Woah

     So, essentially, I haven't been well.  I would apologize for not posting for weeks, however, I have been working on my creativity and writing via other methods and have even contemplated deleting this blog and starting an official site.  I still might do this, however, I am going to build up the posts here first, and then create an actual website.
     I was pretty consistent for a few weeks, actually, for a few months.  I was constantly writing, and if I got behind I pushed myself to catch up.  That is, until I got sick.  I had some sort of cross between mono and a really bad fever, which had me laid up for about two and a half weeks.  After that, I was way too weak to play sports or work out.  My mind wouldn't focus on writing, even though I tried.  I actually have several terrible attempts on Google Drive that I have since been inclined to eradicate.
     In my "down time" as it was, I discovered the immense and complete worlds of Robert Jordan and Brandon Sanderson.  I had enjoyed reading LoTR and have loved reading fantasy and science fiction, but the quality of writing, the deep, mind bending worlds, and the characters that I spent days getting to know completely absorbed me.  I believe I spent my entire waking hours one day reading the Mistborn trilogy.  I have since progressed into the Wheel of Time, finished the Mistborn trilogy, Steelheart, Legion, finished the Enders Game books (Very tedious at times, but quite worth the time.  Note: also look into Card's other fantasy books, they are quite amazing once you understand them) the first Stormlight Archive book, and am currently halfway through the second, Words of Radiance.
     I began to notice how I could apply different aspects of these fantasy novels to real life.  Many times, although the ideas are incomplete, or don't translate as well when compared to actual life decisions, they are great kickstarters for deep ideas and conversations.
     Although I love all kinds of fantasy and science fiction, High Fantasy, with all of its complexities, is where I think I am going to stay for the next year or so.  This, in turn, makes it fairly hard for me to write short stories.  I feel I have to develop them beyond what is needed for a mere 3000 words.  Although I am going to occasionally write up an idea, or flesh out a quick story, I want to discover what makes a good high fantasy book, good.  I don't want to exclude other fantasy genres, as they have much inspiration for me to draw from.  Brandon Mull's Beyonders series is one of the greatest fantasy stories I have ever read.  I could care less that they are dedicated to 8th graders.  They are well planned, thought out, and I found several ideas that are even greater than that of some High Fantasy novels.
     With that said, I am going to attempt to write of my ideas and thoughts that come from the books that I currently read.  As I am sticking with Brandon Sanderson and Robert Jordan for a while, I am hoping to have quite an arsenal of knowledge about high fantasy and what makes it great by the time I am finished with the Wheel of Time.
     Not sure how this will help me, however, I will have upwards of one hundred posts by the end of the year.  This will expand my repertoire and knowledge base, hopefully revealing what genre of books I will work towards writing.  
     I'm quite open to discussion on what I post, as well as other books to add to my reading list!
   
     Thanks,

     Mark

(If you want a complete list of what I have written this year, head over to my Medium page)

Weeks 9/10/11/12 - Procrastinating Some

So I do realize that I have been posting every two weeks the past couple of weeks, however, I have had some ideas that I enjoyed and have worked to make them longer than usual.  I'll soon be back to one a week as my brain is digressing.  One can only work so hard for so long before their mental functions begin to fail.  Just look at Petra from Ender's Game, or me, for that matter.  But I really enjoyed working on this one.  Woah, I've been working on it for... 3 weeks?  I think its four weeks, actually.  It does appear that I have procrastinated a lot, but oh well.  I will get back on track this week.  Been hectic and I've been working other other ideas too.  This isn't as long as I wanted it too, but its about double the length of the weekly ones.  And there's really no rules to all this, I mean, it is my own creation/idea, so as long as I'm writing, I'm happy with what I'm doing.  I'll step it up when I'm not writing three other papers a week for class.  Which is soon.  Four more weeks and the semester ends!  Exciting stuff...

-----

 Bloodshot eyes.  I peered closer.  Swollen flesh stretched the skin tight across its face.  Uneven features bulged and writhed beneath dark fur.  The small fox leaped at bars.  It growled.  It's bulging throat rattled and spittle plastered the thick glass.

    I frowned.  The rabies pandemic had been terminated.  Humans and animals alike had the vaccine.  I took off my glasses, wiping sweat from the rims.  Sliding them back along my face, I watched the animal.  It paused a moment, squirming fur coming to rest.  For a minute or two, it quietly sat.  The animal darted across the cage.  Its paws resting against the glass, it looked out into the forest.

    Trees sprang up around the tiny observatory.  Heavily wooded land receded out of sight.  A green valley sloped its way around us.  The peak of the mountain was were I called home.  The shelter, equipped with a whole array of scientific equipment, was no more than 600 square feet.  

    The fox turned from its forlorn position.  I switched on my headcam, watching the feral beast.  Its eyes had a sad look, as if saying goodbye for a last time.  Its mouth pulled up into a slow snarl  Quivering skin began to bubble.  Bulging muscles popped.  Bloody eyes burned brighter as it leapt into the bars.  This time blood smattered the protective glass.  I sighed.

    My fingers found my iPad and tapped in the termination code.  Noxious gas released into the chamber, melting the fox into a liquid goo.  A moment later, the floor tilted, sending the remains into an airtight container.  I picked up my phone.  This wasn’t rabies, and someone had to know.  

