JC Martin both fighter and writer held a contest to celebrate her 200th folower.  It was a writing contest and I thought I would give it a shot.  I got second place in reader votes.  I am reposting my entry below and it was originally posted at scifi media.  Readers of this blog, you get the special treat of reading my un-truncated (JC limited entries to 750 words).  I only had to cut a little and it still comes in under 1,000 words.  so, without further ado.

Running Late

“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!” Carlos looks at the clock and thinks, “not again.” He has exactly fifteen minutes to be at school. He throws the covers off himself and launches out of bed towards the dresser; dirty shirt off and in a pile in front of his closet door before he even gets there. He slides into a fresh shirt leaving his pants and socks from the previous day, or a previous day at least. Backpack in hand, he exits his room before the clock hits 6:16. As he leaves his house, he resets his alarm clock from his phone and thinks, “that snooze alarm is going to be the death of me.”


He has been late twice this semester and has cut it close more times than he would like to recall. Carlos doesn’t mind school, but it isn’t really something worth waking up for either. He is an okay student. Smart enough to get by without really trying. That of course leads to speeches about applying oneself and, obviously, showing up on time. He knows the penalty if he doesn’t get through the gates in time.

Carlos hits the sidewalk running as he looks up towards the intersection ahead. It is a main line; the only one between his house and the school. There is no way he is going to make it before the signal changes. “Might as well of grabbed something in the kitchen before I headed out,” he mumbles as he waits the two minutes for the signal to change back. Timmy runs up and stops. By the look of his hair, Timmy has just woken up too. “How much time left on it?” Carlos responded, “you're in luck, about twenty seconds”. Luck, yeah, Timmy wouldn’t make it if he had to sit through another light. It is going to be tight as it is now.

The light changes and as Carlos and Timmy head across the street they see them, the truancy bots. Hovering about eight feet in the air, if the bots caught an image of their retinas they would be tailed and there would be no fudging it. With no violations, or even just one, the bots might ignore them, but two strikes meant these guys were going to get tailed. The problem was that the bots repositioned themselves and tried to image everyone’s retina. Although the purpose of the bots were to get truant kids off the street, the info that they processes had been used to convict people of crimes, call witnesses, and they were public records so even private eyes used them in their investigations of cheating spouses. Legally they were only truancy bots and the other information was just a happy side effect.

Of course the bots saw them, they always do. They were within two blocks of the school and only had five minutes before the gates shut. If they were caught outside the gates for a third time, they wouldn’t be let in, the bots would alert the police and you got hauled off for thirty days. Carlos didn’t know anyone that had ever been unexcused three times, but the rumors he heard weren’t good; some kids said they did this procedure where they stick an ice pick up your nose and into your brain and swirl it around, scrambling the part of your brain that made you misbehave. That sounded a little farfetched to Carlos, but he didn’t want to find out where you went or what happened to you.

Two minutes left, Carlos could see the school. They were going to make it. Just a side street left to cross. Carlos sprinted through two stopped cars and, right as he was stepping on the sidewalk, heard the brakes of an auto car and a crunch. Timmy was on the ground holding his leg. Carlos looked down at his phone; just over one minute left. He looked back at Timmy. Timmy’s eyes were drilling holes in him. They said, “don’t leave me here!” Carlos knew if he tried to help, they would both get caught and he still had a chance by himself. He turned and ran making it through the gates with 10 seconds to spare. He could hear the truancy alarm blowing on the truancy bots outside the walls.



Thirty days later, Timmy returned to school. He was on crutches and his leg was casted up. Carlos, tried to avoid him, but it was kind of hard when they had several classes together. Timmy didn’t seem upset with him, but he wasn’t overly friendly either. Whatever they did seemed to be working because Timmy wasn’t late anymore, in fact he was always early. He dressed nicer and answered more questions too, but he wasn’t interested in playing video games or shooting hoops anymore. Carlos, decided that what happened to Timmy wouldn’t happen to him. He would make sure that he wasn’t late anymore. Violations only stuck for six weeks and he only had two weeks before he was back down to only having one.



