS STATUS: DECEASED.
B. CASPER REQUESTS YOU PERSUE INVESTIGATION.
FIND HELSING.

END

September 9th 1897

TO: Doctor Van Helsing (recorded dictation from Father Daniel)

Abraham the church needs you, I need you.  One of my dearest friends was taken from me in a small desert town of the American South West.  I believe he was killed by ancient native American  lycantrophic means.  You will know what to do.  Please come at once to Albuquerque New Mexico, US.

September 12th 1897 – message delivered via Western Union Telegraph Service.

TO: Father Daniel Albuquerque New Mexico
FROM: Abraham Van Helsing England

TRAVEL TO U.S. NOT POSSIBLE.
ONTO SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT WITH J. SEWARD
L. WESTERNA LIFE AT STAKE

END

Daniel crumpled the thin telegraph paper in his fist and brought his hands up in prayer.  L. Westerna could only be one person.  Lucy, lovely Lucy, the daughter of the one woman he ever loved.  He would go to England, to Doctor Van Helsing, and to Lucy.  He would give his own blood and life if it meant saving hers.

I pulled another cassette from the old box.  Things were beginning to go in slow motion for me now during these listening sessions.  I imagined the classical ambient musical score at the end of a war film.  The brave solider you fell in love with getting killed in a hail of gunfire.  Red mist exploding from each new bullet hole as the actor convulses from the supposed inertia of it all and you living that split second of life in minutes on film.

Bach’s Cello Suite One in G major suites me just fine.  I hear it, as my hand clutches the plastic  tape of the blind man.  Each quick pull of the cello’s bow resonates within me and I slow my breathing.  I rub my thumb on  the pattern of scratches in the plastic.  None of these tapes have numbers, just a series of scored  hash marks to indicate their order in the sequence.  I put on my headphones and push play.  Bach fades out and the black curtain descends as the blind man once again narrates our life.

“Eighteenth of July, two thousand four.  Today we will examine my interaction with the Vampire last night.  I’m fortunate to be able to interact with the true etherical nature of the beast.  Most sighted people are not able to focus enough to channel and grow their energy like I am.  My gift of blindness makes me an ideal source for the Vampire.  I let him feed off my energy to sustain his corpse  and he in turn helps me understand the other entities of the etherical .  He is desperate to not cross over and feeds much more than I would like.  It leaves me drained by dawn and I must sleep well into the afternoon to regain enough strength for the simple life sustaining tasks.”

I stopped the tape and took off my headphones.  The map of the city on my wall had many various colored thumb tacks but only one black one.  I reserved black for the blind man’s last known residence.  I walked over to the wall looking at the area around the tack.  Hide Cemetery was very close, not cut off  by any running water, and still very much in use.  That is where the Vampire would be buried.  If I was to contact the spirit I needed to know the name, for sure the Vampire would be a spirit by now.  If he had sustained this long, he would be very powerful, I needed to be prepared for that.

I grabbed my camera, notebook, cellphone, and a bag I pet named The Tool Kit.  The Tool Kit had everything I needed for dealing with Spooks.  I went downstairs in the dark and opened the front door.  A light flicked on behind me, it was Mom.

“Little late for band practice, where you headed?”

‘Shit.  Not now.  I can’t deal with this, I’m so close.  Have to think quickly, pacify the overlord.’

“Jake isn’t doing so hot and wants me to keep him company tonight,” I said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Look.  He just has a lot going on right now and needs me.”  Her eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘not that tone, not under my roof sonny boy.’  I had to cover my ass.

“Sorry Mom, it’s just personal stuff you know.  Its got me worked up.”  She curved one side  of her mouth and wrinkled her forehead down.  She wasn’t buying it, but would she call me out on it?  Don’t know don’t care.  But I do care.  I’ve worked hard to keep up my illusion, worked hard to only let people see my mask.

“Alright, well be careful.  Watch out for the ghouls and goblins.”

‘You have no idea.’

She smiled but looked scared for me.  Mom has been a worrier all my twenty nine years, that will never changed.

“Yea, I will.  Get some sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”  I walked out and stood on the porch, she shut the door behind me.

