May 2024

 The Earth’s Survivors Books


Posted on May 23, 2024 by dello

 The Earth’s Survivors Books

Scroll to the bottom for a free read!

Earth’s Survivors

Earth’s Survivors Apocalypse (The Earth’s Survivors Book 1) Kindle Edition

3.7 out of 5 stars    259 ratings 3.6 on Goodreads 73 ratings

Book 1 of 8: The Earth’s Survivors #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YDAXFLE

Earth’s Survivors Rising From The Ashes Kindle Edition

3.9 3.9 out of 5 stars    100 ratings 3.9 on Goodreads 71 ratings

#Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series

Earth’s Survivors The Nation Kindle Edition

3.8 out of 5 stars    45 ratings 4.0 on Goodreads 40 ratings

The survivors are on the road looking for a place to begin again…

#Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00YDCSRTM

Earth’s Survivors Home in the Valley Kindle Edition

3.8 out of 5 stars 47 ratings 4.2 on Goodreads 27 ratings

Small bands of survivors are joining together, making their way across the devastation of America…

Earth’s Survivors: Plague Kindle Edition

3.4 out of 5 stars 16 ratings

#Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series

The Nation begins to rise from the ashes of the old world… https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0137DRAUY

Earth’s Survivors Watertown Kindle Edition

Tuesday Morning: Watertown He read the report twice and then carefully set it back on his desk. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CQ12S32J

Earth’s Survivors: World Order Kindle Edition

3.3 out of 5 stars  5 ratings

The Nation is growing and needs protection from the dead… #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01C99NG14

Earth’s Survivors: Knock (The Earth’s Survivors Book 8) Kindle Edition

5.0 5.0 out of 5 stars    2 ratings #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series

Book 8 of 8: The Earth’s Survivors https://www.amazon.com/Earths-Survivors-Knock-Geo-Dell-ebook/dp/B07H7R4F8J

Earth’s Survivors Extras

Earth’s Survivors: Collection One Kindle Edition

Contains the complete text from the first two Earth’s Survivors books, Apocalypse and Rising From The Ashes. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H7SHNTK

Earth’s Survivors Collection Two Kindle Edition

3.0 4 ratings

Earth’s Survivors Collection Two contains the complete text from books three and four of the Earth’s Survivors series, The Nation and Home In The Valley. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B013H08JI4

Earth’s Survivors: Collection Three. Outrunners. Kindle Edition

3.6 3.6 out of 5 stars 2 ratings There were three books written that were then discarded. All of the collected OutRunner books in one place. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01B42KLCE

Earth’s Survivors Collection Four: Candace and Mike Kindle Edition

The Earth’s Survivors books follow groups of survivors as they struggle to stay alive in a vastly changed world. The most popular group were Candace and Mike. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XFQ38JN

Earth’s Survivors Collection Five Kindle Edition

All gone. Hopes, dreams, tomorrows: All buried in desperate struggle to survive. The Earth’s Survivors Series follows survivors of a worldwide catastrophe. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XGQXV8Q

Take a look at a free read from book one:

Apocalypse

Copyright 2022 Dell Sweet – Geo Dell all rights reserved.

Cover Art © Copyright 2022 A L Sweet

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and, or distributed without the author’s permission. Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.

ZERO

High summer: Plague year one

Base Ostega

Northern Canada

1:00 am

The first quake had been minor, the last few had not. The big one was coming. The satellite links were down, but Doctor Alan Weber didn’t need to have a satellite link up to know that. He touched one hand to his head; the fingertips came away bloody. In any other circumstances he would be hurrying to get his head wound taken care of, but these were not just any circumstances. The entire world was ending, and it was a miracle to him that he had made it through the complex above and down into the control room of the facility before it had been supposed to automatically lock down. His office was a shamble, but his secretary had met him in the hallway having ridden out the quakes in the supply room, between the tall rows of steel cabinets: Together they had made their way to the office.

