The Demon of Lies

I am halfway through my last class in my pursuit of my MFA in Professional Fiction Writing. My last class, was a screenplay writing class. Outside of my poetry class, this was probably the most nervous I have been. But it was a good class and I learned a lot that I can apply to my fiction writing. I am going to share the first act in my horror screenplay. It earned good marks, but would be interested to hear any and all feedback. Give me your thoughts.

By the way, the formatting is all wrong in WordPress, just ignore as it is perfectly structured for a screenplay in PDF for the main copy.

And I mean it when I say I want feedback, so please, by all means, give it to me. 🙂

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INT. DARK OFFICE – DOWNTOWN DENVER, CO HIGHRISE – DAY

DYLAN, a tall, fit, late thirties man is arguing into the
phone in a darkened office. He is wearing a suit, although
his jacket is draped over the back of his office chair.

The office is pristine, but dark. The only illumination is
that offered by the bright, light sneaking through the closed
blinds.

He looks through the blinds to the world outside and the
conversation grows heated (at least on his end) and it is
obvious the fit man is upset. He tries pleading his case, but
it is quickly going downhill.

DYLAN
(annoyed into phone)
Do you know how much fucking money
I’ve made for this firm? I”VE MADE
MILLIONS!

DYLAN drops the phone from his ear and mocks bashing his head
against the window.

DYLAN (CONT’D)
Do you know how much money I have
wrapped up in this investment? How
much my own friends have invested?

DYLAN starts pacing back and forth away from the window,
behind his desk, as he pleads with his boss on the other end
of the phone.

DYLAN (CONT’D)
Take the fifty mil and shove it up
your ass!

DYLAN slams the phone down on the receiver multiple times. It
never sits quite correctly, and after three or four attempts,
it lays askew.

DYLAN places his hands on his hips an surveys the room,
offering a large exhale.

He grabs a box and begins packing up his belongings.

INT. DYLAN’S MERCEDES – DAY

DYLAN drives his Mercedes SUV through suburban Denver while

listening to early-nineties grunge rock with the windows
down. He pounds his fingers on his steering wheel and stops
in front of a house.

DYLAN
(yelling at the top of his lungs)
Come on, Alex, you son of a bitch!
Let’s go!

DYLAN lays on his car horn.

EXT. EARLY 20TH CENTURY COTTAGE HOUSE – DENVER, CO – DAY

Looking befuddled, a slender and unathletic, Latino man,
ALEX, drags his luggage out the door and waves DYLAN off.

ALEX
(annoyed yelling)
This is a nice neighborhood, Dylan.
Can you knock it off?

INT. DYLAN’S MERCEDES – DAY

DYLAN
You should have been ready, my man.
Then I wouldn’t have to embarrass you
like this. You know better.

EXT. EARLY 20TH CENTURY COTTAGE HOUSE – DENVER, CO – DAY

ALEX

I know you’re an ass.
ALEX drags his suitcase behind him as he navigates the long
concrete path from his front door.

INT. DYLAN’S MERCEDES – DAY

DYLAN
You’re mom can tell you all about my
ass.

DYLAN guffaws in his car.

EXT. EARLY 20TH CENTURY COTTAGE HOUSE – DENVER, CO – DAY

ALEX shakes his head, but continues approaching the Mercedes.
He leans inside the open window and fist bumps DYLAN.

ALEX
Pop your trunk.

INT. DYLAN’S MERCEDES – DAY

DYLAN
You know I’m only busting your balls.
ALEX is still leaning in through the window.

ALEX
Yeah, yeah. Just pop the fucking
trunk.

DYLAN reaches below the dash and hits a button, activating
the automatic trunk.

EXT. EARLY 20TH CENTURY COTTAGE HOUSE – DENVER, CO – DAY

ALEX walks around to the back of the SUV and loads his
luggage, before climbing in the car.

DYLAN
Bought time, Sally. Why do you always
have to drag your feet?

ALEX
(glares at Dylan)
Why do you always have to be a dick?
DYLAN stares at ALEX long and hard, before cracking a smile.
He reaches over to hug his old friend.

DYLAN
It’s been too long ya little bastard.

ALEX
I know who my father…

DYLAN
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Take the
compliment. I missed ya.

DYLAN refocuses his attention on the road and starts driving
away. He cranks up the music and they both talk indistinctly
for several minutes.

EXT. PARKING GARAGE – DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – DAY

DYLAN and ALEX are wheeling there luggage away from the
Mercedes, when DYLAN’S phone rings. He pulls it out and ALEX
leans in to see who is calling.

ALEX
651? Who the hell is that?

DYLAN
Minnesota. Twin Cities, in fact. Must
be Michelle.

DYLAN answers and puts the call on speaker.

DYLAN
(yelling into the phone)
SHELLE! What’s going on? You in
Wyoming?

MICHELLE (V.O.)
(over the phone)
Who’s with you?

DYLAN
I’m with Alex. (Pause.) Is everything
okay?

DYLAN exchanges a quick glance of concern with ALEX.

DYLAN (CONT’D)
You don’t sound alright.

MICHELLE (V.O.)
I’m fine. But…

DYLAN
There are no butts in this group.
Don’t tell me you aren’t coming.

MICHELLE (V.O.)
I’m afraid I can’t. A work event came
up.

ALEX
NO! You can’t ditch out on us!

MICHELLE (V.O.)
I’m sorry. I tried reasoning with my
boss, but she wasn’t having any of it,
cranky old hag.

DYLAN and ALEX laugh at her comment.

INT. DARK KITCHEN – OLD FARMHOUSE – SUBURB OF MINNEAPOLIS, MN

MICHELLE touches her bruised cheek. Her dress strap is ripped
and falling from her fragile frame. The bruise is barely
visible on her dark skin, and she winces when she brings her
hand up to rub the skin around the bruise.

MICHELLE
I am, I swear to you both. We just
have this event and apparently I have
to be there for it.

EXT. PARKING GARAGE – DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – DAY

DYLAN
It won’t be the same with out you, but
even now, you don’t sound right.

INT. DARK KITCHEN – OLD FARMHOUSE – SUBURB OF MINNEAPOLIS, MN

The phone cord is wrapped around MICHELLE’s wrist multiple
times, and for each minute she speaks, the coil grows longer.

MICHELLE
I promise you, everything is fine, and
I am okay. Like I said, I just have to
handle this event for my company.

EXT. PARKING GARAGE – DENVER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – DAY

DYLAN listens to MICHELLE’S words and mouths W.T.F to ALEX.

DYLAN
Okay then. You’ll have to promise to
show up early next year. This is a a
tradition spanning twenty years and
everyone else is going to be so
disappointed.

MICHELLE (V.O.)
I… promise.

DYLAN
Take care.

DYLAN AND ALEX
We love you.

MICHELLE (V.O.)
Love you too.

DYLAN pushes the end call button on his phone and stares at
ALEX.

ALEX
That was… weird.
Out of the darkened shadows, a pale, boney, clawed hand
reaches forward and swipes at DYLAN’S head and misses as
DYLAN leans down to grab his luggage.

INT. UNITED EMBRAER AIRCRAFT – AT THE GATE – DAY

DYLAN and ALEX are sitting side by side in the second row of
the airplane as other passengers get on the plane.

DYLAN
How’s the love life? Chasing after any
fillies?

ALEX
You know me.

DYLAN
What? You’re not interested in anyone?

ALEX
Well, there is one girl I’ve had my
eye on.

DYLAN
Come on, brother. Give me the details.
ALEX ponders his words for a moment.

ALEX
You’d never lie to me, right?

DYLAN
Of course not, but what’s going on?

ALEX
Well… I’ve always kind of had a
thing for HEATHER.

DYLAN
I know. Bout time you finally
confessed to it too.

ALEX
If you knew, why did you never say
anything?

DYLAN
I didn’t think I had to. But she’s
married.

ALEX
I’ve heard they’re not doing well and
are headed for divorce.

DYLAN
And…

ALEX
And I’m thinking about telling her how
I feel.

DYLAN
By all means, man, you should tell her
how you feel.

ALEX
Thanks. Now I just have to work up the
nerve.

EXT. VAST MOUNTAIN HOUSE – JACKSON HOLE, WY – DAY – CLEAR SKY

A range rover pulls into the driveway of an extravagant
mountain home. Picture windows adorn the front of the home.
The Range Rover pulls to a stop in the driveway and the front
door flies open as their friends flood out.

The first outside is CLIFFORD, a tall, stocky, late-thirties,
with a long red beard.

Second out is HEATHER, a late-thirties, brunette, with an
average build.

Last out is MIKE, a tall, thin, late-thirties black man in
glasses. DYLAN and ALEX exit the vehicle and gather their
luggage.

CLIFFORD
Doober! Ya ole sumbitch.

CLIFFORD starts running toward DYLAN, who drops his bag and
meets him halfway to the front door. They do a chest bump and
an odd handshake.

DYLAN
It’s been twenty years since we played
football together. Do you really have
to use that nickname for me?

CLIFFORD
I kept your ass safe for three years,
so I reckon I can call you whatever I
want.

DYLAN fist bumps MIKE while ALEX and HEATHER hug. The trio
helps DYLAN and ALEX with their luggage, and they head
inside.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – GREAT ROOM – DAY

The group enters through an ornately decorated foyer,
connected to a spacious great room, with vaulted ceilings and
plush furniture.

MIKE
Anyone know when my sister is getting
into town?

ALEX and DYLAN exchange a worried glance.

ALEX
Didn’t she tell you?

MIKE
No, I haven’t talked to her in over a
week. (pause) Wait… tell me what?

DYLAN
She had a work event come up which she
is required to attend.

ALEX
So she won’t be joining us.
MIKE grows quiet and casts his eyes to the floor.