‘I hope.  I love you.’

I drove my aging Ford Fairmont to the blind man’s old address.  It had become ritual for me now.  I start all investigations at his house and retrace the steps he himself might have taken.  I parked on the curb and took in a breath.  Starting to get scared now.

‘Doesn’t matter what happens Brandon.  You’ll have your proof one way or the other,’  I thought.

My cell phone vibrated in my pocket.  A text message.

‘Really Son, be careful.  I trust you have what you need.  Love, Mom.’

She couldn’t know, could she?

Download Children of the Garden Wars PDF

Children of the Garden Wars
by: Danny Machal

Dusk

“Hoppers of the Outlands, come forth.”  Lord Cottontail and his guards stood in the middle of the Thicket.

The bushes rustled with movement.  Camouflage piles of wood and sticks stirred with golden eyes agape.  The Outland Hoppers, around thirty in number, covered ground sheepishly and slowly.  They kept their black and brown faces pointed down as they neared the flawless white fur of Lord Cottontail.

“Who is in charge here? Why have you not rallied your fighters to take part in tonight’s raid?”

Lord Cottontail beckoned for none other than the old greying Hopper chief, Long Ear.  A path formed among the bowed noses and lowered ears, out emerged the large Long Ear towering over Cottontail.

“I am my Lord, my name is Long Ear.  We coexist in peace with the Crawlers here.  This is your conflict, not ours.”  The most massive of Cottontail’s guards stepped forward;  Cottontail ordered the guard back into line with a flick of his ear.

“Not yours? My brother we are all in this fight together.  Why a crawler last night just took one of our young from Hoppiton.  How can you sit there and say such things?  A poor mother’s child lays digesting in the belly of one of those slithering vermin,” Cottontail said.

“The child’s loss is regrettable, but you and I both know a Crawler would not attack unless provoked.  They much prefer the taste of more challenging sport.”

“If you refuse to help the cause Long Ear, than consider yourself a permanent Outland Hopper.  The same goes for all of you Heads of House.”

Cottontail threatened the community as a whole but he knew what Long Ear said was law.  It was the Hopper way.  Long Ear and other community leaders spoke for their communes, and Heads of House spoke for their own families.  It was Long Ear’s choice to make, a choice he had earned the right to make long ago.  Long Ear turned his back to Cottontail and stood upon his massive hind legs to address the Outland Hoppers.

“You are all free to make your own choices here.  I would never stop any of you from doing what you felt was right for your families.  We have prospered many ages here in the Thicket and have done so all by ourselves.  Join Lord Cottontail now if you wish to pursue the assault on the Crawlers.  You will be welcomed back should you return.”

Not one head raised, not one foot moved from where it stood, silently they all pledged their allegiance to Long Ear.  Lord Cottontail stood stewing in his fast raising temperament.  Long ear turned to the young hopper ruler and bowed his head.

Lord Cottontail narrowed his eyes and wriggled his nose in disgust.  “Come fellow white fur Hoppers, these brown Outlanders wish to be isolated, so be it.  No Hopper is to come to their aid, no matter what circumstance has befallen them.  Let them be fed to the Crawlers and torn apart by the Longsnouts for their treachery.”

Cottontail’s small executive force bounded quickly north disappearing in the dense underbrush around the Thicket.  Long Ear sighed and raised his head.  The women and the young ones joined their Heads of House in the open.  They all sat in silence with their eyes fixed upon Long Ear.  He turned and hopped to his den to rest without saying a word.

That night the Thicket echoed with the faint screams of dying Hoppers and the hisses of fallen Crawlers.  Long Ear laid in the dark saddened at how quickly the peace he had created was being dismantled by Cottontail.

Night

From the inside of a sheltered above ground burrow, two young Hoppers contemplated defiance of their Heads of House, loyal to Long Ear.

“Why shouldn’t we go?  I refuse to sit and let Hoppers fight and die for the Thicket, we should be out there helping.”

“How do you plan on us doing that?  You’re not a fighter, I’m not a fighter, we have no fighters.  Long Ear has worked hard for peace with the Crawlers and Cottontail is destroying that this night.  The Thicket won’t be safe ever again after this.  How could the Crawlers ever trust us now?  Cottontail is lucky Long Ear didn’t challenge him.”