“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!” Carlos looks at the clock and thinks, “not again!”

Conspiracy Theories

1.  Steven Hawking is remote controlled.  I am not sure when he died but he did and the scientific community have taken his dead body and are manipulating it.  They use him for promotional stuff and to give credence to any wacked out theories they may have. 

2.  Iraq is actually pretty peaceful, but that is not good for the Haliburton bottom line. So, Haliburton has a stage in Hollywood were they inact terrorist attacks and clan fighting.  They then pay off reporters to narrate and corroborate the story.  Don't get me wrong, there is still fighting being done there, but every time you hear a Soldier say "things are getting better" and they "don't see how only the bad news gets here," now you know.

3.  American Idol is a show where the contestents sell their soul for a recording contract.  The winner is picked by the person that gets the most fans of the show to sell their souls as well.  The rest of us have to live with the Hell that Earth becomes when these people actually sing on the radio. 

4.  Angelina Jolie is a vampire.  She has a insatiable thirst for third world orphans.  Orphans that she created by feasting on the blood of the parents.  Her lips are actually an emergency blood supply implants, should she go to long without feeding.

5.  Vox is actually the FBI and CIA working together to eliminate dissidants.  Have people in your neighborhood stopped posting or closed their accounts?  It is because they are in Guantanamo.

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Critics wanted

Below is a story that I wrote last year and submitted to two places for publication.  Denied both times.  Let me know what you think.

 

Rain in the Forecast

Mist flows down from the trees forming a virtual curtain across the landscape.  Dex limps through the woods with purpose and determination driving him forward at more of a controlled fall than a walk.  His foot squishes in and out of his blood soaked shoe.  He is unaware of how long he has been running and is barely aware of the pain that is no longer shooting up his leg.  Dex looks back to see if they are still behind him and immediately loses balance and crashes into the ground.  Luckily for him, there is a large rock that cushions his head as he falls. 

            The hunger is what finally wakes him up.  His stomach is in knots and his head is still spinning.  Be it from the loss of blood or concussion, he isn’t sure.  His first instinct is to run again, but his leg protests with intense pain.  It has been a few hours judging by the darkness and they have not found him yet.  Maybe they have given up; maybe it is just a matter of time.  Either way he has to keep moving.  He can’t think about the pain, hunger, or loss . . . the loss.  He sobs, almost under his breath, as he drags himself to his feet.  For the first time he looks down to check his leg.  A hole, about one inch in diameter, is on either side of his inner thigh.  Fresh blood is now oozing onto the crusted pants leg.  He takes off his shirt, ties it onto the wound, and starts limping away. 

            The sense of urgency from before he fell is gone.  His sense of security and slow pace allow him to think.  They had just wanted to see the planes coming in and out.  It was his idea.  The only reason that Brittany agreed to come at all was the picnic and that it seemed really romantic.  Lizzie and Jake had come too.  It was all his fault and he was the only one left.  Their blood on his hands.  The thought of it makes him want to give up.

            He had been out to the airstrip plenty of times.  He had always dreamed of being a pilot even though he had never taken steps to make that dream come true.  Dex considered himself an airplane enthusiast.  That enthusiasm had cost everyone but him their lives.  When that strange and silent plane had come down, Dex just had to leave the tree line run down the fence to get a closer look.  Brittany had followed and Lizzie and Jake stayed.  By the fence they had come into the light, but all that concerned Dex was that sleek ship in front of him.  It had absolutely no lines and looked like something out of a movie.  He realized he probably shouldn’t be seeing this as a flood light pointed directly towards him.  A split second later some kind of soldiers, they weren’t wearing any uniform he was familiar with, came running towards them.  There were two of them, and Dex did the only logical thing.  He grabbed Brittany’s hand and started running. 