All main-line Comm links were down, probably because of the loss of the satellite systems. Underground back-up cable Comm: Down. The facility was in bad shape, and he was not kidding himself, there was no help on the way: No hope of reaching the surface and the worst was not yet here. He was probably lucky to have made it down the six floors to his office from where he had been. There was an automatic lock-down program that would shut down the entire facility within seconds of an attack or catastrophic event, it had failed somehow.

He laughed to himself, he had, had to lock it down manually once he had made his way in or else it would still be open to the world. He had blown up the two main entrances to the facility, sealing his own fate as he sealed it off from the world above.

He had spent the last several years here in the Canadian wilderness running the chemical countermeasure unit at the base. He had worked on a top-secret virus designed to prolong human life in cases of extreme deprivation: nuclear attack, war and other unlikely scenarios. He had spent the last two weeks working up to this event from his subterranean office complex: All wreckage now. Still, he had sent operatives out from here three days ago to do what they could to seed the virus: Following his final orders sent down through some now probably non-existent chain of command. He had heard absolutely nothing since and believed that was because there was no one left in command any longer.

The virus was so secretive that no one beyond the base knew the true nature of it. Even the politicians that passed bills for funding while looking the other way had not truly known what they were funding. A couple of well-placed dollars in the pocket could buy a great deal of silence.

Several Army bases had secretly been infected and studied. The commanders of the armed forces had, had no idea that anything was being tested on their men. The troops had done well, surviving their training with little food and water much better than they usually did, but over the next week nearly every bird in the area had died. Some side effect they had not been able to ferret out.

That virus build had also been crippled. It had a built-in self-destruct mechanism to kill the virus after a short amount of time. In fact, that same version had been kept as an antidote for the newest version which had no such mechanism and would go on reinfecting indefinitely.

The entire virus design and its capabilities were top secret. Top secret, and usually Top Secret meant dozens of people knew, but this time it had meant that it really had been Top Secret. Withheld from the public, and even those in charge for years had known nothing of the true nature of the virus.

Last week had changed it all. Last week the news had come down from the finest scientific minds that an extinction event was about to take place. Up to ninety percent of the world population would likely be killed off as events unfolded. It was not a maybe, it was an absolute.

The public knew that there was a meteor on a near collision course with the Earth. They had paid off the best scientists to assure the public it would miss by several thousand miles. A lie, but they had found that even scientists were willing to look past facts if their own personal spin put a better story in the mix. A survivable story, and so some had spun their own stories without prodding. From there the internet had picked it up and run with it. From there the conspiracy theorists, and by the end of the week the meteor was survivable. The story that the meteor would destroy the planet was now a lie made up by commanders of the rebel alliance in the Middle East to take the focus off their actions, the public believed what it wanted to believe.

The truth was that the meteor might miss, barely, a near miss, but it wouldn’t matter because it would contribute to a natural chain of events that would make a meteor impact look like small change.

The big deal, the bigger than a meteor deal, was the earthquakes that had already started and would probably continue until most of the civilized world was dead or dying: Crumbled into ruin from super earthquakes and volcanic activity that had never been seen by modern civilization. And it had been predicted several times over by more than one group and hushed up quickly when it was uncovered. The governments had known. The conspiracy theorists had known. The public should have known, but they were too caught up in world events that seemed to be dragging them ever closer to a third world war to pay attention to a few voices crying in the wilderness. The public was happier watching television series about conspiracies rather than looking at the day-to-day truths about real conspiracies. The fact was that this was a natural course of events. It had happened before, and it would happen again in some distant future.

In the end it hadn’t mattered. In the end the factual side of the event had begun to happen. The reality, Alan Weber liked to think of it. And fact was fact. You couldn’t dispute fact. You could spin it, and that was the way of the old world, spinning it, but the bare facts were just that: The bare facts.