    When I managed to get through to headquarters, a harried sounding woman answered.

    “Look, if its another rabies call, we already know.”

    I paused.  “Is it everywhere?”

    “We don’t know.  Not international, but lots of calls from the states.”

    I felt my throat constricting.  We’d averted disaster before.  Ten years ago, we had neutralized the rabies virus.  Launched the antidote right into the air.  Sure, we got flak about it, but the media effectively submerged the story.  

    We’d watched the animals closely for years.  A few freak accidents, a couple of human deaths, but no major repercussions.  As a private organization, there wasn’t much anyone could do about us anyway.  Influence exerted on certain government officials did the trick.  But the rabies breakout had been due to the hybrid flu vaccine.  Didn’t affect humans.  At least, it hadn’t before

    “I have to go, yeah, we're busy now.” The nervous voice said.  In the background, someone cried out.  The sound of breaking glass.  The phone clattered to the ground.  Shouting and gunfire ensued.  A throaty growl rumbled through the phone.  I swore, hurling the device against the oak wall.  I leaped to the airtight emergency container, pulling out a mask.  The plastic sucked against my face.  It wrapped around my glasses, sealing my face into airtight security.  I breathed deeply.  The smell of new plastic smell filled my nose and lungs.  I gagged for a moment, getting used to the taste.

    The growl could have been anything, but I wasn’t taking chances.  Maybe I hadn’t been exposed.  I bowed my head for a moment.  My hands shook.  I slipped to the ground and hugged my legs.  It took a moment of fighting for me to regain control.  A few shaky seconds later, I stood.

    I grabbed a large duffel bag from a nearby counter.  I threw in several changes of clothes, medicine, and, after a seconds hesitation, the companies standard issue assault rifle. I hurried out to my truck.

    As I reached the door, a whine split the forest air.  I started.  My nerves were going wild.  Being in the worst spot to be during another outbreak, my adrenaline was going haywire.  The whine got higher, than dropped out of hearing.  A short bark came from the surrounding trees.  I fumbled with my keys, unlocking the door.  Another whine.  A low growl.  I stepped into the truck.  It sank several inches under my weight.  Immediately, a throaty noise came from directly underneath the truck.  I jumped, my feet slipping.  My foot hit the ground, sliding on the loose dirt.  A large racoon darted from beneath the tire, latching onto my pant leg.

    I kicked my legs, connecting with the furry beast.  It held on for a moment, before I kicked it into the metal door.  It fell, whining its anger as it come at me again.  I leaped into the truck.  A heavy thud on the window.  Blood and dirt smattered in the vague shape of an animal on my window.  I breathed heavily with relief and started the engine.  

    It took me a moment to realize my leg was burning.  I pulled at my pant leg.  Several deep gashes in my leg were oozing blood.  One looked especially deep, teeth indentations standing out.  I pulled off my mask, breathing it in didn’t matter now.

    I snatched the old antidote from my pack.  I dumped it on my leg, pouring it into the deep cuts and bite.  I plunged a syringe into my chest for good measure.  A moment later, the pain subsided slightly.  My breath shook even more.  Fear no longer burned in my chest, but made its way into my mind and throat.  Breathing grew more difficult as my adrenaline faded.  

    My hands gripped the steering wheel.  I closed my eyes and focused.  I opened them.  My foot pressed the accelerator.  Roaring filled my ears.  I sped up.  The winding road rushed past in a blur.  I felt the truck weave across the road.  I kept driving.

    Eventually, the pain ceased.  A dull thumping reverberated through my skull.  The drums paused a moment, as I slowed around a hairpin turn.  A calm settled through my mind.  I focused.  Pittsburg was close, and short plane ride would get me through.  If they weren’t checking for the infection, I would be able to board any plane I needed.

    But at what cost?  I could infect others.  But we needed others to know as much information as possible.  I hesitated a moment.  I’d buy some gloves later, if the opportunity arose.

    I got to the airport an hour later.  My leg ached from the bite, and dizzy spells had nearly killed me, but I made it.  I got into the terminal and left my truck at the doors, still running.  I sprinted toward the terminal center.  Arrival and departure times scrolled on giant screens.  People moved lethargically through the maze.  A few families sprinted past.  

    The earliest departure time for Boston was in ten minutes.  I fumbled through security and ended up sitting dazed beside a window.  I’d waved my badge and signed a few papers to get on.  I leaned back and managed to sleep until we landed.

    I rushed from the plane, hailing a cab.  It took a few minutes to get to our headquarters.  The massive glass building echoed our enormous financial backing.  I got inside, where I found the secretary walking out of the elevator, wild eyed and scared.  I knew her from years ago, when I did office work at our old building.  Before we got government funding, and a large private cash flow.

    I made eye contact and waved.  I’m sure I looked pretty wild.  Bloody leg and torn clothing didn’t help the situation.  I called to her as she neared.  She was almost running by the time I reached her.  I grabbed at her arm, feeling angry.  I needed answers, and they needed my research.  She spun, screaming at me to leave.  A knife appeared in her hand.  I’m sure she had never killed anything, but she still gave an angry stab at my head.  I ducked back, letting her go.  She was crying hysterically now, and ran from the building.  The rest of the bottom floor was deserted.  I yelled, I used the intercom for the ground floor and got no response.  The sounds of traffic echoed throughout the silence.