“Old Long Ear? What could he possibly do to Lord Cottontail?”

“My father says Long Ear was a Captain in the Garden Wars.  Says he went on some secret assassination missions and defeated a platoon of Longsnouts, by himself.  He also said that Long Ear lost an entire squad once,  said he was the only Hopper to come back out of twenty.  Guess he went crazy after that, didn’t care if he lived or died.”

The young Hopper stared blankly at the sleeping Long Ear on the far end of the Thicket.  The old grey mound heaved up and down with every deep breath, creating a faint grumble of a snore.

“Nah, I can’t see it.  Long Ear is no warrior.  If what you say is true, how could he possibly have turned out like this? I mean he speaks out against the War all the time.  Something must have happen to him to turn him into the Long Ear we know.  What does your Dad say about that?”

Before the answer could come the two were interrupted by another young male Hopper.

“Hey, we got a group of three going out to help Cottontail you guys coming?”

The Story Teller’s eyes become wide with excitement.  He looked to his comrade for confirmation.  Friendship ran deep as a family blood bond among Hoppers.  He waited for the decision hoping the stories of Long Ear had inspired his comrade.

“We’ll help.”  The two smiled at each other and joined the other three.

The five young Hoppers stealthily left the sleeping Thicket and trotted toward the faint sounds of battle in the distance.  Full of young excitement and vitality they looked back at the moonlit Thicket, not thinking for one moment they might never see it again.

Later that Night

The Five covered a great distance away from the Thicket into the forest before they found any new signs of life.  Small mounds of upturned earth became concentrated among the underbrush the further they penetrated into the thick woodland.

“Crawler dens those are,” the largest of the Five said.

“Split up and start checking them, we won’t catch up to Cottontail’s front line tonight anyway.  At least we can be sure their path home is clear.  Stay within earshot, we’ll need at least two Hoppers to a Crawler to take them down.”

Hole after hole was inspected.  They expanded their coverage area checking the mounds that were further out and farther apart.

“Found a nest,” the Story Teller called out.

The Five converged on the discovery.

“Look in there, two eggs, maybe three.  Let us wait for the female.”

They waited silently in the shadows ten bounds away, a distance easily covered by a young Hopper in three seconds.  After a short while the small female Crawler emerged, her dark green scales glimmered in the moonlight.  The Five sprinted toward her the moment the slender tube-like body was fully visible.  Her head snapped up as she sensed the advancing movement.  The tail end of her body whipped the leading Hopper mid bound causing him to tumble.  She was frantic in her defense to protect the unborn.  A Mother’s guard is a force never to be meddled with, no matter the creature.

The other four began nipping with their teeth at any piece of flesh they could get at.  With her calculating targeting system the Crawler struck the Story Teller, capturing his head between her jaws.  She began to squeeze with skull crushing force.  The young Hopper let out a scream.

“Get her head off,” the large Hopper shouted.

The four began to take large bits of flesh from the same area in rapid succession until the spine was served and she relaxed her grip.  The limp Crawler body collapsed on top of the Story Teller.  The comrade pulled as the Story Teller wriggled to free himself from under the smothering girth of the body.

Filled with the fury of battle the others dashed into the den one after the other.  Smashing the eggs with their powerful hind legs, the embryonic Crawler-slime splashed their brown noses and quickly crusted on their fur.  Shortly after, they made their way outside, to the field of victory.

None of them could speak.  Thousands of new emotions rippled through every fiber of muscle in their small young bodies.  Their daze was short lived.

A large Crawler quickly emerged from the nearby underbrush.  It was a male twice as large as the female.  He paused for a split second surveying the devastation the Five had created.  The fight was on and the Largest Hopper would be the first to die.

Morning

Worry and desperation ran an infectious course amongst the inhabitants of the Thicket.  Long Ear went from burrow to burrow informing the Outland Hoppers of the runaways, and consoling the families of the Five.  A rustling from the south brought two exhausted blood stained Hoppers out of the underbrush.  The Thicket converged upon them with inquiry.  Two relieved Heads of House and three now more sullen than before huddled close around the two survivors.