The bare facts were that the Yellowstone Caldera had erupted just a few hours before. The bare facts were that the earthquakes had begun all around the world, and although they were not so bad here at the northern tip of Canada, in other areas of the world, in the lower states, in foreign countries, third world countries, the bare facts of what was occurring were devastating: Millions of dead, millions more would die before it was over, and this was nothing new. The government had evidence that this same event had happened many times in Earth’s history. This was nothing new at all, not even new to the human race. A similar event had killed off most of the human race some seventy-five thousand years before. The space race had been all about this knowledge: A rush to get off the planet and settle elsewhere on an older, more sedate planet before something that had already happened time and again happened once more.

The virus was an answer, helpsolution, but Alan Weber was unsure how well the solution would work. It was, like everything else, a stop gap measure, and probably too little too late. And it was definitely flawed, but he had temporarily pushed that knowledge away in his mind. Even now as he sat and waited for the end, which would surely come, out in the world operatives were disbursing the virus that could save humanity.

He thought for a moment, “Or destroy humanity,” he added aloud.

There were no guarantees, and there was strong evidence to suggest the designer virus did its job a little too well. Designed to help prolong life, there were rumors that it could raise the dead. Some scientists who had worked with the virus in the now destroyed facility had nicknamed it Lazarus.

Alan had seen evidence to support the rumors that it could raise the dead, or the near dead for that matter. He had been present when a test subject that had been pronounced dead had come back: Weak, half crazy, but alive again.

As the hours and then days passed the subject had become stronger, seemed to be learning from the situation it was in. The decision had been made to kill it: Even that had been difficult to do. Even so, he knew that it was the only hope for society. There was nothing else. The military machine was dead. The American government was dead. The president, from reports he had read, assassinated by her own guards.

While most of America had tracked the meteorite that was supposed to miss earth from their living rooms and had been sidetracked by all the trouble in the Middle East, he had kept track of the real events that had even then been building beneath the Yellowstone caldera and many other places worldwide.

Yesterday the end had begun, and the end had come quickly: Satellites offline. Phone networks down. Power grids failed: Governments incommunicado or just gone. The Internet down; the Meteorite had not missed Earth by much after all, and the gravitational pull from its mass had simply accelerated an already bad situation.

Dams burst. River flows reversed: Waters rising or dropping suddenly in many places. Huge tidal waves. Fires out of control. Whole cities suddenly gone. A river of lava flowing from Yellowstone: Civilization was not dead; not yet wiped out, but her back was broken.

In the small military base of Ostega that had rested above the defense facility near the shore of a former lake, the river waters that fed it had begun to rise: The chemical countermeasure unit, several levels below the base in the limestone cave structures that honeycombed the entire area, had begun to succumb to the rising river waters. By the time the surviving soldiers from above had splashed through the tunnels and into the underground facility, they had been walking through better than two feet of cold and muddy water. Shortly after that the pressure from the water had begun to collapse small sections of caves and tunnels below the base that fed the unit: That damage had been helped along by small after-shocks.

Alan Weber watched his monitor as a wall gave way and the main tunnel began to flood. It was only a matter of an hour at the most before the water found its way to him. He sighed and then relaxed back into his chair, reached down and pulled the lower file drawer open, and lifted out a partial bottle of scotch. He leaned forward and Amber Trevers cleared her throat in the silent observation room. Weber smiled and turned toward her.

“I suppose you have been watching, Amber?”

She only nodded.

He nodded back. “Share a drink with me?” He turned away, not waiting for her words of agreement. He heard her settle into a chair next to him as he pulled two plastic cups from the sleeve in the bottom drawer, left over from the Christmas party last year, and began to pour.

“I don’t usually agree to drink on the job, but this is a different set of circumstances, isn’t it?” His eyes met her own as she nodded weakly.

“It’s almost over, isn’t it Doctor Weber?”

“I’m afraid so… Call me Alan, Amber… Is it okay that I call you Amber?” He finished pouring the scotch into the plastic cup. He had stopped at just an inch in the bottom, wondered why and then filled the cup halfway instead.

North America

Far above the Earth, satellites continued to orbit importantly.

The North American continent lay sleeping far below. A wide inland sea had formed in the middle, fed by a huge river that stretched from the former Hudson Bay to the middle of the continent. Small in places and easily crossed, no more than a river: Wide in other places as if it truly were a sea.