HEATHER
Oh great, now I’m the only woman for
the week in a room filled with
testosterone.

DYLAN
Come now, we all know how much you
love being the center of attention.
This should be right up your alley.

DYLAN grins and HEATHER flips him off.

HEATHER
Dick! (pause) We’ll show you to your
rooms so you can get settled, and then
we can all start working on dinner.

They all help with the luggage and follow HEATHER upstairs.

DYLAN and MIKE bring up the rear.

DYLAN
You OK man?

MIKE
I’m fine, was just hoping to see my
sister. Not surprised she bailed on
us.

DYLAN
Wasn’t her fault. It was work.

MIKE
Yeah I’m sure.

DYLAN and MIKE catch up to HEATHER and disappear down the
hall.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – DINING ROOM – NIGHT
HEATHER and CLIFFORD place serving platters on the table,
before sitting and joining the others.

ALEX
I’m so glad we are still doing this
after all these years.

DYLAN
It is the highlight of my year.

MIKE
You’re loaded and can do whatever you
want, yet this is the highlight of
your year? Come on, man.

HEATHER
Yeah, be realistic. I mean, I know you
don’t have a wife and kids, but surely
there has to be something else in your
life you look forward to. How about
your job? All you ever talked about
was being VP. You’ve achieved that
goal. What’s next?

DYLAN
It’s just a job. Every day is the same
as the day before. I’m actually
thinking about trying something
different.

CLIFFORD
You’re sounding a bit uppity, there
Dylan. What happens to our darn
investment if you choose to move on.

DYLAN
You all know I got you guys. I’d never
do anything to jeopardize your money.
I have a lot of my own tied up in it
as well. I think we are all on track
to recoup our money in the next six
months.

CLIFFORD
Hot damn!

ALEX
That’s very good news.

HEATHER
Has anyone talked to Michelle since
she called earlier today?
Everyone shakes their head no.

HEATHER
Should we try calling her? Just to let
her know how much she is missed?
HEATHER calls MICHELLE and puts her phone on speaker so they
can all hear and talk. The call goes straight to voicemail.

EVERYONE
SHELLE! We miss you.

HEATHER
We just wanted to call you and see how
you’re doing. We love and miss you and
are sad you are not here. Call us back
when you can. We’d all love to hear
your voice.

HEATHER ends the call and dinner resumes. Side conversations
break out between the friends.

HEATHER
If you all will excuse me, I need to
use the bathroom.

Both DYLAN and ALEX watch her disappear down the hall. After
thirty seconds or so, DYLAN excuses himself to use the
bathroom as well.

ALEX watches DYLAN leave.

ALEX
(whispers to himself)
It’s okay. He promised.

INT. VACATION HOME – POWDER ROOM – NIGHT

HEATHER is staring into the mirror, nervously biting her
nails. Someone knocks on the door.

HEATHER cracks open the door and sees DYLAN who is wearing a
large grin. She grabs his arm and pulls him inside.

HEATHER
I couldn’t wait to be alone with you.
DYLAN pulls her close and kisses her.

DYLAN
God I have missed your lips. I’ve been
pining for them for days.

HEATHER
Well, now that you have me, what are
you going to do with me?

DYLAN kisses her again and runs his hand up her thigh. She
brushes his hand away.

HEATHER
Stop! We can’t do that right now.

DYLAN
Then when?

HEATHER
Like we planned, I’ll sneak into your
room tonight.

DYLAN
I don’t know if I can wait that long.
I’m already hard.

HEATHER
You’ll be just fine.

DYLAN
Come on. Just real quick. I’ll be
fast.

HEATHER
We can’t. The others will catch on.
We’ve probably already been gone too
long as it is.

DYLAN
That reminds me. We need to be careful
around ALEX.

HEATHER
We’re always careful, around all of
them. Why are you calling ALEX out?

DYLAN
I don’t know if I should say this or
not, but he told me how in love with
you he is.

HEATHER
I’ve always known he had a little
crush on me, but I never knew he was
in love with me.

DYLAN
He heard you’re marriage isn’t doing
well and he thinks he can now tell you
how he feels.

HEATHER
Why didn’t you tell him about us?

DYLAN
He was so excited, I couldn’t burst
his bubble. I’ll tell him when the
time is right.

HEATHER
You should have just told him to begin
with. It would have been easier that
way.

DYLAN
I’ll handle it, just let me find the
right time.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – DINING ROOM – NIGHT

HEATHER returns to the dining room. CLIFFORD and MIKE are in
a heated argument.

CLIFFORD
You see, that just don’t make no
sense. It won’t deter the darn crime.
Me having an arsenal will deter crime.

MIKE
What happens if your house is broken
into while you are here in Wyoming?
All of your legally owned guns would
now be in the hands of crim…

HEATHER
(interupts)
Sorry guys, after I went to the
bathroom, I had to call my kids. What
did I miss?

CLIFFORD
This sumbitch here is tellin’ me he
favors more gun control, and I was
tellin’ him why that ain’t true.

HEATHER
Sounds fun.

DYLAN returns from the bathroom.

DYLAN
If I were you, I’d let that bathroom
clear out for some time before anyone
tries going in there.

CLIFFORD
Good, you’re back. Please tell this
ass hat here, why he cant take away my
darn guns.

DYLAN
Oh god, not this shit again. Let it
go, Clifford.

HEATHER stands and starts clearing dishes.

HEATHER
And on that note, I think we should
clean up and make our way to bed. I
don’t know about all of you, but it
has been a long day for me.

CLIFFORD
You did most of the cookin’, Heather.
Where I come from, that means you
don’t do any of the cleanin’.

ALEX
Yeah, if you’re that exhausted, why
don’t you head up to bed. The four of
us will handle the dishes.

DYLAN
Yeah, by all means.

HEATHER heads up stairs, while DYLAN, MIKE, ALEX, and
CLIFFORD clear and then clean the dishes.

FADE OUT:
INT. VACATION HOUSE – GREAT ROOM – NIGHT

CLIFFORD, ALEX and MIKE are sitting on the various plush
couches and chairs, drinking beer. DYLAN is drying his hands
on a towel.

MIKE
I saw a fire pit out back, and it’s a
nice night. Anyone fancy a cigar?

DYLAN
Normally I would, but I’m pretty
tired. Think I’ll retire a bit early
this evening.

CLIFFORD & ALEX
I’m in.

MIKE
You sure, Dylan? They’re Cubans.
DYLAN hesitates for a moment and looks upstairs.

DYLAN
Maybe tomorrow night.

MIKE
Suit yourself.
DYLAN heads up the stairs and disappears from view. MIKE
pulls 3 cigars from his leather cigar case.

MIKE
Shall we?

MIKE, CLIFFORD and ALEX put on jackets and walk toward the
back of the house.

EXT. VACATION HOUSE – BACKYARD FIRE PIT – NIGHT
A fire rages within the fire pit and the trio is laughing at
a joke.

MIKE
(wiping tears from his eyes)
Oh God! That’s funny.

ALEX
How’s it being back in Alabama?

CLIFFORD
It’s good to be home. Colorado was
nice and all, but there’s something
about the backwoods that takes me back
to my childhood.

A cellphone rings. MIKE reaches into his pocket and answers
the call as CLIFFORD and ALEX get quiet.

MIKE
Mom?
(beat)
Shit! You’re kidding me.
(beat)
I’ll do what I can, but you know I’m
in Wyoming.
(beat)
I’ll call you in a bit with my plans.
MIKE ends the call and stuffs his phone in his pocket.

MIKE
It’s Michelle. She’s in the hospital.

CLIFFORD
WHAT!

ALEX
WHY?

MIKE
Her husband beat the shit out of her.
She’s currently unconscious.

ALEX
Fuck!

CLIFFORD
I’ll kill that sumbitch!

ALEX
I’ll grab the others and we can meet
inside.

The all toss their cigars into the firepit and rush to get
indoors.

A strong breeze picks up and whips their clothes. A flash of
lightning crackles across the sky. The thunder hits a second
later.

In a second floor window, illuminated briefly by the
lightning, a cloaked figure is inside staring out. The face
can’t be seen, but the red, glowing eyes can be.

No one see the mysterious figure.

The trio stops just outside the door.

CLIFFORD
Well I’ll be.

ALEX
Thunder and lightning in February?

MIKE
I thought the weather was supposed to
be clear for the next three days.

ALEX
Me too!

After a brief pause, they shrug and head inside.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – DYLAN’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

DYLAN is laying in bed and HEATHER is laying on his chest. No
lights are on, but candles are lit throughout the room.
They are naked, but the sheets and blankets are pulled up to
their chests.

DYLAN
God I needed that.

HEATHER
Umm, hmm. I’ve been waiting all week.

DYLAN moves HEATHER to her back and pulls down the sheets. He
starts caressing her stomach.

DYLAN
I can’t believe I’m going to be a
father. I never thought it would
happen.

HEATHER
And I can’t believe I’m going through
this again, after nine years.

DYLAN leans over and kisses her.

DYLAN
When can we start telling people.

HEATHER
The divorce will be finalized in two
weeks.

DYLAN
It can’t get here soon enough.

HEATHER
You sure no one is going to find us?

DYLAN
Yeah. I told you they went out for
cigars. That buys us at least an hour.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – HALLWAY BETWEEN ALL THE BEDROOMS –
NIGHT

ALEX is knocking on the door to HEATHER’S bedroom.

ALEX
Heather? (pause) Heather, are you
awake?

ALEX continues knocking and trying to get her attention. When
she doesn’t respond, he moves down the hall to DYLAN’s room
and knocks on that door.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – DYLAN’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

DYLAN and HEATHER exchange a wide-eyed look. They both jump
out of bed and scramble to get their clothes on.

DYLAN
Just a sec.