    I skipped out on the elevator.  I should have noticed something going on, something bigger than us.  I was conceited enough to think we could handle anything.  Maybe we weren’t prepared, or maybe we had gotten lax.  If we’d considered more options.  Maybe questioned the ones who said an alien virus had started it.  Or listened to the fishermen who had told us that fish were dying by the droves.  The extremist who sent us a report on a partner who had died from a mysterious disease.  There were always those reports, but if we had listened we might have turned out better.

    If we at least had training, or had been debriefed on worst case scenarios.  Needless to say, I chose to take the stairs and left my mask in my bag.  I even left my assault rifle.

    No one was on the second floor either.  I got to the third floor and paused.  I turned the handle.  The door swung open soundlessly.  Immediately, the smell of rotting flesh washed over me.  The soft sounds of steady breathing came from the hallway to my left.  I managed to walk a few steps.  I stepped forward.  I hesitated at the corner.  I breathed and stepped out.

    My boss sat against the wall.  Gouges and bite marks covered his skin.  Blood was pooled on the floor.  Not a lot, but enough to potentially threaten to his health.  I crouched beside him.  Small teeth, animal in nature had bitten his hands.  His eyes snapped open when I touched his face.  He began to shake, trying to speak.  His eyes seemed small against his torn features.  The darted around.  He shook harder and groaned.  His skin grew red and blue, bulges pushing at the pores of his skin.

    I froze.  The fox.  The squirrels, the raccoon.  The throaty growls.  The bulging skin.  I tripped backwards.  His sanity seemed to break.  He fell toward me, growls coming from his bulging throat.  I got to my feet.  I was still thinking scientifically.  My life wasn't in danger, but information was.  Everything that needed to be learned was on this floor.  The man groaned again, crawling toward me.  He seemed to be gaining strength by the second.  I turned toward the other hallway.  I really can’t say how much any kind of training would have saved lives.  We could have averted everything if we had been more careful.  

    Instead, I walked down the other hallway.  I walked faster.  I needed the computer mainframe.  It would have everything I needed.  I was nearly to the middle of the quiet floor when a groan echoed.  I turned in a circle, watching for anything or anyone.  In the corner of my eye I glimpsed a flurry of movement.  An arm shot from the cubicle nearby and a bloody hand latched onto my ankle.

    I screamed.  The hand pulled.  I tripped, falling backwards down the hall.  I glimpsed pulsing skin, blood creeping from open pores.  Even in that moment of terror I still noticed those details.  I brought down my left leg, snapping bone and tearing flesh.  More blood oozed onto my shoes.  I scooted backwards.

     I scrambled to my feet.  It took a moment to try and regain my calm.  I looked down to orient myself.  I saw my bloody shoes and retched.  I caught my balance and cleared my eyes.  I sprinted past the arm as it was pulling its body out of the office.

    A leg kicked through a shallow wall.  I leaped, pushing faster toward the computer room.  I noticed bloody trails where the beings had been dragged.  The floor became slippery, soaked with blood.

    I got to the computer room with growls echoing behind me.  I managed to grab several backup hard drives.  I shoved them deep into my pockets..  A low growl.  I started, spinning on my heel.  An office secretary slumped against a wall.  She coughed, low and grating.  She stood straighter.  She seemed to be growing stronger.  She reached toward me.  The skin was moving, blood rushing to the surface.

    I pulled back, turning back toward the stairwell hall.  Bloodied bodies now in the hall, moving either toward me, or simply struggling to stand.  The crawlers were moving faster, but the older ones were going to be faster in minutes.  

    I started sprinting.  I jumped over a fallen lab worker and turned a corner.   The stairway was just ahead.  My boss was now standing, walking slowly toward me.  He started gaining speed.  His hands and face were running red.  From blood or what I wasn't sure.  I turned back. The fire escape was behind me, right with the other infected.  I grabbed a hard drive and hesitated.  My boss.  Who’s to say he wasn't still human.  He could still feel.  Maybe he was asking for help.

    I had no choice.  I sprinted at him.  His arms rose and he started to fall toward me.  I swung the makeshift club.  It rebounded, sending the businessman onto his back.  It took me a moment to regain my momentum, but I made it to the stairs.

    I got to the ground floor to find it filled with bomb squads and special ops units.  They were sweeping through the ground space and heading straight toward me.  I was still dazed.  Someone grabbed my arms and pulled me outside.  They tried to take the hard drives, but I managed to keep them.  A couple official looking officers asked me questions.  I heard helicopters and gunshots.  A couple explosions.  I must have passed out at some point, because I woke up in the ambulance several hours later.  

    The EMT was standing over me.  He looked down.  A torn look stretched across his face.  Sadness and pity.  Then he ran.  I tried to cry out, scream for anyone.  I tried to sit up on the cool metal tray, but nausea pushed me down.  An IV stuck out of my arm, clear fluid dripping into my body.  