“There are only two of you.  You were five in number, where are the others?” the group demanded.

“We got attacked by two Crawlers, a male and a female.  Our number enabled us to kill the female but the male out skilled us.  The other three were crushed, we ran while he was distracted with the last of the others,” the Story Teller said this as he stood next to his gullible red streaked comrade.

Long Ear forced himself into the small circle.

“Where is the Crawler now? Were you followed? Stupid young ones, you killed his mate.  His blood lust will blind him to fight to the death until she is avenged.”

As Long Ear uttered the words a thundering crash came through the canopy above the Thicket.  A Crawler now lay coiled up in a fighting stance eyeing the bloodied pair of young Hoppers.  Long Ear placed himself between the cluster of Hoppers and the Crawler.

“Get to the shelter of your burrows my Outland Hoppers.  Protect the young ones.”

At his order the Thicket was cleared as Hoppers dashed in all directions seeking the protection of their fortified burrows.  They all looked on as Long Ear spoke to the Crawler who sat jittering in rage.

“Crawler you have taken three of our young.  Surely this is adequate for your loss.  Leave the Thicket in peace, brother of the Garden.”

The Crawler uncoiled like a welled up spring and with jaws wide lunged at Long Ear.  The large greying rabbit’s torso turned to earth as the Crawler’s nose slammed into the ground.  His target moved, and moved quickly.

“Please, let you and I talk this out.  There need not be any more bloodshed,” Long Ear pleaded with the Crawler from his new position behind.

Long Ear was visibly out of breath, the onlooking Hoppers were not sure if he would be able to dodge another attack.  The great muscular ribs of the Crawler dug into the moist dirt as he drew upon newly created momentum.  Long Ear was already in the air by the time the Crawler had made the second strike.  The great girth of the large Hopper on his neck made the Crawler summon all his strength just to stay balanced.  Long Ear sank his long dagger teeth into the flesh behind the Crawler’s head.

Blood sprayed in all directions as the Crawler erratically tossed his head back and forth.  Hissing in pain and writhing in desperate agony to shake Long Ear off, the Crawler turned over to slam his back against the ground.  It proved to be ineffective and the old Long Ear stayed firmly affixed until the Crawler moved no more and lay dead in the middle of the once peaceful Thicket.  Long Ear spoke to the Thicket in a commanding rasping breath.

“Heads of house prepare your families, we must leave the Thicket.”

Long Ear placed his fangs in the familiar holes on the Crawler and dragged it out of sight.

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Reconstruction

(about 1500 words)

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“Eh, where you at mate?” Logan snapped his fingers.  “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Hear you when?” I said.

“Just now? Here you are, off on some distant planet.  Here I am,
spillin’ me bloody guts out about me mum.  All the while your off
rodgerin’ in some dream world with lord only knows what.”

“Sorry mate.  Just kinda spaced out ya’ know?” I wasn’t that sorry.
Whenever Logan was drunk, the first, second, third, and last subject
he ever talked about was his ruddy mother.  He would go on about how
she secretly wished for the Reconstruction to fail, or how she wasn’t
treatin’ his dad fair, an gettin’ round to the other toms on the
block.  She was a right fair git don’t get me wrong, but a bloke can
only be told the same tale so many times.  Besides, if Logan knew what
I knew through me dad, about the Reconstruction, he’d join his ruddy
ole mum and burn flags.

“Eh, you’re hopeless mate ya’ know that?” Logan said brushing the
golden shoulder length hair from his eyes.

I spaced out again.  It’s getting time to head to our  respective
lofts over on third street anyway.  We both live in the same men’s
dorm.  I’m not sure he’s going quietly or if he can even walk.  He
isn’t that much bigger than me, but we are both fairly short stout
blokes.  I’m fortunate to be a little more firm in the sinew than he
is though, so I can muscle him about if it comes to it.