The door creaks open.

ALEX
Good you’re awake.

ALEX walks into the room.

ALEX (CONT’D)
We have a bit of an emerg… hijo de
puta.

DYLAN and HEATHER stop in the middle of putting their clothes
on when ALEX walks in.

DYLAN
I said just a second.

ALEX
What the fuck is this?

HEATHER
It’s not what it looks like.

ALEX storms over to half-dressed DYLAN.

ALEX
After what I just told you today,
you’ve already moved in. You’re an
asshole.

DYLAN
We’ve been seeing each other for a
year and a half.

ALEX
No, you just want payback for what I
did to you in high school.

DYLAN
What the fuck are you talking about?

ALEX
Katie! When you were too busy with
football and I inadvertently stole her
form you.

DYLAN
That has nothing to do with this.

HEATHER
Honestly! It doesn’t. We’ve always
been attracted to each other.

ALEX turns toward the door while shaking his head.

ALEX
You’re both assholes. (pause)
Michelle’s in the hospital. Mike needs
our support. We’ll deal with this
later.

DYLAN
Wait? What?

ALEX disappears through the door. HEATHER and DYLAN follow,
once their clothes are on.

A red eye is seen between the crack in the door, leading to
the walk in closet. No one notices.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – GREAT ROOM – NIGHT

MIKE’S head is bent and in his hands sobbing. CLIFFORD is
sitting next to him on the couch.

CLIFFORD
It ain’t your dang fault.

ALEX, HEATHER and DYLAN join them. MIKE looks up as they
enter.

MIKE
Yes it is. Terrence has been doing
this since before they were married.
I’ve known and have never done a
goddamn thing to stop him.

HEATHER approaches the couch and sits next to MIKE.

HEATHER
You had no way of knowing it would get
to this point. Besides, Terrence is a
large man. I don’t blame you for being
scared.

MIKE jumps to his feet.

MIKE
That’s just it. I’m not scared. I’ve
argued with him before. I just thought
it was none of my business. So I
stayed out of it.

HEATHER
Oh!

DYLAN
That’s bullshit and you know it.

ALEX
What’s bullshit? Your word?

DYLAN
Listen, now is not the time to deal
with our shit. You said later. Right
now we need to focus on Michelle.

CLIFFORD
So what are you going to do?

MIKE
I’ll try and catch a flight in the
morning.

HEATHER
I think we should all go. You know…
a show of support.

CLIFFORD
Yeah, and I’ll give Terrence a piece
of my mind.

The power goes out and the room turns pitch black. Thunder
rumbles again and wind rattles the house. Nothing can be seen

through the windows because a snow storm is raging.

DYLAN
Now what?

ALEX
I’ll go check the breaker. You guys
get a fire going and see if you can
find some candles.

ALEX disappears into the foyer.

INT. VACATION HOUSE – FOYER – NIGHT

ALEX wraps a scarf around his neck and puts on gloves, before
putting on his boots.

ALEX
(under his breath)
Motherfucker. Like I needed any of
this shit. Now we’re stuck in the
middle of a fucking blizzard.

ALEX opens the door, then the storm door, and the wind whips
snow into the foyer. He tightens the scarf and walks outside.
The cloaked figure follows him out, walking straight through
closed storm door. ALEX doesn’t notice.

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Final Project Part 2 – Inner Demons

So, here is the second thing I am going to share. During week 2 of this class we had to outline and describe our “bucket list” book. The book we have always wanted to write. I knew immediately what I wanted to use for this, but… it is such an undertaking and will require a decent amount of research asI want to do it right. I want to do it justice because it is a topic that is near and dear to my heart. It is a story largely about rape. No, it doesn’t go on and on providing the details of women being raped, but rather, the damage that is caused by a single incident and how that lives with the victim long after the event. When I started writing the paper outlining this “bucket list” book, I didn’t know I would be starting the book with my final paper. My idea is actually a Sixth Sense type of story where the reader is dumbfounded at the end. I don’t know if I can accomplish that, but this is a topic that is near and dear to my heart. Too many women in my life have been sexual assaulted/abused/raped. Not enough attention is paid to it (#metoo wasn’t enough) and I wanted to write a story with that as a focus. I want the reader to feel what the protagonist is going through and why she is doing what she is doing. It IS justified and should be recognized. I feel like I am ruining the story that I will eventually put out so I am going to stop there. I know I am a man who could never understand the depth and reality of this topic. Believe me. I get it and I don’t. But that is why it is my “bucket list” book. I already have several volunteers who are willing to tell me their stories. This takes courage and I respect the hell out of them for a) stepping forward and for b) helping me tell their story through a little bit of fiction. I will do the research and I only hope I can do their stories justice.

Also, I should add, the start of our story had to have an emphasis on nature for the project. This will not be the start of the story as I already have a different idea in mind (and did before I wrote this) but given the parameters, my original beginning wouldn’t work within the realm of the assignment. So I improvised. This will probably be the start of Chapter 3 or so (and will be heavily revised). Also, don’t read into the names. These are not final (and are nowhere near the final). I pick a name when I start writing. That is all it is, a name. Usually, somewhere between 40-80% I end up having a conversation with the characters and they tell me their name. That is the way I work. I don’t outline. I get an idea, highlight a few points and fill in the rest as I write. I hope you don’t judge me for that. My placeholder names are usually generic and usually a little bit out there, just so it is easy to find (and also it forces me to find their true character).

Also… not professionally edited. Just a minor Grammarly edit. Don’t judge me on tense/grammar, etc. I did a couple passes, but in reality, I suck at all that :). Please let me know your thoughts.

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Raindrops pelted Maryanne’s face, driven by the fierce blowing wind as she looked into the deep ravine in search of her fugitive. Why do they always have to run? she wondered. It’s because he’s a rapist scumbag, that’s why. They always run. The rain made looking for the perp almost impossible. The slick, muddy ground didn’t help matters either. Movement caught her eye to the south, and she saw him following the path of a small creek nestled between the thick cover of aspen and pine trees.

“I’ve  got eyes on him. Heading south through the ravine,” she said into her walkie talkie.

“Roger. Patrol units are en-route.”

“And air support?”

“A bird is also en-route. We should have eyes on him in two minutes.”

Maryanne kept her visual on him from her higher vantage point under cover from the thick bows of an old cedar tree. Normally, she’d already be down in the bottom of the ravine hot on his tail. The mud made such an endeavor nearly impossible, and as such, she remained at the top of the hill, shielding her eyes with her hands so she wouldn’t have to squint and possibly lose him.

The whir of helicopter rotors entered her peripheral hearing, and she urged them to hurry before he disappeared in the forest, or down a culvert. She didn’t want this guy back on the street. A serial rapist of many women (of all ages and ethnicities), he’d been in and out of the system since he was fourteen. It seemed there was no woman (or girl) who was off-limits. He was probably abused himself at a young age, which is why he fell into this life. But that was no excuse.

He neared the edge of the ravine, and soon she was going to lose sight of him. “Where is that damn helicopter?” He slowed his progress to traverse a number of large boulders that blocked his path. From this distance, they looked like limestone.

Flashing red and blue lights lit up the base of the ravine and bounced off the walls of the cliffs, as well as the wet street below. Seven squad cars squealed their tires as they came to a screeching halt. The officers jumped out of their cars and drew their guns. They used their vehicles as a shield. She heard the deep mumbling voice of one of the officers who was issuing orders over his megaphone. Ricky stopped, and his head darted back and forth.

“No, you don’t, you son of a bitch. You’re not getting away from us today.” She grabbed her walkie. “Where is the helicopter? The suspect’s escape route has been sealed, but he’s looking for another way out. I need eyes in the sky.”

“Roger that,” came the response. “Bird should be there in fifteen seconds.”

An answer to her prayers, the helicopter flew over her head. It wasn’t dark yet, but given the weather conditions, there were so many shadows and it made finding Ricky next to impossible. The helicopter switched on its spotlight and bathed the damp ravine in bright light. They could see his every movement.

More orders were issued over the megaphone, and it looked like Ricky was out of options. But Ricky didn’t think so. Even from her distance, Maryanne could tell he was panicking and wasn’t about to give up. He had that trapped rat in a cage look about him. His head darted in all different directions while he looked for an escape. Maryanne knew he had very few options. She could see quite well from her little perch, even in the rain, and he literally was surrounded. If he turned around, she’d be on him in a second. He could hide in the trees, but there was no getting out of them. Cliffs bordered both sides of the ravine. The best he could hope for was to hide in the trees. But the helicopter had infrared and would be able to keep tabs on him until the officers moved in.

Speaking of which, several of the officers slowly closed on his position while the officer with the megaphone continued barking instructions. Ricky turned around for a second. She knew he realized he was trapped. While the officers moved closer, he reached behind his back with his right hand.

“No, no, no. Not like this. Please, God,” she said. She grabbed her walkie. “Do not shoot. He doesn’t have a weapon.”

More gruff orders and Ricky continued to reach for his back pocket.

Three bullets cracked through the air, and Ricky fell to the ground. Maryanne collapsed to her knees. This wasn’t the fitting end she had in store for Ricky. He needed to be punished, not killed.

[JH1]Blue highlights errors related to UCOL Guidelines, Turabian citation and reference list formatting, and/or professional standards expected by editors and agents.

 

Eliminate the extra space after your paragraphs using the Format drop-down menu

Final Project Part 1 – Broken World

Just finished another class (sorry, this is where all of my writing time is spent, unfortunately). For this project we had to focus on the zoom. We had to either zoom in or zoom out. I chose to zoom out and (hopefully) make a point. I had a lot of fun with it. It is repetitive, but I think that works as a cadence, but it is detracting as an overall story (better if formatted as a poem IMO). Let me know your thoughts (really, give me your thoughts).