The state of Alabama had been divided in two along with most of the lower half of the former state of Florida. What resulted was the loss of the lower, southern half of the state. What remained now sat nearly forty miles out in a shallow bay that was quickly turning to sea: An island, the water surrounding it growing deeper as time moved on and the gulf reclaimed the land.

The upper northeastern section of the continent had already pulled apart and begun to drift. Although it was imperceptible, the two land masses were inching away from one another, and ultimately would be separated by a new ocean. And become separate, smaller continents.

The eastern end of the former United States was also drifting away from the northern section of Canada. The massive earthquakes had also severed the state of Michigan, turning it into a virtual island.

Toward what had been the north, the St. Lawrence River basin had widened, pushing the land masses further apart. The Thousand Islands bridge spans had toppled and slipped into the cold waters. The other bridges that had once spanned the mighty river had also succumbed as the river basin had split and pulled apart.

The new continent had severed her ties from Nova Scotia, as she had been pulled south and slightly east, to begin her journey. Only the province of New Brunswick and a small portion of Quebec remained with the continent. The rest of Canada was severed from them by the wide and deep river, more like a huge lake in places that surged from ocean to ocean.

Most of the North American continent was now in a sub-tropical climate as well. The poles had been displaced by the huge force of the multiple earthquakes and volcanic blasts which were still ongoing. The old polar caps were melting, and it would be thousands of years before they would once again re-form in their new locations.

The run-off from the melting ice would eventually reach the oceans and even more land mass would be sacrificed to the waves before the polar caps would be re-formed.

There were only thirteen full states left on the small continent: The two former provinces of Canada, one of which was only a small fragment; and parts of five former states, the largest being Florida.

Before the dawn, fires could be seen burning unchecked in many major cities, pushed with the help of freak winds the flames continued in all directions, occasionally fueled by chemical, and oil facilities, as well as numerous other flammable sources they encountered. The world began its fall. 


Check the links above for the entire Earth’s Survivors series of books…


Home: https://www.writerz.net



0

Star Dancer


Posted on May 23, 2024 by Author Sam Wolfe

Michael Watson is the captain of an inner galaxy cruiser: He Purchased Star Dancer right out of school and has spent the last twenty years running people and supplies to outposts within the confines of the Solar System and the established bases on the Moon, Mars and Saturn’s moons. The times are changing though and the big money is in the longer out of system runs. To do that he’ll need a crew and a bigger ship, but he has the ambition and the rest just might fall into place. A new navigator, the beautiful Petra starts him thinking in a new direction and not just about Star Cruising. Maybe the next few flights for Star Dancer will be her last and he and Petra can set their sights on bigger adventures out beyond the stars…Star Dancer is an inner galaxy cruiser, transporting inmates and materials between the penal colonies on the Moon and Mars, as well as supplies and people to the bases scattered throughout the Solar System. Her captain, Michael Watson purchased Star Dancer right out of school, but the last few trips have left him longing for more adventure out in the wider expanses of space…


Home: https://www.writerz.net



0

A minor Acoustic and A minor Studio comparison


Posted on May 22, 2024 by dello

This is the commercial version recorded in 2015

This is the commercial version I did for the LP DVD. It seemed lie the longer I worked at it in my studio the farther away from the original it got…

A-minor: Copyright © 2006-2015 Wendell Sweet

Verse One: I spend most of my time filling the holes in my head. Sitting in this cell thinking about the life I’ve led. It’s all free food and therapy, but I may as well pay for something I can see… This room has a view but all I really wanna do is talk to you… It’s been so long… How could that be wrong? Everything we had was based on sex money and lies. When you left you took it all… Nothing to keep but alibis…

Hook One: What you took don’t amount to much, but I was never fixed in this world anyway… I was just sitting there waiting on a bus for the next… May as well take my time, I got… Plenty of it… Sometimes it runs late… But I ain’t entertaining offers while I wait.