            Lizzie and Jake had been paying more attention to each other than anything going on around them and did not hear Dex and approach.  “Get up,” Dex yelled when they were within sight.  “We got to get out of here now.”  Jake didn’t quite get the urgency until he saw the soldiers too.  He fell in behind Dex and hit the ground before he got under the cover of the tree line.  There was no sound or gunshot, just Jake lying there motionless and the sickening sigh of air escaping his lungs.  Dex got in between the girls and where the soldiers would be coming in to the woods.  Dex pushed the girls on the path towards his car ahead of himself.  The woods provided sufficient cover to keep their pursuers from getting a clear shot.  Dex allowed himself to relax as they broke from the tree line and started cresting the hill where the car was parked.  He stopped and looked back towards the tree line.  As he turned back towards the car, the girls fell back down towards him.  Dex heard the soldiers from the other side of the hill shouting confirmation that he had a hit.  Dex turned back and sprinted towards the woods when he felt the sting in his thigh.

            “My fault,” Dex murmurs as he falls and catches himself against a tree.  He reaches up to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and feels his fever.  He is getting dizzier and more disoriented by the moment.  He has to sit down and rest; there is no way around it.  Still, he pushes on.  The ghosts of his friends drive him until not even memories of Brittany's embrace can offer enough strength to keep him on his feet. Dex collapses to the forest floor, sending leaves swirling about his body.  He drags himself to the base of a large oak tree.  As he leans back against the oak he closes his eyes.

“Channel 3 news; news you can count on!”

“Disturbing news tonight as 4 teenagers are robbed and murdered outside of a truck-stop on interstate 4.  The four were apparently parked behind the store when they were accosted.  Police have not released the names of the victims pending notification of their parents.  There were no cameras at the rear of the store and police do not have a suspect.  If you have any information, please contact the Crimestoppers Hotline at 555-1337.  In other news there may be rain in our forecast . . .”

 

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The Closet-blogisode 7

Shirley immediately lowered herself to the girls level and softly asked her name. "It's ok, I don't want to hurt you," she said even softer. The girl made no move to respond in any way.

"boombaboomboomboom." Someone was coming down the stares. Shirley rose back up and then looked down at the girl. It seemed impossible but the child looked even more scared than she had seconds before. Their eyes connected and Shirley felt the irresistible urge to hide. Again, it was as if her body worked independently of her mind. Her feet backed her into the closet. It was no longer full of the comforting warmth. Instead, it was cold, and coupled with the fear of the child, she was chilled to the bone. She pulled the door to and left about an inch where she could look out.

A man burst into the room. Six foot tall and overweight, he was balding and had bags under his eyes. His shoes were crushed down on the outside of his feet. The sour reek of beer mixed with sweat filled the room as the man nearly did himself.

"Why the hell aren't you sleeping." he yelled at the girl as he picked her up and tossed her on the bed. She hit the bed and was scrambling backwards before she had time to bounce twice. She curled up in the corner so tight she pushed the bed away from the wall a little. The man, Shirley knew this was her dad, walked around and kicked the bed back into place with a little laugh.

The girl was staring right at her. Shirley new that the man, her dad, would notice. Was the girl trying to giver her up? If he treated his child this way, how would he treat her? Sure enough, the father noticed his daughters stare and looked at the closet. Through gritted teeth he asked, "What are you looking at?" He started walking toward the closet.

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The closet-Blogisode 6

Warmth enveloped Shirley's body. The light blinded her to what was in her closet as she walked forward. It was almost as if she was under a spell. She expected to wake up at any moment. Then, as quickly as she had lost it, she gained full control of her body.

She found herself in a dark room. She could hear the little girl's voice whimpering for help clearly now. She couldn't see any thing except for spots of color in an otherwise dark and cold room. Shirley blinked a few times to jar her eyes into focus.