    I fumbled for it, giving it a hard tug.  The IV pulled from my arm.  Blood pooled beneath my skin for a moment, before oozing onto the surface.  I lay still for a minute.  I sat up slower than, the nausea coming slower.  I kept it in check and managed to stand.  The cupboards and storage containers were wide open, objects scattered around the vehicle.  The IV was the only medicinal tool still in the ambulance.  I waded through the trash and debris toward the doors.

    The white doors stood wide open.  The late afternoon sun revealed the havoc.  Abandoned cars littered the freeway.  Almost a hundred yards away lay burning rubble of what was once my office.  I stepped into the grassy divider.  Police cars were scattered along the intersections.  Broken glass cracked beneath my feet.  A bloody hand broke under my weight, the arm and body nowhere in sight.  

    Then my breathing became choked.  I coughed, my throat clearing.  All thoughts had fled my mind.  I couldn't take in what I was seeing.  In the distance, sirens blared.  People screamed.  Occasional gunshots broke the air.  Someone ran toward the massacred buildings.  Looters already.  I kept up my stumbling pace.  Away from the ambulance.  I opened a car door, pulling out the body of a young woman.  Her skin was writhing, her eyes flickering as she fought for consciousness.  Her throat was torn wide open.  I thought of my own sister and closed my mind to the horrors around me.  I laid her on the ground.  She was already dead when I drove away.

      

    

Week 9/10 - What We Could Have Done

So last week I was editing my other posts, moving them to Medium and working on an idea.  You can find me on Medium now at https://medium.com/@klashinov1947 I'm still working on this, so I took some of it and here it is.  I'm not procrastinating, just working hard and not posting until I like what I have.  Been reading WWZ, which is insanely amazing for inspiration and such.  So yeah, here it is, week 10.  Just totally felt like doing a zombie story.

-----

Bloodshot eyes.  I peered closer.  Swollen flesh stretched the skin tight across its face.  Uneven features bulged and writhed beneath dark fur.  The small fox leaped at bars.  It growled.  It's bulging throat rattled and spittle plastered the thick glass.

    I frowned.  The rabies pandemic had been terminated.  Humans and animals alike had the vaccine.  I took off my glasses, wiping sweat from the rims.  Sliding them back along my face, I watched the animal.  It paused a moment, squirming fur coming to rest.  For a minute or two, it quietly sat.  The animal darted across the cage.  Its paws resting against the glass, it looked out into the forest.

    Trees sprang up around the tiny observatory.  Heavily wooded land receded out of sight.  A green valley sloped its way around us.  The peak of the mountain was were I called home.  The shelter, equipped with a whole array of scientific equipment, was no more than 600 square feet.  

    The fox turned from its forlorn position.  I switched on my headcam, watching the feral beast.  Its eyes had a sad look, as if saying goodbye for a last time.  Its mouth pulled up into a slow snarl  Quivering skin began to bubble.  Bulging muscles popped.  Bloody eyes burned brighter as it leapt into the bars.  This time blood smattered the protective glass.  I sighed.

    My fingers found my iPad and tapped in the termination code.  Noxious gas released into the chamber, melting the fox into a liquid goo.  A moment later, the floor tilted, sending the remains into an airtight container.  I picked up my phone.  This wasn’t rabies, and someone had to know.  

    When I managed to get through to headquarters, a harried sounding woman answered.

    “Look, if its another rabies call, we already know.”

    I paused.  “Is it everywhere?”

    “We don’t know.  Not international, but lots of calls from the states.”

    I felt my throat constricting.  We’d averted disaster before.  Ten years ago, we had neutralized the rabies virus.  Launched the antidote right into the air.  Sure, we got flak about it, but the media effectively submerged the story.  

    We’d watched the animals closely for years.  A few freak accidents, a couple of human deaths, but no major repercussions.  As a private organization, there wasn’t much anyone could do about us anyway.  Influence exerted on certain government officials did the trick.  But the rabies breakout had been due to the hybrid flu vaccine.  Didn’t affect humans.  At least, it hadn’t before

    “I have to go, yeah, we're busy now.” The nervous voice said.  In the background, someone cried out.  The sound of breaking glass.  The phone clattered to the ground.  Shouting and gunfire ensued.  A throaty growl rumbled through the phone.  I swore, hurling the device against the oak wall.  I leaped to the airtight emergency container, pulling out a mask.  The plastic sucked against my face.  It wrapped around my glasses, sealing my face into airtight security.  I breathed deeply.  The smell of new plastic smell filled my nose and lungs.  I gagged for a moment, getting used to the taste.

    The growl could have been anything, but I wasn’t taking chances.  Maybe I hadn’t been exposed.  I bowed my head for a moment.  My hands shook.  I slipped to the ground and hugged my legs.  It took a moment of fighting for me to regain control.  A few shaky seconds later, I stood.

    I grabbed a large duffel bag from a nearby counter.  I threw in several changes of clothes, medicine, and, after a seconds hesitation, the companies standard issue assault rifle. I hurried out to my truck.

    As I reached the door, a whine split the forest air.  I started.  My nerves were going wild.  Being in the worst spot to be during another outbreak, my adrenaline was going haywire.  The whine got higher, than dropped out of hearing.  A short bark came from the surrounding trees.  I fumbled with my keys, unlocking the door.  Another whine.  A low growl.  I stepped into the truck.  It sank several inches under my weight.  Immediately, a throaty noise came from directly underneath the truck.  I jumped, my feet slipping.  My foot hit the ground, sliding on the loose dirt.  A large racoon darted from beneath the tire, latching onto my pant leg.