It came to it only once before it did.  Some tom gets spouting off
about how the lass Logan was seeing is getting round.  Naturally this
strikes a chord with my hot tempered friend and he sees fit to break a
beer bottle on the bar.  Grabs the bloke by his arm and starts slicing
at his chest, all barbarian like.  I nearly broke his arm myself
getting him out of there.  Of course I took a slice to the arm while
trying to save him from arrest.  Bloody F5 Agents are crawling the
streets these days just looking for a good reason to send a young
bloke to a labor camp.  He looked alright tonight though.  As long as
we don’t run into any rebel Chavs looking to challenge her royal
Majesty’s new glorious way of living, we should be just fine.  Those
Chavs got it right if you ask me.

“But ya’ aren’t askin’ me, are ya’ mate?” I said to Logan.

“Ashkin’ you wha’? Logan slurred.

“That’s all I needed, let’s go mate.  Your mum’ll be expectin’ a call
that we got to the dorm safe.”

“Aye, Darren, so ish’ be.  Le’sh get on with it.”  Logan stood up and
started for the door.  He’s walking straight tonight.  This is a good
sign.  We should make it back without incident.  He stopped at the
door before opening it, wiggled his arms behind himself and into his
blue jumpsuit.  He zipped up the front, covering the yellow work shirt
and puffing out his chest to expose the embroidered image of her
Majesty on his left breast.  Bound for a warm room and a soft bed, we
set off into the icy night air.

Three blocks is all we had to make it.  Three bloody blocks, but no.
Logan catches a glint of something gold in the only eye he has managed
to keep open.  Turns out the gold glint is the toggle on the vest of
some Chav.  A Chav spray painting a big ol’ red X on the Queens vide
in the middle of some off shoot alleyway.  There she sits, smiling in
all her glory, and some Freedom Fighting Chav comes along to tag her
like a game of political bingo.  This strikes a chord with my hot
tempered friend.  He decides it’s time to teach this Chav a lesson.

“I’ma crush his vide in with my royal lovin’ boot Darren I am.  You’s
watch this.”

The idea of fighting seemed to sober him up right quick.  I’ll stay
out of it because I know just as well as that Chav does, it is illegal
to deface an image of her Majesty, caught by the wrong people and you
will pay the price.  She has worked so hard in the Reconstruction.
Bared so much of the burden, she is our personal Jesus she is.

Logan seemed right sober on the physical like, but in the head – he
is drunk enough to send me to the F5 Court himself for showin’
sympathy to a Chav, or even acknowledging that he might not be as well
pissin’ in her royal soup as to raise that spray can.  Like it
mattered, we were all headed somewhere if the F5 caught wind of the
disturbance.  Either way, I had to say something.

“Go easy on em’, eh? He’s just a young tom not knowin’ what he really
thinks.  Bloody parents are probably activists.”  This struck a chord
with my hot tempered friend on account of his mum.

“Bullocks Darren,” he glared at me and that was that.

Logan started off down the alley.  The gas lamps behind him created a
ten meter shadow monster moving toward this Chav, but the Chav stands
there smiling, vide to vide with Logan.  Like he isn’t scared.  Two
paces out and Logan has stopped.  He is eyeing the Chav deciding the
best way to make him understand how important it is to never shat on
her Majesty’s image.  Four more Chavs emerge from the shadows and
charge at Logan pouncing in the air.  Their boot heels point at his
chest.  He is quick to the reflex and grabs a Chav in mid air like.
The lad’s body is deflected straight into the bricks, he hits his vide
and lights out.  One Chav down, four to go, or maybe three.  The
original grinning bloke still stands in the back.  Hasn’t moved an
inch he hasn’t.  Just what is he playing at?

The other three set to work on Logan getting him on the ground.
Boots are busting him in the ribs, about the vide, and pulling at his
queer inviting hair.

Looks like he might have the upper hand now.  You see, Logan isn’t
feeling any pain, just throwing punches.  Every time he lands one and
hears a Chav yelp he is renewed in spirit.  Looks like he’s holding
his own, I’ll keep watch for the F5.  Fights are good for wearing
blokes out right quick like.

I look out the alley entrance in both directions, and see nothing but
steaming drains.  I hear the growl of Logan but with a high pitched
flavor.  I look back and the original Chav has got himself a broken
steel pipe he has.  He’s getting to work on Logan’s vide and I see my
mates blood start to stain the street – he goes limp.  I start running
toward them.