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A yellow ring circles the hole in the sink’s drain. The porcelain cracked and browned from times cruel hand. Sinewy brown legs appear through the drain looking for purchase as a brown spider crawls into the barren sink. In front of it, in the middle of the kitchen, is an old wooden table, long forgotten, and covered in a thick layer of gray dust. Spider webs stretch from the table to the counters, to the ceiling, to the fixtures, unbroken, allowed to dominate this empty establishment.

Whomever once called this domicile home, left in an absolute hurry. The chairs usually placed around this elegant table, now tossed aside, lying on the floor, some broken, others majestically accepting their final resting place. Cabinet doors remain open, as do several drawers as if someone was looking for something in a panic. A rancid odor permeates the thick, dust-filled air. Spoiled food from the still open refrigerator the likely culprit.

Behind the kitchen is a dining room, which is connected to a family room. Cobwebs create a barrier through each new doorway. Each room, another path through this decent-sized home. An office, bedrooms, bathrooms, even a laundry room. Between each room is a hallway, filled with pictures of the happy family who once resided in this now aging house. Likely dead and now a part of the reclaimed ground after the great war poisoned the very dirt this home sits upon.

The house’s cracked siding, with chipping blue paint, rots from the insects who have made it their home. Vibrant ivy climbs up each side of the house as if swallowing the building whole and digesting what remains for generations. Thick grass, untouched for years, surrounds the home. Tall trees stand dead, once green and vibrant, now something out of a Halloween horror movie with their long bony claws reaching up to heaven. To either side, more houses stretching for as far as the eye can see. This home is just one of many, once filling this concrete jungle. It is a neighborhood. And two streets over is another neighborhood, and another, making what was once called a suburb. Each suburb is next to another suburb, and several more, all of which once formed a city. At the heart of the city, giant buildings block out the sun and cast shadows in their wake. The hustle and bustle of people moving about long replaced with silence.

Hundreds of years ago, this land was a forest. Tall majestic trees filled the horizon. But then humans arrived. They chopped down the trees in the name of progress to build the things they needed, unworried about the future, knowing they would grow back. For a while, the trees did do precisely that, but as urban sprawl spread around the world to support the staggering population growth, more and more land dedicated to the trees was replaced by cities, suburbs, neighborhoods, and homes. When empty land grew scarce, human turned on human, brother on brother, neighborhood on neighborhood, and city on city all in pursuit of the resources needed to survive, which once grew in abundance, but because of human greed, all but disappeared.

When the dust of war settled, only a few remained, but with no one to produce the things the remaining needed to survive, they too disappeared. Even the mightiest of survivors will eventually pass on, some from hunger, others from feeling alone. The world is a big and lonely place, especially after so many have returned to the dirt. Now, Mother Nature is left to reclaim the world that once belonged to her.

Isn’t it ironic, that in the name progress and survival, humans devastated the very things they needed for survival? The very buildings they built to survive, remain long after the light of human life is extinguished. The concrete roads, streets, and highways, now cracked and falling apart. Grass, plants, and trees peak their heads out between the cracks to see if it is safe to sprout and survive. They crawl over the now empty surface and overtake the abandoned cars and trucks. Down each road, the plants find house after house to call home. Eventually, each car, home, building, and structure is covered in new, vibrant, green life. Finally, all signs the humans were even here are erased, which is Mother Nature’s intention. Humans were, after all, a failed experiment, and it is up to her to set things right. In just a couple of decades, the resilient Earth will long forget about the invasion of humans and will thrive in the new environment the Mother has given it.

The Jungle

I’m in a poetry class and we needed to write the same poem but in two different formats: metric and cadence. I’m still early in the revision process, but which do you prefer and do you have any suggestions?

The Jungle (metric)

Tall masts, a beacon flowing in a sea

of green, stretching to the heavens, reaching

arms pleading with the Gods, a chance maybe,

to put this in the rearview, beseeching

the higher power to remove the pain,

for every one felled, I now must feign.

 

There is no more, only incompetence.

Bleats surrounding, lessening our breath,

methane filling the air, no bottomless

source. Each fallen brethren, another death.

We do not mourn, you’ve done this to yourself,

You never cared for the shrinking ice shelves.

 

The Jungle (cadence)

You see a tall mast, maybe a beacon, flowing in a

sea of green,

arms outstretched, reaching toward the almighty heavens,

pleading with the Gods for a chance

to put an end to this nonsense, and the encroaching

herd, a nuisance

eating their way through the life force, encouraging

a beseeching to the all mighty, anyone, to answer the call,

to make things right, and return to the Earth

a moment without blight, where you mourn the dead,

and cherish what has been returned to continue your life.

 

Your call goes unanswered, you’re fighting for your life,

not for lack of meat, but because livestock is your greed,

but the lack of trees,

is lessening the oxygen from the air you breathe,

giving you the replacement of methane,

which you do know is fatal, but as long as your stomach is full,

who are you to judge?

So cut down the trees, forget what they mean.

Burn them in your fires and fill the air with hydrocarbons,

for humans will live long after the rest of the Earth expires.

Emergent Reader

Hey, so I had to write an emergent reader for my Children’s Literature class. We had to use only a list of 40  Dolch Pre-Primer Words. We could not change tense and we could not use words outside this list. It would be so much better with images, but here is what I wrote. Please note, since I couldn’t use words outside of the 40 Dolch words, I used colors instead of names.

 

One is me.
Two is you and me.
Three is you and you and me.
Can you see it?
We three play.
We three run.
We jump up.
We come down.
Yellow is here.
Where is red?
I look to see.
Red is not here.
I jump with yellow.
I come down.
Where is yellow?
I look to see.
I see me.
Little is me.
Big is we.
We is you and you and me.

Author Interview: JG Gatewood

via Author Interview: JG Gatewood

Short Story: Payback

So this isn’t perfect. It was one of my assignments in one of my classes. Went through about 4 revisions, and received much feedback, but I’d like to make it better. So please, offer me your thoughts. I do like the story, which is why I wanted to share.

Also, a note on my other books and WIPs. The second Vampire book is roughly 60% done for a rough draft (want to have it completed, revised, edited, and perfected by the end of August). I’m about the same (maybe a little further, like 65%) on the last Keepers of the Orbs Book (I want to release it by the end of the year). Also have a Sci-Fi WIP that is done, just needs revision and editing  before I release (hope to also have that out by the end of the year, although my priority is the next Vampire book, the final Keepers book, then this, and I will look to stagger the releases). I also have all 3 books from the Keepers series in the hands of an editor. It sounds like a lot, but with my Master’s program and my full-time job, I don’t have much time to write. I don’t go back to school until the middle of September, so I NEED to make the most of the next 3 months (and I will, now that my vacations are over with).

Also, the eBook version of The Vampire’s Curse: Life Eternal has been released on my publisher’s website. It should be live on Amazon and Kobo within the next couple days. If you were waiting for the eBook (as I know I would be since I RARELY read a physical book, unless we are talking about required reading for my Masters).   visit my Publisher’s Website

And like I said, Amazon and Kobo will have the eBook soon. Also, feel free to check out my other books. However, I would wait on the Keepers series until I say I have updated with the editor’s changes.

Check out my website to learn more about my writing project. And be sure to follow my blog.

Enough talk, onto my short story: Payback.

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Normally the road is smooth. The county I live in takes pride in its city streets. However, tonight it seems I hit every single bump I can find. This wouldn’t be an issue on any other night, but tonight, I have the body of my nemesis in the trunk. It’s not like I killed the son of a bitch, yet his unconscious body beats and bangs against my trunk every time my car rolls over the smallest crack. Mason made my life a living hell ten years ago when we were in sixth grade. My parents moved us away, but I spent every year plotting my revenge. Now we’re graduates of college—although not the same college—and it’s time for him to pay.

***

Mason walked into the kitchen and something smelled good. “What are you cooking, Mom?” He kissed her cheek.

“Morning, Mason. I’m making steak and eggs for your father. Do want some too? The pans are already dirty.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love some.” Mason grabbed a cup of coffee and sat at the table.

“My word you got in late last night. What did you end up doing?”

“Went to the Beach Comber with Eddie and Todd.”

She shook her head. “It’s your last summer vacation. Shouldn’t you be doing something to get ready for the rest of your life? A job? An internship? You should be doing something other than drinking with your buddies. And you need to be careful when you come home. You let the door slam shut and startled your father and I. It sounded like someone was breaking into the house.”

Mason laughed. “Sorry, Mom. But I’ll be working for the rest of my life. I want to enjoy my last summer before I become a slave of a corporation.”

“But you have to know many other people in your position are working this summer. I spoke to Donna, and her son has an internship at a radio station. They’re all getting a leg up on you. It’s going to be difficult to get a job after school when you have nothing to put on your resume.”

“I’ll be fine, Mom. The market is really good right now. I shouldn’t have any problems.”

“Why do you always have a laissez-faire attitude about life? Your father and I just want what’s best for you. You’re a good kid with a lot of potential.”

“I know you do, but I just want to relax. I’ll find a job when the time is right. And if all else fails, Dad already said he can get me a job at the insurance company. He said they’re always hiring. I probably won’t love it, but at least it’ll be a start. So let me enjoy my summer.”

She placed a plate in front of him. It smelled delicious. “You won’t love it. Your dad has hated it for the last thirty years. I just want you to be happy and I worry about you doing something you hate. But you’re a big boy, and if this is what you want to do, by all means.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Just then his dad walked in.

“You going to do something productive today?” he asked. “And I don’t hate my job. I just don’t love it.” He laughed.

“I’ll probably clean my car and tidy up my room.”

“I’m glad you’re at least doing something,” Mason said. “But maybe you should take a break from drinking tonight. You can’t party every night of the week.”

His mom nodded.