    I kicked my legs, connecting with the furry beast.  It held on for a moment, before I kicked it into the metal door.  It fell, whining its anger as it come at me again.  I leaped into the truck.  A heavy thud on the window.  Blood and dirt smattered in the vague shape of an animal on my window.  I breathed heavily with relief and started the engine.  

    It took me a moment to realize my leg was burning.  I pulled at my pant leg.  Several deep gashes in my leg were oozing blood.  One looked especially deep, teeth indentations standing out.  I pulled off my mask, breathing it in didn’t matter now.

    I snatched the old antidote from my pack.  I dumped it on my leg, pouring it into the deep cuts and bite.  I plunged a syringe into my chest for good measure.  A moment later, the pain subsided slightly.  My breath shook even more.  Fear no longer burned in my chest, but made its way into my mind and throat.  Breathing grew more difficult as my adrenaline faded.  

    My hands gripped the steering wheel.  I closed my eyes and focused.  I opened them.  My foot pressed the accelerator.  Roaring filled my ears.  I sped up.  The winding road rushed past in a blur.  I felt the truck weave across the road.  I kept driving.

    Eventually, the pain ceased.  A dull thumping reverberated through my skull.  The drums paused a moment, as I slowed around a hairpin turn.  A calm settled through my mind.  I focused.  Pittsburg was close, and short plane ride would get me through.  If they weren’t checking for the infection, I would be able to board any plane I needed.

    But at what cost?  I could infect others.  But we needed others to know as much information as possible.  I hesitated a moment.  I’d buy some gloves later, if the opportunity arose.

    I got to the airport an hour later.  My leg ached from the bite, and dizzy spells had nearly killed me, but I made it.  I got into the terminal and left my truck at the doors, still running.  I sprinted toward the terminal center.  Arrival and departure times scrolled on giant screens.  People moved lethargically through the maze.  A few families sprinted past.  

    The earliest departure time for Boston was in ten minutes.  I fumbled through security and ended up sitting dazed beside a window.  I’d waved my badge and signed a few papers to get on.  I leaned back and managed to sleep until we landed.

    I rushed from the plane, hailing a cab.  It took a few minutes to get to our headquarters.  The massive glass building echoed our enormous financial backing.  I got inside, where I found the secretary walking out of the elevator, wild eyed and scared.  I knew her from years ago, when I did office work at our old building.  Before we got government funding, and a large private cash flow.

    I made eye contact and waved.  I’m sure I looked pretty wild.  Bloody leg and torn clothing didn’t help the situation.  I called to her as she neared.  She was almost running by the time I reached her.  I grabbed at her arm, feeling angry.  I needed answers, and they needed my research.  She spun, screaming at me to leave.  A knife appeared in her hand.  I’m sure she had never killed anything, but she still gave an angry stab at my head.  I ducked back, letting her go.  She was crying hysterically now, and ran from the building.  The rest of the bottom floor was deserted.  I yelled, I used the intercom for the ground floor and got no response.  The sounds of traffic echoed throughout the silence.

    I skipped out on the elevator.  I should have noticed something going on, something bigger than us.  I was conceited enough to think we could handle anything.  Maybe we weren’t prepared, or maybe we had gotten lax.  If we’d considered more options.  Maybe questioned the ones who said an alien virus had started it.  Or listened to the fishermen who had told us that fish were dying by the droves.  The extremist who sent us a report on a partner who had died from a mysterious disease.  There were always those reports, but if we had listened we might have turned out better.

    If we at least had training, or had been debriefed on worst case scenarios.  Needless to say, I chose to take the stairs and left my mask in my bag.  I even left my assault rifle.

    No one was on the second floor either.  I got to the third floor and paused.  I turned the handle.  The door swung open soundlessly.  Immediately, the smell of rotting flesh washed over me.  The soft sounds of steady breathing came from the hallway to my left.  I managed to walk a few steps.  I stepped forward.  I hesitated at the corner.  I breathed and stepped out.

    My boss sat against the wall.  Gouges and bite marks covered his skin.  Blood was pooled on the floor.  Not a lot, but enough to potentially be a threat to his health.  I crouched beside him.  Small teeth, animal in nature had bitten his hands.  His eyes snapped open when I touched his face.  He began to shake, trying to speak.  His eyes seemed small against his torn features.  The darted around.  He shook harder and groaned.  

    I froze.  The fox.  The squirrels, the raccoons.  The throaty growls.  I tripped backwards.  His sanity seemed to break.  He fell toward me, growls coming from his bulging throat.  I got to my feet.  I was still thinking scientifically.  My life wasn’t in danger, but information was.  Everything that needed to be learned was on this floor.  The man groaned again, crawling toward me.  He seemed to be gaining strength by the second.  I turned toward the other hallway.  I really can’t say how much any kind of training would have saved lives.  We could have averted everything if we had been more careful.  