Verse Two: Listen… I Just want to make this right before I go. Pay my bill or at least knock it down, I don’t know. I wish I could set us free from what we’ve done, but I figured it out, I ain’t the only one… Anyway, I ‘m just learning to walk before I fall again. I’ve been working on change, cleaning up some of this sin, but what’s the good in change… If the world’s still strange. Where’s the sense in being me, if what I was is all you see? Couldn’t stand up kept falling down and that little ball keeps spinning around… All keeps falling apart around me… you say, It will be what it will be…

Hook Two: I could never tell you nothin’ real. It was all about me all of the time. It was easier to hide the way I feel, like you were talking on my dime. I used to believe it was easier to hold it all inside… I never gave you anything… And I know how hard you tried…

Spoken: The snow is falling softly, probably turn to rain later… Sky looks that way… The air has that taste. The wind gusts hard as I step in from the cold… Feels like something familiar, but I haven’t got it placed. I find my way to the small corner table I knew would be there… Cast in shadows, but what are shadows for… And there you are, where you never were, and I find myself wishing I could touch your hand, like I could before… But I know it’s just a dream, I can’t touch you anymore. It’s raining in my mind, I can’t reach you anymore. And if I could I’d write this whole damn thing away… But all I can do is dream… It’s another rainy day…

Verse Four: I spend too much time watching the clock on the wall… You know, sometimes it doesn’t seem to move at all… All keeps stacking up… Cut’s into the emptiness that fills up this cup… And that bus is still running behind and sometimes I get so tired of standing here looking stupid… What the hell was I hoping to find… anyway. Thought about hoping a train… Getting there quicker… But thinking like that only makes me sicker… It’s like my life is stuck in A Minor or something… I don’t know what to do about it, but I know I gotta do something…

Hook Four: But I could never tell you nothin’ real… And I ain’t sayin’ nothin new… It was easier to hide the way I feel… Can you see it the same way too? If we never really had it, what was it you pretended… Was it over long before us or only started once it ended?

As I said, the longer I worked on the Studio version the more it changed. It was nearly ten years later, that had something to do with it but the feel of the song was different, Dell.

This is the original acoustic version I wrote in 2006…

Lyrics Copyright © Wendell G. Sweet 2006 ♪ ♫ ♪ Date Written; 10-01-2006

Song Title: A Minor Style: Rock – Alt

Intro

I don’t know anything I thought I knew… It’s like my life was stuck in A Minor or something…

Instrumental——–Pick up main———————————————————-

Verse One:

I spend most of my time filling the holes in my head. Sitting in this cell thinking about the life I’ve lead. It’s all free food and therapy, but I may as well pay for something I can see…

This room has a view but all I really wanna do is talk to you… It’s been so long… How could that be wrong?

(spoken)

Everything we had was based on sex money and lies. When you left you took it all… Nothing to keep but alibis…

Bridge One:

What I kept don’t amount to much, but I was never fixed in this world anyway… I’m just sitting here waiting on a bus for the next… May as well take my time, I got… Plenty of it… Sometimes it runs late… But I ain’t entertaining offers while I wait.

Hook One:

I could never tell you nothin’ real. It was all about me all of the time.

It was easier to hide the way I feel, like you were talking on my dime.

I used to believe it was easier to hold it all inside…

I never gave you anything… And I know how hard you tried…

Instrumental———————–Into Verse Two——————————————

Verse Two:

(spoken)

I Just want to make this right before I go. Pay my bill or at least knock it down, I don’t know. I wish I could set you free from what I’ve done, but I figured it out, you ain’t the only one…

(sung)

That bus is still running behind and sometimes I get so tired of standing here looking stupid…

(spoken)

What the hell am I hoping to find… Anyway…

Bridge Two:

(sung)

Thought about hoping a train… Getting there quicker… But thinking like that only makes me sicker… It’s like my life is stuck in A Minor or something… I don’t know what to do about it, but I know I gotta do something…

Hook Two:

So maybe I could tell you something real… It’s a hell of a deal…

But I can’t hide myself inside.. I need something to call mine…

If we never really had it, what was it we pretended?