The main Chav takes the jaggy end of his steel and puts it to Logan’s
throat.  Prepared to shiv him in the neck and send him to Charon.

“Eh, easy mate,” I said, stopping and holding out my hands.

“You don’t want to be doing that.”

“Oh aye, I think I do.  You two toms can lick the royal Queen’s bum
all ya’ want.  Tis a bad day in the Isles when a young bloke can’t
stand up for what he thinks is good an decent.  Not without getting
the Queen’s blind hounds trying to stomp him and his mates,” he said.

“Look mate, I know where ya’ comin’ from, but I tell ya’ this just
isn’t the way.  He’s drunk and just got a temper is all.  Now let’s
just part ways, you drag your mate and I’ll drag mine, before we all
end up in the F5′s mitts,” I pleaded.

This Chav is ready to make this his defining moment in the
resistance.  He was going to make my mate a martyr, and himself a
legend, I could see it in his eyes.  There was nothing I could do.

He raised his arms and the jaggy steel cast a claw like shadow on
Logan’s swollen vide.  Light flooded the alley from both ends.

“Bleeding Christ it’s F5,” the Chav shouted.  He dropped the steel
and the four ran toward the alley exit closest; hoping for an opening
to give the Agents the slip.

An Agent stepped into the light wearing a black jumpsuit.  His chest
puffed out and the Queen’s embroidered vide on his breast displayed
his allegiance.  He gripped the chrome metal baton firmly in his hand,
which according to him, was just an extension of her Majesty’s own
arm.  The Chavs sprinted at him and split off in pairs, as to rush
past on either side.

“Evening lads,” he shouted.

In a right quick automatic reflex, he turned that baton all
horizontal like.  The ends extended and anchored into the brick walls
of the alley.  The Chavs all ran into it, hitting in the vide or the
throat, knocking them to the street.

“Four rebel Chavs walk into her Majesty’s bar,” he laughs.

As they lay gasping or clutching their vide with blood inking through
their fingers, he goes to work on them with the retracted baton.  An
Agent takes my arm from behind.

“Lets go, worker,” he says to me.  I move toward Logan and his grip tightens.

“…but my mate, what about my mate?…Logan,” says I.

I struggle and turn back to look at the Agent.  I see the reflection
of my own vide.  The eyes stare back at me.  In that split second I
remember everything.  Everything that led to this moment.  How they
came to power, how it all happened: the Queen, her Agents, the
Reconstruction, the dorms, the Rebel Chavs, the work camps, and my
father.

Lights out.

Running Shoes – By: Danny Machal

Part I

‘My name, is Berry Augustine.’

‘I’m thirty five years old and I’m a sick man.’

‘I’m also now, dead.’

‘At the age of twenty nine I was surprised to find there was a woman who would marry me.  My lovely wife Dana; she must have been sick too.  No sane and healthy woman would ever get involved in my situation.’

‘She is sad that I’ve gone, but she’s also the strongest woman I’ve ever met.  She’ll never stop loving me or forget me and the void I’ve left in her will be filled quickly.  She is just that kind of person, a survivor.  Not like me.  I was weak.’

‘You see, they told me I have obsessive compulsive disorder.  The three letters OCD would somehow define me to a lot of folks.  I’m a person ya’ know? I’m not just an ATM for the pharmaceutical corporations, and it isn’t like I’m contagious.’

‘I ask them why it is wrong to have unexplained feelings toward certain things in life.  Is the feeling of uncertainty in love no different?  Is the unexplained superhuman strength of the mother who lifted a car to save her child any different than what I feel?’

“Yes, Mr. Augustine it is different.  You have a sickness and we can help you,” they say.

‘I really never saw any problem with my supposed illness until it killed me.  Even then I only saw it for a few seconds and that is pushing it.  You’re asking your self two questions right now.  The first being how I died.  The second is most important.’

‘What exactly was my diagnosed OCD a result of?’

‘So I’ll answer quite simply.’