    Instead, I walked down the other hallway.  I walked faster.  I needed the computer mainframe.  It would have everything I needed.  I was nearly to the middle of the quiet floor when a groan echoed.  I turned in a circle, watching for anyone.  In the corner of my eye, an arm shot from the cubicle nearby and a bloody hand latched onto my ankle

Week 8 - Caught

This is late getting posted, but I've been editing it just a bit.  I need to stop procrastinating!  Finished it a couple minutes ago, so typos will probably dominate the stoyr.  I listen to NPR a lot, and I got the idea from a journalist in Libya who was involved in a gun fight.  I'm not sure if I actually like the story or not, but here it is.  I need to post these on Sunday nights from now on.  But here it is!  Week 8...

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    A Traveller's Diary: Dangerous Country

    The old man thanked me in broken english, and waved us happily toward the door.  He clutched his payment to his chest, smiling as we hurried outside.  I saved the recording to the cloud.  I pocketed my iPhone as the dusty air washed over us.  My photographer had closed up his camera and we clambered into the back of our hummer.  

    The occasional pedestrian walks along the streets.  Some were armed, but most kept their distance, heads down and avoiding trouble.  Our translator sat in the drivers seat and put the Hummer into gear.  We pulled away, sending dust spiraling around the ramshackle buildings.

    “That went well.  I got a couple shots.  Did the recording save?” My photographer, Ajeeb said.

    “I think it went through.  And yeah, it was better than last time.” I say with noticeable relief.  Last time we had visited, a man with a machete had tried to kill our translator.  He had made it to the open window of our vehicle, just as a passerby shot him.  

    The hummer pulled forward, sending black exhaust into the sandy air.  We sped up.  I swayed as we swerved around potholes and rubble.  We bounced over the remains of a hut, and hit paved road.  I laughed in relief, even though the pavement could be just as bad as dirt.  IED’s and grenades had punched massive craters all throughout the road systems.  With the majority of military weapons in the hands of civilians, the danger levels increased tenfold.

    The road winds its way past several more outlying shacks as we roll and bounce our way into the heart of the city.  Plywood and sheet metal walls grew sparse, normal street fronts dominating the sidewalks.  

    I settled back as we made our way through the winding streets.  Our hotel was directly across the city.  Roadblocks were set up throughout the labyrinth, so it wasn’t long before we were stopped.  Guards peered through the windows.  A couple of them opened the doors and looked inside.  I held up my iPhone and shrugged as our translator answered several questions.

    They reached a decision and the guards shut the doors, waving us on.  

    “They were sympathizers, thankfully.  Otherwise they might not have liked an American journalist too much.” The translator said.

    Ajeeb smiled a bit and I nervously sat back.  Hostile territory wasn’t my thing.  I was used to interviewing French business executives and Italian meatball lovers.  Getting the stories of war victims, while the war was going on, wasn’t my choice of jobs.  I thought of my apartment in New York and felt homesick.  

    A gunshot snapped me out of my daydreaming.  I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around the passenger seat.  Several civilians sprinted across the road ahead.  Our driver braked so a crawl.  Moments later, a smattering of automatic rifle rounds split the air.  Splintered wood hit the window next to me.  I flinched, shirking from the window.  More gunshots, this time farther down the road.  I pulled back and tried to yell at our driver, but my voice catches for a moment.  

    A child ran into the road ahead.  I grabbed the translators arm as he started to accelerate.

    “The kid, get the kid!” He grunted and slammed on the brake.  He jumped from the vehicle and sprinted toward the kid.  Gunfire sounded again.  Wood siding shredded and bullets punched holes in the walls.  Ajeeb acted frozen, his face pale.  My hands shook, and I’m sure I was just as white.  

    The saviour reached the child, scooping him up and hightailing it back.  I managed to climb into the front seat as they neared.  That was when I noticed who was chasing them.  Several large men with assault rifles were closing in on them.  They were over halfway here, and likely to catch up.  I completed my move to the front seat by sliding over to the drivers side.  I slammed it out of park and jerked forward.  I hit the accelerator, spitting dirt a moment before taking off.  The ground slid by in seconds.  My foot shot toward the brake, but I hit nothing.  The men leapt out of the way as I sped past.  My panicked body fumbled for the brake.  I frantically pressed every button and lever until we jolted to a halt.  I peered into the rearview mirror.  

    The soldiers had ahold of the child and our driver.  One pulled out a gun and blasted it into the back of our translator.  Than they started marching towards us.  Ajeeb seemed to have recovered from his shock, and started screaming in some foreign language with his hands raised in prayer.  I drew back my hand and slapped him back to reality.  He seemed ashamed, but tears still streaked his face.

    “Can you hear me?” I yelled, my voice shrill.  He looked at me, fear lacing his features.  

    “Their here for me.  What I have done.  They want me.  There’s nothing you can do to stop them.  They’ll kill you too you know.  Their like that.” His hushed voice faded.  

    I shook my head.  I wasn’t going to die because of the mistakes of someone else.  I turned back to the wheel and started moving again.  Ajeeb started crying loudly, his sobs grating on my ears.  I yelled for him to shut up, and he promptly began sniffing.  We sped up, my foot now accustomed to the brake pedal.  I turned quickly, the big vehicle sliding around the curve.  