“I’ll be fine. Like I told Mom, let me enjoy my summer.”

“I just don’t understand the appeal. If you were bowling or something, I’d get it,” she said. “Have you considered mini-golf? That new place opened up off Main and I’m sure you boys would enjoy it.”

“What’s not to get? Drinks, music, dancing, and girls. It doesn’t get any better than that. Bowling is for high schoolers, and don’t get me started on mini-golf.”

“That’s it? Why don’t you go to a movie?” she asked.

“There are no new movies I haven’t already seen. Besides, there are exciting moments in a bar that you just don’t get anywhere else.”

“Like what?” they both asked.

He took a bite of eggs before responding. “Well, I was out there on the floor dancing with this gorgeous brunette. I happen to notice this GQ douchebag who must’ve taken a whole bottle of steroids to get as swole as this bastard was. Anyway, he kept giving me the eye while I’m dancing. I asked the girl if she knew who he was. Said she didn’t recognize him. So the night continues, and both Todd and Eddie see him too. He’s staring at me like he hates me. So I get a few drinks in and decided to ask him what his freaking problem was. I got my boys and we walked right up to him. He just stared at me with no response, but I saw him tightening his fist. He’s about to throw down and I knew I needed to act first. I pulled back my arm, but he turned and left. I don’t know what his problem was, but if I ever see him again, I think we’re going to have a problem.”

“That’s terrible, Mason. Why would you do that?” his mom asked.

“You need to grow up,” his dad said before he left the table and kissed his mom goodbye.

“What? You’ve never been in an altercation before?”

Mason’s dad turned and said, “No… I haven’t. And I wouldn’t be so proud if I were you.”

He disappeared into the garage and his mom leaned in closer. “This is exactly what I was talking about.”

“I’m sure I’ll never see the guy again.”

“If you do, just be careful. There are crazy people out there and don’t forget where you live. It’s not Texas, but Colorado has some loose laws, and anyone can have a gun on them at any time.”

***

I turn down a dark street and approach the warehouse. My parents own this lumber yard in Colorado Springs, and fortunately, I have a key. No one will suspect anything because their business focuses on construction companies and they don’t open on weekends. This being a Friday, I know I’m in the clear. I kill the engine and quickly walk to the door, propping it open with a brick, before heading to the trunk.

With the key in hand, I reach for the lid, but pause for a moment, taking a deep breath. Mason has always been a quick thinker. I’m not saying he’s intelligent or anything, but he is quick to make a decision—good or bad—and will likely act on it. If he does that now, he’ll come out swinging, or some other stupid shit. I need to give the trunk a wide berth.

I stand off to the side and put my key in the lock, turning it ever so slightly, before the lid pops open. As I suspected, he lunges out of the trunk, probably expecting to knock me off balance. All he manages is a face-first tumble onto the ground. I want to laugh so bad, but again, stifle it and do my best to keep a straight face.

I pick him up and guide him up the four metal stairs leading to the warehouse. I can’t keep the smile off my face. Now the fun can finally begin.

***

“This place is jumping tonight, Mason.” Nick said.

The music was loud and he could feel the bass thumping in his gut. Just the way he liked it. Bright lights danced around the room. The air was ripe with sweat and spilled booze. A wave of euphoria flooded his body. This was his stomping grounds. This was his life. He tapped Eddie on the arm and headed for the bar to grab a drink and surveyed the scene. Todd was busy with his girl, so they brought another buddy, Nick, in his place. The ladies were out in full force and he targeted several for a conversation and dance later. All he had to do was show them his dimples and they became putty in his hand. Of course, it’s easy when you’re the star high-school quarterback. Yes, this was the life. But he was torn out of it when Eddie tapped his shoulder and spun around.

Eddie pointed across the bar. “Do you see that son of a bitch?”

He nodded.

Nick looked confused. “Who’s he?”

“Remember that douchebag we were telling you about?” Eddie asked. “That’s him.”

“We going to mess him up?” Nick asked.

He remembered his mom’s words from earlier. Maybe he was being childish. “No, it’s cool. Maybe he has a beef, but I’m not going to worry about it right now.” He turned around and watched the ladies dancing and tried to figure out who to watch first.

“Well he’s headed this way,” Eddie said.

Mason spun back around and sure enough, he was walking directly toward them with anger in his eyes. This was one cold bastard. “Be ready for anything,” Mason said.

He walked over with three beers in his hand. In a deep voice, he said, “I just wanted to apologize for staring at you last night. You reminded me of someone, but I don’t think it’s you.”

“I thought you really had a problem with me.”

“That’s why I’m here tonight. I wanted to apologize and make it up to you by buying you and your friends a round of beer.” He handed over the three bottles and we accepted. “No hard feelings?” he asked.

Something in his smile told Mason he wasn’t being serious, but he wasn’t one to turn down a free beer.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. We won’t have any hard feelings so long as you don’t,” Mason said.

“No. We’re good.” He looked around the room. “I’m going to get out of your way. I hope you gentlemen enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the beer.”

“That could’ve been ugly,” Nick said.

“Yeah. The way he looked at you the whole time he was walking over here. I thought he was just going to lay you out,” Eddie said.

Mason smiled. “Crisis averted. Shall we?” he asked and slammed both beers.

They walked out onto the dance floor. The song was lit and he started moving along with it. A couple of girls huddled together. They made their way over and asked the ladies to dance. The six of them grooved their way through the first song. The second just started up when a wave of nausea made its way through Mason’s body. Sweat ran in rivers down his forehead and his vision blurred. His legs felt rubbery and he wobbled. They gave out on and he collapsed on the floor. The last thing he remembered, his vision went black.

***

The warehouse is dark and I know he’s conscious. The time is finally at hand. People don’t understand what bullying does to a person. It gets into your head—into your very psyche—it messes a person up for life. Countless years of therapy, and for what? I’m still in the same place mentally as I was at twelve years-old. It doesn’t matter. Mrs. Tongren gave me good advice. I didn’t listen and instead worked out. I muscled up for this moment. Mason is a douchebag and made my life a living hell. Now is the time for him to atone for his actions.

Each of my footfalls echoes in the vast expanse of the warehouse. A can’t hide my glee. I hope he’s crapping his pants right now. It’s all very mysterious, which is how I envisioned this moment. When I brought him in, I tied him to a chair and left him in the loading dock. I didn’t want him to recognize where he was. I want him in a state of confusion, unable to recognize anything, and this setting is as vague as can be. I step closer and come just into the light. I hope my face is reminiscent of a friend sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories.

“Why are you doing this to me? I thought you said we were good. I don’t understand.” He’s crying and spittle runs down his chin.

Wetness covers the front of his pants and I smile. “Oh, we were good for a moment. I needed an opportunity to drug you.”

“You drugged me?” he asks.

“And your friends.” I can’t hide the smile as it creeps across my face.

Mason looks around for his friends. “Where are they?”

“Probably still at the club trying to figure out what happened and where the hell you went.”

“I don’t get it. Why me?”

“Look at my face.” I step further into the light.

“Should I know you/”

“You should, but you don’t remember me, do you?” I ask.

He stares at me for a moment. “No. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, you made my life a living hell in elementary school.”

“Elementary school?” He tries to figure out who I am while tears continue their trek down his face. “You’ll have to tell me more.”

“You broke my glasses, shoved my head in a toilet, snapped my suspenders, knocked me on the ground, and kicked dirt in my face. This happened weekly. I had black eyes. One time you even broke my arm. You made my life a living hell.”

“Adam?”

“No, it’s Shawn, you dick.”

It takes a moment, but I see clarity in his eyes.

“You were the one who left after elementary school and never came back.”

“Yeah. My parents were afraid for my life, so they pulled me out and we moved away. I spent all those years making sure no one would ever do that to me again. I changed my diet and hit the gym, vowing to one day come back and make you pay.”

“Look, Shawn, I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. We were just kids. I know I made it rough on you, but you were a skinny little twerp and had it all coming.”

I punch him. Not hard, but enough to get his attention. He barely remembers who I am. How can he be sorry?

“Look, you were a twerp. Guys like me are supposed to treat you like I did. It’s a rite of passage.

“A rite of passage?” I laugh. “Who’s the twerp now?” My voice rises in anger.

It takes a moment, but he finally responds. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I’m sorry for my word selection a minute ago. I’m sorry for everything. Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”

“No! You made me suffer and I’ll do the same to you.”

I walk over to a table and grab mini sledgehammer. I bounce it off my hands for a moment while he pleads for his life. It feels heavy, like it knows what it’s about to do.

“Look we can work this out. I’ll do anything,” he says, squirming in his seat. He yanks his hands, trying to break the plastic ties, but all he manages is cuts to his wrists.

“I’ve waited for this for ten years. All my plotting—I’ve watched you for over a year, even followed you at college. But you never noticed. You’re too into yourself for that. You haven’t changed one bit. But it’s fine. I’ve waited for the right time to get my revenge.” I hate this guy, and while violence is never the answer, this guy will never understand. People like him need to be rid from this Earth.

“I’ll do anything. Please!” he says while sobbing.

“You won’t do anything.” I bring the sledgehammer over my head. “Payback’s a bitch.”

I bring the hammer down and it crashes into his head.

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Poem: The Sound of Death

This week in school we had to write poetry. I’ve never been a big poet. It feels too short and I’m long-winded (haha, at least I own it). This week was tough. Not only because I was in the hospital, but also because there was a school shooting right down the street. I moved to Highlands Ranch with my family in 1991. I met my wife at Highlands Ranch High School. I graduated from Highlands Ranch High School. And while the shooting wasn’t at my High School, it was right down the street. My wife and I moved to Parker in 2004, but it’s still in the same county (Douglas County). My kids go to school in this county. My wife is a teacher in this county. It all hit too close to home and I’m not happy about it. I had to write three poems this week. Given my ER trip and the school shooting, they all were in the theme of death. I had an idea for my third poem and approached my son. I asked him what he was feeling about the shooting and we chatted for a few minutes. He is very lyrical (creates his own rap music) and I asked him if he’d collaborate with me. We sat down for a couple hours and created the below poem. I haven’t really edited it, but I wanted to share it. Please feel free to give us feedback.