‘Sometime in my early twenties I became unable to wear a pair of shoes more than once.  I couldn’t help it, deep down it just felt wrong.  It felt wrong to me like rape and murder feel wrong to you.  It just wasn’t something I could ever do.  Even fleeting thoughts of, Re-use as I came to call it, made me sick.  Sometimes I would actually manifest physical illness in myself.  Some places I couldn’t ever go into, say a bowling alley, not that they wanted me there anyway.  Every time I tried it always ended in a violent torrent of projected sickness on the walls of the entrance.  I don’t remember the day or the moment I started to feel this way, it just was.  Maybe my brain has blocked out some painful memory to save me from the real cause.’

‘Imagine waking up everyday and having to lace up a new pair.  The house you live in smells of  new machined rubber.  You have a room with three hundred sixty five boxes of all shapes and sizes; the year’s cache of footwear.  Nike, Vans, Airwalk, Reebok, Adidas and a lot of no name Super Store knockoffs fill this room top to bottom.’

‘Even at twenty dollars a pair it is a little over seven thousand dollars a year.  This personal eccentricity was a large financial burden on me.  There were stretches of time when I didn’t eat so that I could just leave the house.  When Dana came along it was easier.  Both our incomes kept me comfortably in shoes.  I was mystified to the very end why she stayed with me – eternally, I will always be grateful for her.’

‘It was hard to deal with the part of myself I had no control over.  The lurking annoyance of unwelcome rules made me a slave.  Martial law had been declared in my brain and I would rather die than break it.  So I did.’

‘Being dead, is a lot like being in jail.  Everyone you meet in this place is only interested in the event that got you here.  Here’s how it went down for me.’

Part II

“Babe lets go,” Dana shouts at me while holding open the back door in our kitchen.

“Just a sec, putting shoes on.  You know these runs cost us a lot of money,” I shouted back down the hall.

“Running is good for the heart and soul, especially when done first thing in the morning.  Worth the investment if you ask me.”

“My little stock broker never misses a good investment does she?” I sprinted past her and out the door.

“Cheater,” she shouted.  We were off to the park to run our laps.

This had become our routine for a while now.  My psychiatrist suggested that regular exercise would be a good thing for my depression.  Didn’t help.  Not one bit.  Only thing it did was get me good at running and cost me an extra pair of shoes four days a week.

We came upon a sharp turn in our imaginary race course.  Dana was gaining on me so I figured I’d play it sly like.  I pulled a low in and high out to get in front of her.  I got about half way around the sloped embankment when my legs were promptly swept from under me.  The hit was powerful and I got some good air time sliding to a stop on my behind.  It hurt and I probably bruised my tail bone.  When I sat up to get a look at my attacker he ran over and licked me across the cheek.

“This is why there are leash laws.  Get away from me you mutt.”

I pushed the massive black lab with both hands.  Pushed a little too hard, I guess.  The fella lost his footing and fell over.  At least now he knows how it feels.  I wasn’t that sorry.  I got to my feet and knew I was lopsided; sloping down more than the grade of the hill, uneven, and not balanced.

“Damnit, shoe came off.”

“Looks like you’re one legging it home, Captain Ahab style,” Dana smiled and picked up my shoe.

“I can go get the car if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.  Let’s just walk home,” I said.

“Let’s take the bus.  The stop is right here,” she suggested.

We sat down on the bench and waited.

Waiting at a bus stop is like being in a room of Gladiators before the main event.  You know you all have to kill each other, but who will strike first?  The buses in this city can get full sometimes so you need to establish your spot in line at the moment the bus is in sight.  In our case the bus was elusive and came with little warning.  Like a small quarterback behind one of his linemen, the bus came quick behind a cement truck.  We all jumped up from our seats.

I lost my balance forgetting I only had the one shoe on.  I tried to stop myself but ended up sprinting a few steps forward and falling off the curb.  Lost my other shoe too, ‘thanks Gravity.’  I landed on my back and time slowed down.  This seems to be pretty consistent with most people’s recollection of their death.  It is like God’s last evil prank is to mess with your perception of time at the worst possible moment in your life.  Of course he couldn’t ever do that for the moments you’d want to remember forever.  Dana and I’s first kiss, our wedding day, any of those big life moments you wouldn’t forget if only you had a little more time to soak it all up.