Slowly, she was able to make out the room. It was very small. There was just enough room for the bed and dresser. The paint on the walls were peeling and the putty on the ceiling was stained. On the floor at the end of the bed, right next to the closet, was a little girl. She was chained to the bed frame with a very thick chain that looked long enough to give her free roam of the room. The girl was still crying and had failed to notice her.

Shirley felt the need to comfort this obviously neglected and abused child. She started towards the little girl. That is when the girl noticed her. With a squeak and a start the girl pushed herself into the corner where the bed met the wall and curled up into the fetal position. Only her eyes and the patch of knotted brown curly hair were visible from behind her legs. Shirley could read the terror in those eyes.

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The Closet: Blogisode 3

> The handprint was black and smeared. It looked as though the fingers > traced their way down from about the middle of the door to about > eighteen inches off of the ground, were they pressed into a full hand > print.
>
> Shirley backed away from the handprint and grabbed the phone off of > the receiver. The little jingle rang through her head, "For urgency > without emergency dial: 862, 8600, 862, 8600 don't dial 911 when the > dangers done, dial 86, 286 oh, oh." She dialed the forever ingrained > number. Shirley explained the situation to the dispatcher and then > again to the officers that showed up on her door. Nothing else in the > house was missing, only the stuff in her closet. The looked at her > like she was crazy but wrote down what she said anyway. That is all > they did. They wrote down the information and told Shirley to call if > she found anything else gone or saw anything suspicious. >
> The paper was laying in the driveway and Shirley went out and grabbed > it. She checked the classifieds for dogs. She found a lady selling a > 3 year old trained German Sheppard. She called and was scheduled to > pick him up that afternoon. She grabbed the phonebook and called a > security company and schedule an alarm instillation for 4pm.
>
> After lunch, Shirley went and picked up the German Sheppard. The > little old lady was selling it for a hundred bucks and its name was > Sarge. It belonged to her late husband and she didn't feel that she > was able to care for it. It also reminded her of her husband and > would cause the poor lady to cry for hours when the dog would sit by > the door waiting for the husband to come walking in at around five > thirty. Shirley gave the little old lady her money and promised to > take care of Sarge. She felt safer already. >
>

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The Closet: blogisode 2

> Shirley woke up with a headache. There was a little bit of blood, but > her vitamin k had done its job and clotted her up quickly. She was > still going to have a nasty lump on the back of her head for a few > days. She sat up pressing around the lump trying to gage how much > damage she had done to herself. She decided that she would live and > started to get up. That is when she noticed the closet door open. >
> There was no light coming out of the door like she remembered the > night before. She could see all the way to the back of the closet. > It was empty. Not just empty of the light but of all here clothes and > shoes as well. Slowly, she got up and walked towards the closet. It > really was empty. Maybe she was really robbed and her subconscious > mind made up the light scenario just to protect her. Shirley was just > about to call the cops when she looked at the back of the closet door. > Smudged on the back of the door was a handprint.
>
>

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The Closet: Blogisode 1

> There was a light shining from under the door. Shirley was sure that > the light in the closet wasn't that bright and was pretty sure that > she had turned the light off before going to sleep. But, here she > was, at two in the morning, staring across the room at her closet > door.
>
> Shirley quietly pulled the covers from her legs and swung them around > on to the floor. Her toes touched the hard wood for an instant before > she pulled them back up. She lowered them down again, searching the > floor at the edge of her bed for her slippers. Shirley crossed the > room quickly with her arms crossed snuggly across her chest, > protecting her from the night chill, and flipped the light switch. > Nothing.
>
> Curiosity battled fear and won. Shirley grasped the cold brass knob > and twisted it quietly and slowly. She paused with the knob turned > before yanking the door open. Light flooded into the room, blinding > Shirley. She stumbled back a few steps, folding one of her slippers > under. She fell backwards as she heard a young girl's voice in a > whisper that sounded digitized say "help me!" As she continued > falling her head strikes the bed frame.
>
>
>
>

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