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The Sound of Death

We all don’t want to cry for help,

But sometimes we fear for our health,

Try to run and protect ourselves,

Try to avoid the pain we felt.

 

It used to be we went to school

We learned, we had fun, we lived life,

Empty minds, we followed the rules,

Not knowing the impending strife,

The thought had never crossed our minds,

This moment, a cut in our time,

It has to change, now is the time,

What will you do, government minds?

 

We all don’t want to cry for help,

But sometimes we fear for our health,

Try to run and protect ourselves,

Try to avoid the pain we felt.

 

A normal day, sitting in class,

Listen to our teacher ramble,

Biggest thought was letting time pass,

Alarm sounds, nothing flammable,

So many sounds, screaming abound,

Bullets whiz by, fear for my life,

Loud crashes, bodies hit the ground,

Now I won’t live to ninety-five.

 

We all don’t want to cry for help,

But sometimes we fear for our health,

Try to run and protect ourselves,

Try to avoid the pain we felt.

 

I feared for myself, my friends gone,

A battle ensued, yet I stand,

I’m still stuck here, but they moved on,

Too many fell due to one man,

As I remain, I recollect,

They’re on the ground, their souls have left,

Another mind that’s left unchecked,

So many lives we all bereft.

 

We missed our chance to cry for help,

Without a thought for our own health,

We didn’t run, thought we had stealth,

As bullets fly, their sound is death.

Short Story: That Particular Sunday

Sharing another short story from school. The prompt was that particular Sunday and we could do it in any style.

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Sundays were a ritual for me: my day of solace. I’d wake at the crack of dawn and walk the trails through my neighborhood with no destination in mind. It’s the silence and being alone that kept me going. In my hectic life, these are the few hours I have to myself. Until last Sunday that is.

Long before dawn, I threw on my clothes, kissed my wife on her forehead, and walked outside. The air smelled fresh, like the previous night’s rain washed the Earth clean of its sins. The wind tickled the back of my neck and I wished I’d brought along a jacket. I could always return and grab one but knew I’d get hot before too long.

Luck was on my side this Sunday morning. There were usually a few other walkers out and about, but today I had the trail to myself. The sun wouldn’t make its appearance for another hour or so, but already it painted the edge of the horizon a light orange. I welcomed the sight.

In the dark calm of the early hour, I spotted a soft flashing light in the distance. It was peculiar. The flash hid behind the tall trees crowding the smooth pavement of the path. If I were a wise man, I would’ve turned back right then and there. But I’m not and I pressed on.

The flashing grew brighter and I noticed the light’s rhythmic pulse, mesmerizing, and I fell into a trance. Shaking my head to get my wits about me, I crept closer, making sure I stayed behind the trees. There was a large pasture normally filled with cows, but this morning, the thick grass hugged the edges of a ship. Several thin, humanoid shapes stood out against the flashing light. The ship wasn’t large but filled the emptiness of the pasture. The humanoids busily went about their tasks. A shiver traced the curve of my spine and my mouth dropped open. I was transfixed, unable to move.

For several minutes I stared, watching the creatures pack up, readying themselves to leave. One stopped and looked at me. I wanted to duck behind the trunk of the tree, but couldn’t. Its gaze penetrated my soul and I froze. It stared at me for over a minute before nodding its head and flourishing its hand. It climbed the ramp and disappeared inside.

In a manner of moments, the ship lifted off and disappeared in a blur across the sky. In a haze, I returned home. I haven’t been right since. I’m hearing voices and always feel like someone is following me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was crazy. But that can’t be. I know what I saw. It’s burned into my memory. Or is it? Each day that passes, the details grow murky. I can’t bring myself to walk the trails on Sunday mornings, and my sanity is slipping further away because of it.

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And don’t forget to visit my webpage to find out more about my books and other writing projects.

Short Story: The Long Deceit

I have mentioned it before, but I am currently working on my MA in Professional Fiction Writing.  It’s been a long couple months (with a year and a half to go) but I wanted to share the short story I wrote for one of my classes that recently ended. I would appreciate any feedback.

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Tom climbed the stairs from his basement—as he had many times before—without a care. It was well past midnight and he had an early conference call. The stairs creaked beneath his feet, alerting his dogs who came running from the second floor. He hoped they hadn’t awakened his wife, Jessica.

When he walked into the family room, he startled. The lamp was on. She never left any lights on. He let the thought go and walked toward the kitchen. Although he was ready for bed, he always made sure he put his cups and dishes in the dishwasher. It wasn’t Jessica’s job to clean up after him. In the little light offered by the small lamp in the other room, he clearly made out the three Skoal cans on the kitchen counter.

Shit! Did I leave those out earlier? That thought wasn’t plausible. Jessica would’ve noticed them. But that meant she put them there and surely there’d be an argument. I’ll just ignore the cans—and this whole situation—until tomorrow. It’ll be best that way.

He put the glass in the dishwasher quietly—still concerned he’d wake his sleeping wife—and turned. Jessica was sitting in the family room chair, glaring in his direction. His heart beat intensely, and sweat beaded on his forehead. How am I going to get out of this?

“What are you doing awake, honey?” He knew full well why she was awake.

“Do you want to tell me what those are?” She pointed at the counter.

“What? What are you pointing at?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you a child? Am I talking to our eight-year-old right now?”

He walked around the counter and acted like he was searching. “Oh, these. I don’t understand. Where did you find them?”

“Do you ever tell the truth? I don’t understand why you keep doing this to me.” Her voice caught in her throat. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she turned away.

“They have to be old… before I quit.”

She spun around and anger flashed across her face as she stormed across the room, unconcerned with how much noise she was making. She grabbed the three cans and showed Tom the first one. “Really? Old? Look at this. The seal isn’t even broken. It’s not old; it’s BRAND NEW!” She threw it at him.

“Whoa, calm down. I know you’re upset, but you’re going to wake the kids. I still don’t understand where you found these.”

“You… are… unbelievable. You think you can turn this around on me?” She jammed her finger into his chest. “I don’t even care about the chew. I’ve told you that before. Whatever you want to do you can do. For some reason, you had to make a big deal about quitting, and then you lied to me about it. Why?”

“I’m not lying to you. With the exception of tonight, I never said I don’t chew.”

“Are you kidding me? You think you’re going to get out of this on a technicality? I… I can’t even begin to tell you how upset…” She turned her back and her voice trailed off.

“I can tell you’re angry, but it’s after midnight. The kids need to sleep.”

“THEY AREN’T HERE!” She pulled at her hair.

He jumped back, shocked by her scream. After a moment, he said, “They’re not here? Where are they?”

She slowly turned and faced him, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “I was trying to hang the picture I painted the other day. I needed a hammer.” Realization filled his eyes, and she noticed. “That’s right. When I went to get the hammer I found your secret stash. I knew if you were lying to me about this, there had to be more. This fight was inevitable and I didn’t want them around. I took them to my parents’ house a couple of hours ago.”

‘You don’t get to make those decisions.”

“Oh… I believe I do. You lost that right the second you started lying to me again.”

“I haven’t been lying. Maybe I was hiding something…”

She interrupted him. “It’s deceitful—which given our track record—is the same as lying.”

“It’s not.”

“Do you think I’m your parents or something? Like you’re some six-year-old with his hand caught in the cookie jar? You can’t talk your way out of this, so stop trying.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means your children are more honest than you’ve ever been with me. I don’t feel like I know you anymore. You were once my knight in shining armor. Now, you’re like a roommate. I have a better rapport with our dogs than I do with you.”

“That’s ridiculous. So I lied about my little habit. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“I wish I could believe you, but I can’t. I’m not staying here tonight. I’m going to my parents’ house.”

Tom ran forward and put his hand on her shoulder. She shrugged away. “Please don’t go. We’ve hit rough patches before. We’ve always gotten through them by talking it out. Surely we can do the same thing now.”

She turned around—her eyes red and puffy—and stared at him. “You want to talk. Fine! Let’s hash this out. What else are you lying about?”

Tom’s eyes drifted toward the ground. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. Did you open any more credit card accounts? Do we have new personal loans I need to know about? You’re gambling again. That has to be it, right? Any more fake checking account registers you want to show me? Is bankruptcy right around the corner? Come on. You wanted to talk so let’s talk.” Between each question she paused, waiting for him to respond.

“I told you I’d never do any of those things again.”

“You told me you’d never do this again either, which I DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT. Yet, you had the nerve to lie to me about it. Oh, I’m sorry.” She waved her hands in the air. “You weren’t lying; you were just hiding it from me. So let me rephrase. Tom, what else are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing!”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me. I rail on you, and your only response is ‘nothing’? I’m glad we’re talking; glad we’re working this out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I know just how sorry you are. You’re sorry you got caught; that’s what it boils down to. I know there’s more going on in that head of yours, but you continue to feel the need to leave me out. I never know what you’re feeling. You keep everything hidden and I can’t take it anymore.” She walked around the corner and came back pulling her suitcase. “I’m leaving until you can grow up. I’ve seen you with our kids. You’re a great father. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them. You love them so much and I see it every day. I can never take that away from you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lie to them. I hate that I have to worry about it. But I do, every day. Do you know what that does to a person?”

He wanted to respond, but she didn’t give him a chance.