Dana locked eyes with me for the last time.  In that brief moment I was reminded of our wedding vows, ‘forever and ever, our eyes said to each other.’  She moved toward me instantly but it was too late.  I heard a high pitched squeal long enough to register the sound, was indeed, brakes being slammed.  I turned my head just in time to get a face full of rubber.  By the time the cement truck came to a stop, the road looked like Paul Bunyan had stepped on a large packet of ketchup, forcing it to explode.

‘Good bye Dana, I love you.’

‘Well, that was it for me – headless, shoeless, and lifeless.  I sometimes wonder if it was rubber itself that had it out for me.  Maybe those rubber-band balls I made as a kid weren’t such a hot idea, and maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t in my best interests to squeal my tires or, drag my feet on the cement.  I suppose my soul will be reincarnated soon.  I can only hope I don’t come back as a bird nested high in a rubber tree, because if I do, I have a feeling I’ll fail my first flight test.’

Read On -

“Billy lets go, he isn’t worth it.”

“The hell he ain’t Hank.  A kid can’t walk home from school without being scared, that’s not right.  I’m gunna teach him a lesson.”

“You should listen to your brother Billy, no sense in me kicking your ass again.”

“Jeremy that was three years ago, I’ve gotten a lot bigger since then.  Besides, what you’re doin’ ain’t right.  It ain’t right at all.  So square up you pussy, lets go.”

Billy put his fists up like he saw Rocky do in the movies.  The spectating kids formed a circle around them.  Sidestepping like two gladiators locked in battle to the death, one of them would not come out of here the same.  Jeremy struck first.

Billy lost his breath from the blow to his stomach and backed up.  Within seconds he recovered surprising Jeremy’s smirking face with hammering blows.  Jeremy put his hands up but Billy didn’t care.  He would pound on his forearms until they were black and blue, break them if it came to it.  Jeremy stumbled from the high intensity onslaught of Billy’s fists, which apparently were made of brick.  The stumble caused Jeremy’s arm to drop slightly creating a small exposure to the face.  Billy’s right hook had no trouble seeking out the weakness in the defense.  Jeremy’s cheekbone made a loud popping noise as Billy’s knuckles dragged across his face.  The nose was next in line and in that one swift motion, Billy broke it.  Jeremy reached up to hold his crooked nose and fell to his knees.  Blood oozed from between his fingers dripping into dusty dark red puddles on the dirt.

“Now, you might be the popular guy, your father might be the mayor, but you have no right picking on little kids like you done.  Like you did my little brother, like you did to me.  Because you know what Jeremy? We grow up and we don’t forget.  You better start learning that you are a small fish in a big pond and there is always a shark waiting to eat your ass,” Billy stood over the hunched figure.

Jeremy looked up, and in the shadow of Billy nodded his head.  Billy grabbed his little brother by the arm.

“Let’s go Hank, he aint gunna bother anyone no more and Mom will have supper ready by now.”

The crowd stood in silence and parted to let the two boys out.  They set off for home into the orange hue of the sunset.  After about a hundred yards, Billy turned to look back, the crowd was gone but Jeremy remained on his knees staring at their long shadows on the horizon.  Billy was certain things would be quiet for a while, but Jeremy wouldn’t be completely shut down that easy.  Retaliation was coming, just a matter of time and place.

Billy knew that people like Jeremy came to power through fear. While he had the false respect of many, some frustrated soul will always rise up and challenge his authority.  Ultimately the only way to end Jeremy’s reign is to destroy him, but Billy doesn’t have it in his heart to do that.  So Jeremy will rise again, only stronger next time, until another Billy takes the challenge.  Thus perpetuating the state of fear among the children, in the small neighborhood, in the middle of nowhere.

I’m really enjoying this story, so I’ll keep on writing it.  I hope this isn’t boring people to death.

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So here we have it, “Harold the Ardently Knight of Battynannas: Part 1.”  It is a long read, about 7 minutes if you don’t fall asleep.   I’m still knew to all this stuff.   Suggestions are always welcome, especially in regards to the audio.

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