    There was a loud pop, and the Hummer road lower to the ground.  Then several more shots and the vehicle was no longer drivable.  I whipped open the door.  I wrenched Ajeeb’s door open as well and pulled him into the road.  

    I pushed him forward, and sprinted past him without looking back.  Hopefully he’d keep up.  I kept running, knowing the killers would be gaining.  I shot left down the first alleyway I saw.  I reached the end, just as the assassins rounded the corner.  I turned right, and the automatic gunfire sounded.  I glanced back, and Ajeeb came around the corner a moment later.  

    The shots had missed, so we kept running.  I knew that Ajeeb was a pacifist, and never kept a weapon, as was I.  Feeling hopeless, my pace started to falter.  I hadn’t run distances since Cross Country in high school, and even then I wasn’t that good.  My endurance was wearing thin, and I stumbled, nearly falling.  Ajeeb seemed to have found sufficient hope in the situation, and caught me.  He pulled me to my fight, half carrying me as I found my footing.  

    We kept running, my pace lagging.  Ajeeb was several steps ahead when he abruptly turned right down a short street.  We were only yards into it when we turned again into a narrow gap between buildings.  We slid through it sideways until we reached the next alley.

    Ajeeb sat against the wall, his legs crumbling beneath his large figure.  I sat next to him, gasping for breath.  I felt relief at the slight rest.  Adrenaline continued to flow in my veins, making sitting still hard.

     A ring split the air.  My shaky hands found my phone, and I pulled it out.  A text from my sister read, “hey, you doing well?  Haven’t seen any posts in a while, checking up.”  I smiled.  My fingers tapped  the dusty screen as I started to reply.   

     I paused before pressing send, my thumb hanging over the bright send button.  Ajeeb touched my arm, motioning for me to be silent.  I pocketed my phone, the message unsent.  The loud talking echoed from the street.  Ajeeb pulled me up and we made our way toward the open lane.  We peered out, checking for our pursuers.  A minute later, we stepped out of the shade.  The assassins were nowhere in sight.  We ran back toward the Hummer.  After a minute or so, a man in black stepped out into the road ahead.  He raised his hand, a pistol materializing.  Ajeeb shouted, shoving me behind a parked car and leaping there himself.  

    We remained crouched.  Ajeeb was a load different from fifteen minutes ago.  He seemed to taste life a freedom and wasn’t about to lose it.  It was as if a spark had ignited within his large heart.  This must be what he loved doing.  I smiled.  If I got out of this, I would have two amazing stories.    

Week 8 - Midweek Post

So I have now edited my previous story, and put it into first person action verbs.  I like it a lot better now, and I'll probably work on a sequel later.  I have several ideas for it and I like them all.  Right now however, I have inspiration for a cool story that's not so different from this one so I think I'll go ahead and write it.  But here's the edited and better version of my previous post.

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    Heated bodies push me from behind.  Fevered shouts of anger fill the air.  I stumble as the crowd surges forward.  I try to back away.  The furious mob crowds me toward their front.  I pull away, struggling against the mass of surging people.  Shouts echo from megaphones, frantically urging the crowd to disperse.  

    The volume of yelling increases at the demands.  I struggle harder.  Hands shove me forward.  Another panicked warning.  The front line of the crowd hesitates momentarily.  Then they break.  Not away, but forwards.  Time stands still as I’m crushed between protesters.  I’m thrown forward against my will.  The shouting and chants reach a crescendo.  Momentarily the sounds drop in volume.  Pounding feet are the only noise heard.  Then those in the front scream again.  

    A concussion grenade blasts over the noise of the crowd.  Two more in quick succession.  The rapid firing of government assault rifles.  Smoke pluming in the air.  The screaming turns from anger to fear.  The mob of rebels slow to a halt.  I claw my way backwards.  My fight isn’t here.  Mobs are common, but this was the worst.  Men and women younger than me lay dead and dying.  The livid anger and fear is tangible, filling the sky like a flock of vultures.  Panic reigns among those around me.

    And still they don’t stop.  The crowd hesitates again.  Than several hollow shots.  Stove guns.  Homemade by rebel’s who weren’t waiting for a leader.  The relative silence around me is much too short.  A roar rises up and the mob is sprinting again.  The street is bottlenecked.  Sweaty men and women pile around riot vans.  The fallen are trampled underfoot by crazed civilians.  The policemen fire into the crowd.  More grenades.  More smoke.  Confusion mounts.  

    A foot kicks my gut as I fight for freedom.  I gag and fall forward.  My feet churn the air.  Falling is a death wish.  My hands hit the pavement.  I push, tumbling forward.  My foot catches on a grate in the roadway.  I pull and yank, screaming in frustration.  My bare foot slips out of my shoe.  Boots and heavy feet stomp my back.  My face hits the concrete.  I curl, rolling with the crowd.  

    A body passes beneath me.  Gore sticks to my clothes.  The smell of blood and smoke permeates the air.  A bullet slices through my pant leg.  Another kick.  Another dying boy.  Adrenaline drowns out all pain.  I start to lose focus.  My kid needs me.  So does my sister.  I wasn’t going to join the dead.  This isn’t my fight.  I shouldn’t be here.