“You don’t. Because you don’t ever worry about that. I love you so much—you were there for me when I thought no one could be. You were my rock, and I thank you every day for it. But as a husband, you’re an asshole.” Tears ran from her eyes down her cheek. “My only wish is that you loved me as much as you love them.”

“But I do love you, with all my heart. You’re all that’s important in my life.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You don’t. If you did, you’d stop doing this to me. Deep down, I still love you—which is something I hate myself for—but right now, I despise you.”

She turned and walked away. Tom wanted to go after her, but something told him to stop. He heard the car start up and he walked to the garage where he watched her pull out of the driveway. When the lights disappeared up the street, he turned and punched his toolbox. He knew he’d feel it in the morning, but right now he didn’t care.

He walked back into the house, shaking his fist. It was dark… dark and silent. There was none of his wife’s normal laughter. There was none of his childrens’ laughter. He didn’t care for it.

His home was built on a tumultuous relationship. She was emotional. He was not. They were the yin and yang needed to live a balanced relationship. It was okay if she had a history. He didn’t and was always there to pick up the pieces. But a relationship doesn’t work when both sides don’t communicate. Did Tom not have issues of his own|? Of course, he did. The problem was, he never let her pick up the pieces. He was so closed off and emotionally detached, he never let her in. He never let her be there for him. She resented him for it.

Something she’d said struck a chord with him and he had to think about it for a moment. He never did lie to his kids. Why was that? Because they’re innocent in all this and I have to raise them better. To be better than me. But is that more important than being honest with his wife? The one person he loves more than anything else on this planet? She deserved better, and he knew this. So why does he keep lying? Where did all of this start? He shook his head to clear it. There was one thing he needed right now.

He walked to the kitchen and reached into the cabinet where they stored the liquor. Their drink of choice had always been whiskey. He had a bottle—a bottle he should’ve never purchased since they had no money, and this particular bottle cost eighty dollars—hidden deep in the cabinet. Behind all their cheap vodka and gin was the Holy Grail. A bottle of eighteen-year-old Glen Garioch scotch. Hard to find—and in recent years very expensive—he’d bought it on a whim. She’d never know. At least, that’s what he thought at the time. He worked hard and deserved to spoil himself from time to time. She never felt this way, and he felt a little resentful just thinking about it. But of course, he’d never tell her.

Standing in the kitchen—only two lights lit in the entire house—he pulled off the lid and took a long sniff of the cork. The oak and spices apparent with even the smallest of breaths, it called to him. He tossed the cork aside and took a long drink from the bottle. He was all alone; what did he care?

No! He had let her down. For over 15 years he’d let her down. He should’ve let her in sooner, but it never seemed pertinent in the moment. As long as she was happy, he was happy. That was his mantra. It was what he lived by. Everyone jokes about happy wife, happy life. But isn’t there some truth in that statement? He walked a fine line every day, trying to make sure he kept that balance. And what did it get him?

He took another drink from the bottle, almost forgetting how expensive it was, and forgetting all about the rich flavors. What have I done? She was gone. She’d taken his children. She was upset—at her breaking point—and unwilling to work through the situation. Could he blame her? No… he couldn’t. Another drink. He put the bottle down and gazed about the room. If he couldn’t have his family, maybe life wasn’t worth living. He decided, maybe it wasn’t. He left the kitchen and made his way upstairs. Each step on the twenty-year-old stairs creaked beneath his feet. A constant reminder of “what are you doing?” And, “are you sure you want to do this?” He shrugged them off.

Buried deep in their closet was a safe. It was dusty and hadn’t been opened in awhile. He typed in the code and looked upon their most valuable possessions. He pulled out their passports and couldn’t help but open them up. The smiles haunted him. They were so happy once, before all of this happened. He couldn’t look at them and tossed them aside. Then he came upon his marriage license. What a special day. A pang filled his heart. It was literally the happiest day of his life. Watching her walk down the aisle. Why did you fuck it all up, then? He didn’t know and pushed the license gently to the side.

Under a stack of important papers, he found what he’d been searching for. The Heckler and Koch VP9. It was small and compact. It would do the job and he’d feel little remorse. Except he already did. He picked up the weapon—the metal smooth against his skin, like it belonged—and walked to their bed. They’d called this home for so long. He remembered when they brought Adam home. Such a small precious child. But he’d really grown into himself. Tom only wished he was as smart as Adam when he’d been in middle school himself. In a flashing moment, he saw Heather. She was daddy’s little girl. A smile crossed his face and his eyes fell to the gun he held folded in his lap. Could he orphan them? Could he leave them without a father?

He stared at the gun, and for the first time all night realized, he wasn’t thinking about her. What am I doing? Gun still in hand, he walked downstairs. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and plopped himself on the couch. He took a long drink.

He grabbed his cellphone and dialed her number. Two rings and straight to voicemail. “Jessica, we have to finish this conversation. I know you sent me to voicemail; it only rang twice, unless you’re talking to someone else at one in the morning. Please call me back.”

He tossed the cellphone on the coffee table and picked up the glass. From the corner of his eye, the gun taunted him. How can I fix this? I can’t unless she calls me back. We have to finish this conversation. But he wondered if it would really help. He had to fix himself before they could fix their relationship.

Still holding the glass, he took another drink. When did he start lying? He’d never had a great memory but tried to recollect where it all began. His earliest memories were all good. Eating in a restaurant with his family. They were always engaged, always asking questions about his day. They were young, but that didn’t matter. They always made things work. Every year they went someplace new on vacation; even if it was a hotel room a six-hour drive away, it still felt special. There was always a closeness. Something wasn’t adding up. Frustrated, he found the unopened can of Skoal and put a pinch behind his lower lip. His thoughts cleared as the nicotine tingled through his bloodstream. He sat back down on the couch and dug deeper through his memory.

The most foreboding moment was when his mother showed up while he was working at a fast food restaurant in high school. She walked through the door casually and ordered a coffee. As he gave it to her, she asked him to join her.

He clocked out for his break and walked toward the seating area. The lighting was dark—not as bright as before—as though he were entering a damp cave and a creature waited, ready to pounce. His heart pounded in his chest, about to burst through his ribs. Each step grew more difficult as if he were walking in quicksand. He reached the booth and sat across from her. It was rough and cold beneath his skin. Her eyes locked on his and he could see her disappointment. Her anger bored deep into his soul.

His throat constricted; he couldn’t breathe. Sweat trickled down his forehead. The walls closed in around him, and the booth grew smaller. He scratched his head and started bouncing his leg. Instead of saying anything, she only stared. He looked around for an escape. He wanted to get out of here. He had to get out of here. But he couldn’t. There was no doubt; she’d wait all night if she had to.

After an eternity, she spoke.

“I got a call from Mr. Dryden at school today. Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

Tommy crossed his arms in defiance. “No.”

“When are you going to grow up? In just two months you’re going to graduate from high school, God willing. You can’t be doing crap like this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolled her eyes and looked out the window into the parking lot. After a moment, her gaze returned. “Cut the crap. I know you missed third period today.”

“No, I didn’t. I went to the bathroom and was just late getting to class.”

“Tommy, cut it out. Mr. Dryden said he walked to your classroom near the end of the period and you weren’t there.”

Tommy, who’d been doing his best to ignore his mother’s penetrating eyes, turned and looked deep into them.

“How do you know? Were you there? That old man keeps a bottle of vodka in his bottom desk drawer and I know I’ve smelled it on his breath before.”

She sighed. “Kind of like how I can smell the stench of cigarette smoke wafting off of you right now?”

Tommy reverted to old habits and looked away.

“Your father and I only want what’s best for you. We’re not even pressuring you to go to college. Why can’t you see that?”

He didn’t respond.

“In two months you’ll be done. Until then, you have to abide by our rules. You need to graduate high school.”

Tommy harrumphed.

“I spoke with your father, and until you do finish school, we’re taking your car away except for driving to work. And that’s only because we don’t have the time to drive you back and forth five days a week.”

Anger filled his eyes as he turned his head and faced his mother. Spittle flew from his lips.

“You can’t do that. I paid for that car. What gives you the right to take it away?”

Again, her gaze shifted to the window. “All you do is lie. You never tell us the truth. You may have paid for that car, but you’re still living under our roof. And you’re not eighteen yet. So until that time comes, you will listen to what we have to say.” She brought her eyes back to his. “Do I make myself clear?’

He glanced at his watch. His ten-minute break was over two minutes ago. He couldn’t do this any longer.

“Fine!”

“I mean it. And if we get another call from the school we’ll get more drastic. We’re both fed up.”

“Whatever,” he said and stood.

“Now get back to work before you lose the only good thing you have going for you in your life.”

He spun around and stalked back to the counter so he could finish his shift. He never saw her leave, but as soon as he was sure she was gone, he said, “Bitch.”

He shook his head to clear it. This wasn’t where everything went downhill. Far from it. He remembered the pain in his mother’s eyes. He remembered how she looked. How she couldn’t believe they’d gotten to the point they were at. Looking back at it now, he knew she was right, especially now that he was a parent himself. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for him. They only wanted the best, and for him to be happy. But he always resisted. Just like when he smoked in high school. They always knew. He thought he was so slick. He carried a bottle of mouthwash in his car and always had a fresh stockpile of gum. He hadn’t smoked in years, but when anyone stepped outside to smoke around him now, they stunk for an hour. Who did he think he was fooling?

He sipped a little more from the bottle of scotch, now that his glass was empty. Damn, this really is good. He had to go deeper if he wanted to get to the root of the problem. He conjured an image from when he was twelve. His friends had wanted to ride bikes to the nearest convenience store to buy candy. He wanted to go too. But he didn’t get an allowance. His parents didn’t believe in paying their children. They had chores and responsibilities around the house, but he had to ask for money. He’d gone to the pool the night before and his parents had given him money. They also drove him and his friends both ways. They were always doing that; they were very accommodating. So when they said no, he couldn’t understand why. He asked his dad, who of course said no since he’d gone to the pool the night before. He took matters into his own hands. He had two siblings: a younger sister and brother. He was the oldest, his sister next. They were all born three years apart. His sister was a bit of a hoarder. Anytime she got money, she stashed it in her room. After his dad said no, he snuck into his sister’s room. He raided her usual spots but only came away with a little more than a dollar. He didn’t have time to search her room any further and resorted to his backup plan.

His dad kept a sock filled with change in his drawer. He’d never taken money from his dad before, and something inside told him to stop this before it got out of hand. But he really wanted to get some candy. He stepped into the hall. To the left was the family room and a clear conscience. To the right was his parents’ room. After a moment of thought, the need for candy won out and he raided his dad’s change sock. He didn’t take much—just a couple dollars—before sneaking out of the room and lying to his dad that he was going to play with a different friend.

That night, his sister accused him of stealing from her and told his parents. It was such a low amount and she didn’t have any proof, so his parents let him off with a warning about theft. He didn’t listen and continued taking from his sister and dad until his dad finally noticed. When confronted, he lied about it. It didn’t matter, they still grounded him, but only for a week.

Tom looked at the clock. It was after one. He did have the conference call in the morning and should be getting in bed. But something in him stirred. He needed a resolution or he didn’t think he’d sleep at all. He tried calling Jessica again, twice. When she didn’t answer, he resorted to texts. He sent several. For five minutes, he stared at the phone, but she never responded. The bottle of whiskey he longed for sat on the table, but he decided to take a break. He drifted back into his memories. Everything so far had been long after he started lying. Then it hit him. He remembered fourth grade. Before that year, he’d always been a good student. But in fourth grade, he ran into Hitler. She was an aged teacher who he thought wanted nothing more than her retirement. She didn’t engage with him like he thought she should and so he gave up. He felt she labeled him a troublemaker. She gave out happy and sad grams every Friday. The time he got his first sad gram, was the day that changed his life.

She walked down the aisle and handed out a yellow letter to each kid. They all knew the drill because they got them every Friday. They were happy grams, her version of a weekly progress report, letting parents know how their kids were doing in class. At Tommy’s desk, she handed him a blue paper. What does blue mean? I’ve never seen one before.

Mrs. Larkin leaned close and whispered, “This is a sad gram. You didn’t turn in two assignments this week and I need you to have your parents sign this over the weekend, just like they would a happy gram.”

Tommy glared at the paper. He knew he hadn’t turned in a couple of assignments, but he fully intended to make them up. Now he had to tell his parents? It was his worst nightmare come true.

The bell rang and while the students packed up their bags and prepared for the weekend, Tommy couldn’t get the sad gram out of his mind. He didn’t even bother putting it in his backpack. Instead, he stared at it. He kept staring his entire walk to the bus, and selecting a seat in the back, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. Kids screamed, papers were crumpled and thrown. He tuned it all out. How am I going to explain this to my parents? I’m supposed to be playing the new Zelda all weekend.

The bus pulled into their neighborhood and dread filled his veins. He folded the sad gram in half and stuffed it into his backpack. There was a time and a place for unpleasantness and he decided he’d save this for later. Except, once he got into his room, ready to enjoy the weekend, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Maybe I don’t have to tell them. I can just forge my mom’s signature and everything will be OK.

He rifled through the trash and found several of his mom’s discarded receipts while his dad typed away at his computer, immune to what the children were doing in the house. They were all busy playing with Legos or dolls, but he wouldn’t know that. Satisfied Tommy had what he needed, he took a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure his dad wasn’t watching and scurried down to his room in the basement.

At first, he practiced tracing his mom’s signature. He did it time and time again until he covered several sheets of paper. Looking at his progress, he was quite pleased but decided to fill up just one more sheet. His dad had other ideas and called him upstairs. After a quick dinner, he started again. He made it about three-quarters of the way down the blank piece of paper before sleep won out and his head fell on his arms on his desk.

In the morning, he startled himself awake. Bleary-eyed, he looked around the room and realized he’d spent the whole night at his desk. His younger brother snored in the bed opposite him. He had no idea what time it was, but his stomach screamed at him for food. While stuffing his face, he noticed the snowflakes falling outside his patio door. He remembered his plans for his video game. With just a bit more practice, he was confident he could sign the sad gram and get down to the fun he had planned.

His mom walked in and asked him about school. He’d never lied like this to her before. He told her everything was great, but he had an assignment to finish before he could play his video games. She didn’t respond; she just smiled. He could see how proud she was and he couldn’t take it, quickly averting his eyes.

Sunday evening, his arm hurt. He never could quite replicate the ungraceful scrawl of his mother. So he had stayed at it… all weekend. As bedtime approached, he knew his time was coming to an end. His brother was busy snoring in his own bed across the room. He tried one last time on a blank piece of paper. It was close enough. At any moment, one of his parents would crack open his door and tell him it was lights out. He put the pen to the sad gram and hesitated for a second. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, forcing him to action. He scrawled his mother’s name. Staring at it for a moment, he was quite pleased with himself. But he couldn’t waste any time. He folded the paper in half and stuffed it into his backpack before throwing on his pajamas and rushing to the door. His dad peeked inside.

“Light’s out Sport. You have school tomorrow.”

“I know, Dad. I was just about to brush my teeth.”

He smiled. “That a boy. Be quiet so you don’t wake your brother.”

“I won’t.”

His dad ruffled his hair, and Tommy disappeared down the hall.

A couple of weeks later, his mother was going through his backpack. The thing about the happy and sad grams was it wasn’t a new one each week. There were enough signature lines to cover an entire semester. So when she found the blue sad gram in his backpack, she pulled it out and started looking at it closer. He’d gotten a sad gram four weeks in a row. She stared long and hard at the signature line. Tears filled her eyes and she disappeared into her bedroom. Later that evening, his parents called him up for a conversation. They were angry. His mother admitted, she couldn’t remember signing it, but it looked like her signature. He couldn’t think of a way out, so he had to confess his sins. They made him talk to his teacher—which didn’t help his relationship with her—and he had to serve a suspension. One would think he’d straighten up and walk the straight and narrow after that, but Tommy couldn’t help but think he almost got away with it. He did for well over a month. With a little effort, he could perfect his style and maybe not be in trouble at all. It was so easy.

Tom jumped to his feet. This was it. He’d been searching for the problem for the past twenty-five years. The bottle of scotch called to him and he took a drink. It burned down his throat and he coughed, before spitting the Skoal out of his mouth. He’d finally found the moment, the instance where lying became his norm. He had to call his wife. No answer, so he tried texting. He sat down while awaiting her response. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into half hours. The wait was excruciating. He kept texting because he had to talk to her, tell her his breakthrough.

The minutes continued ticking by. Five turned into ten, then twenty. He couldn’t stand it any longer and jumped to his feet and paced the family room. The room wasn’t large, so after a few steps, he turned and headed back in the other direction. With each pass of the coffee table, the gun cried out to him like a baby crying for its mother. He ignored it: looked away, tried his best to distance himself from the table. Maybe if I don’t see it, don’t make eye contact, it’ll leave me alone. But it didn’t. Like a lighthouse guiding a ship, it was a lantern signaling, piercing his eyes to let it in.

His phone rang. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. “Hello.”

“Stop calling me. I’ve said my piece and I have to get up early in the morning.”

He froze. He had so much he wanted to say. There was so much to be said, but he couldn’t find the words. Her agitation was evident over the phone and he had to say something. “I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause. The courage built inside him. When he opened his mouth to speak, her voice filled the emptiness.

“You don’t get it. Maybe you’re not listening to me. Maybe that’s been the problem all along. You only hear what you want to hear. My pleading has always fallen on deaf ears and I don’t think there’s any changing you. You are who you are. I love you for most of your qualities, but I don’t know if I can ever get over this. How can I trust you?”

“I suppose you can’t, but I’ll do everything in my power to prove that you can,” he said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You have to. I’ve made a breakthrough…”

She cut him off. “I don’t have to do a damn thing. We can’t do this anymore. It’s late and I need to try and get some sleep. I didn’t even want to talk to you anymore, but I saw your texts and missed calls. I hoped you’d had some profound revelation, but it’s apparent you haven’t.”

“Please, you have to listen to me. Baby, I love you.”

“No… no, you don’t. If you did we wouldn’t be where we are.”

“You don’t understand. I know what I’ve been doing. I figured out when all of the lying started and I think I can finally get help to fix it.”

“You had your chance. I’ve given you so many opportunities. You ignored my pleas and here we are.” He heard her sigh through the phone. “Maybe your next wife can help you with that. Maybe you can connect with her.”

Tears flooded his eyes. “Let me explain. I want to work this out and I don’t want another wife.” The phone clicked as she hung up. “Baby!” She was gone. Damn! She didn’t give me a chance to explain? He couldn’t blame her. He’d been lying ever since he was a child. It’s all he knew how to do. It had to stop, tonight. She was more important than this and didn’t deserve what he was doing. He put his phone in his pocket, before grabbing the bottle of whiskey—or what remained of it—in one hand, and the gun in the other. His life was in his own hands and he knew what he needed to do. He stared at the two items, got up, turned off the light, and made his way to their bedroom. He put the gun back in the safe—where it belonged—before collapsing in the leather chair nested in the corner of their room.

I have to stop lying. It was the first time he’d ever admitted it to himself, but it was the truth. He realized now, he always lied because it was the easier path, but in the end, he always got caught… and it was always worse. He’d go to her tomorrow. One of his coworkers could handle the conference call. He had to talk to her first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t be easy, but he had to take the first step. He had to convince her to stay. He loved her too much to let it end like this.

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