    A foot crushes my neck.  My windpipe constricts.  I retch and heave, trying to stand against the sea of humanity.  I lurch forward.  Cold metal smashes into my head.  I clutch at the object.  A police van.  I grope for support.  My fingers curl around a handle.

    I rise, pressed against the metal plate.  The surging crowd floats past me.  I taste blood and my mind focuses.  I have to survive for my son.  His blonde hair.  His green eyes.  Memories hit me.  My fingers tighten their hold.  The sounds of fighting dims.  Smoke burns my eyes.  I squeeze them shut.  

    Tears stream from my face as a noxious gas hisses it's release into the air.  The crowd fades from my perception.  A sharp blow to my head.  I stand straighter, freeing my hands and swinging my fists.  Another blow.  I fall against the grey side of the van, struggling to remain conscious.  I whip my head around toward my attacker.  He strikes again and I fall.  My skull smacks the uneven concrete.  Sudden darkness sweeps away the pain.

    A knock sounds at the door.  I open my eyes from my attempted nap.  My hands shake.  I stand, walking the short distance to the door.  I grip the knob tightly and pull.  After a moment,  I sigh in relief.  My son stands in twilight, smiling.  His blonde hair hangs in his dark eyes.  I rush forward to embrace him.  

    I stop a moment before I touch him.  I can see a homeless man gripping my son tightly.  He smiles slowly.  In an offhand manner, he pulls a stove gun from his leg.  Fear catches in my throat.  I leap toward them both, but strong hands hold my arms.  The gun climbs lazily toward the green eyed angel’s head.  I curse and struggle.  The gun rests on my sons temple and they both smile knowingly.  The killer shrugs his shoulders and pulls the trigger.

    I shred my vocal cords as I sit up, bludgeoning my head against a plastic board.  It was a dream.  We are all okay.  It wouldn’t happen.  I could still protect them.  I take deep breaths, relaxing my stomach.  I focus.  A mild headache pounds a steady beat in my mind.  

    I feel around me.  Soft plastic squishes beneath my fingers.  The occasional soft or wet item lies on the surface.  I move my hands above my head.  I feel the plastic give.  I push it slowly.  It rises, exposing tall brick walls and a cloudy sky.  I lie on the edge of a dumpster, peering through a narrow slit.  I watch for several minutes, but no one appears.  I edge closer, heaving the cover higher.

    “Don’t leave yet.”

   I start, falling back and slamming the lid.  My eyes adjust after a moment.  My heart seems to falter.  I try to speak, my voice catching in my throat.  I gulp and try again.

    “Why.  Why shouldn’t I leave.”  I shouldn’t have been so demanding.  A soft apple flies into my head and explodes in worms and warm matter.  I hastily wipe at it, shaking my head until the voice speaks again.

    “Ask politely.  I’m only doing you a favor freak.”

    The voice sounds younger this time.  Maybe a teenager.  Or younger.  I lay my head on my knees and try to speak calmly.  

    “Why shouldn’t I leave?"

    “Their watching the alley.  Motion sensors.  They’ll clear out soon.”

    Now the voice sounds like an older woman.  I peer into the darkness of the dumpster.  Rain starts falling, making more conversation nearly impossible.  Water leaks from the edges of the lid.  Loud sounds of skin scraping plastic echo as the speakers move from the edge.  I slip sideways as water streamed onto my clothing.  

    After a few minutes of hushed deliberation, a flashlight lights up the dumpster.  It hits my eyes first.  I jerk away from the light as someone laughs and gets told to shut up.  The light dances over my head for a moment, before someone gives an angry scream.  

    “I know you!  You left me to die three days ago.  You looked at me and ran.  I know we're all trying to survive here, but we help each other."  The light flickers and shuts off.  The sounds of struggling overcome the rain.  A gunshot.  The sulfuric smell of a stove gun.  A cry of pain.  I don’t remember where I was three days ago, but I’m not sticking around to find out.  

    I throw off the lid and leap the twelve feet to the ground.  As my feet touch the pavement, I roll.  Simultaneously, a screeching alarm rings out overhead.  I pull my legs under me and sprint toward the nearest street.  

    Moments later, riot vans speed into the alley.  They race behind, and ahead of me.  A ladder hangs from the fire escape of an old building.  I run at the wall, kicking off.  My palms smack the metal bar and I pull myself up.  The vans roll closer.  I climb higher.  Then stairs.  I take them three at a time.  A megaphone shouts for me to hold still.  I didn’t listen.  My fight isn't with them, but they didn’t know that.  Taser wires hit the metal stairway.  

    I pull my hands from the electric rails and keep running.  I climb onto the roof.  Water pools on the flat, broken expanse.  Still running, I make for the opposite edge.  I leap around blackened pieces of once white marble.  I reach it, readying to climb down to the street below.  I glance up and hesitate.  Less than a two hundred yards away, lies the White House.  Or what’s left of it.  The country has finally gotten its wish.  The structure has been blown away.  Craters fill the beautiful park.  Rubble lies on the nearby roofs and streets..    

    Whomever was in the the riot vans couldn’t be the government.  Those left had been guarding the president.  It didn’t matter if I didn’t like it, or if it wasn’t the best turn of events.  I still have to find my son