Was it over long before us or only started once it ended?

Instrumental———–Finger picked back to Verse Structure———————–

Verse Three:

Anyway, I just had to write this out… Learn to walk before I fall again. I’ve been working on living, cleaning up some of this sin, but I don’t know… What’s the use in being me if what I was is all you see? Where’s the good in change if the world’s still strange? It’s like I’m still stuck in A Minor or something… I don’t know what to do about it, but I know I’ve got to do something.

Bridge Three:

Can’t stand up… Keep falling down… And the little ball keeps spinning around

Livin’ my life in blue… … …

Tell me what I can do…?

Hook Three:

But I could never tell you nothin’ real… And I ain’t sayin’ nothin new…

It was easier to hide the way I feel… Can you see it the same way too?

If we never really had it, what was it you pretended…

Tell me, how long will it be ’til this broken life is ended…?

Xtro:

I don’t know anything I thought I knew… I don’t know… I don’t know anything I thought I knew…

Instrumental———-Finger picked to stop————————————————-

Principal Chords:

Written In C Major Played from A Minor. Instrumental piece…

Am= Am – A4th – Am – A9th +7th – Am = 8 beats

Dm= Dm – D4th – Dm – D9th +7th -Dm = 8 beats

Intro/Xtro

Am G Dm F Fma7th Am G Dm Am Dm Am

Verse

Dm Am Dm Am

Bridge

C G Dm F Fma7th C G Am F FMa7th C G Am F FMa7th C G Am F Fma7th C

Hook

G Am F FMa7th C G Am F Fma7th Am G Dm

Or Alt

C G Dm F Fma7th C G Dm F Fma7th C G Am F Fma7th Am

Why I Wrote It:

This is the first song I ever wrote. It was written at Clinton Correctional Facility Annex around October 1st 2006.

I was teaching a music class and one of the students thought we should write our own songs to perform at the coming Christmas show. I was reluctant but once I got going enthusiastic. As it turned out I was the only one who actually wrote a song, and the only one who actually performed. Since then, I haven’t stopped writing. Over one thousand sets of Lyrics, not all good, but several that I like, and over eighteen manuscripts, some fiction some nonfiction, three plays six or seven journals. It was like unlocking a door that had been closed for over thirty-five years at that point. It just came out.

I have about a hundred songs that I really like. They will end up in this database over the next few years. I’ll begin publishing the manuscripts in just a few months. I’m starting with a series.

This song is about my life before prison. What changed inside of me in prison because of the people I came in contact with, and because I was tired of being me. Also I was sober. Something I had not been for over thirty years at the time I came to prison in 2002. There is music for these lyrics. I’m writing this in October of 2012 as a free man after ten years in prison.

Yes, it’s very long, about nine to eleven minuets depending on the instrumentals. It should be here somewhere recorded as should the sheet music…


Home: https://www.writerz.net



0

A Minor Acoustic – Original Audio


Posted on May 22, 2024 by dello

Intro

I don’t know anything I thought I knew… It’s like my life was stuck in A Minor or something…

Instrumental——–Pick up main———————————————————-

Verse One:

I spend most of my time filling the holes in my head. Sitting in this cell thinking about the life I’ve led. It’s all free food and therapy, but I may as well pay for something I can see…

This room has a view but all I really wanna do is talk to you… It’s been so long… How could that be wrong?

(spoken)

Everything we had was based on sex money and lies. When you left you took it all… Nothing to keep but alibis…

Bridge One:

What I kept don’t amount to much, but I was never fixed in this world anyway… I’m just sitting here waiting on a bus for the next… May as well take my time, I got… Plenty of it… Sometimes it runs late… But I ain’t entertaining offers while I wait.

Hook One:

I could never tell you nothin’ real. It was all about me all of the time.

It was easier to hide the way I feel, like you were talking on my dime.

I used to believe it was easier to hold it all inside…

I never gave you anything… And I know how hard you tried…

Instrumental———————–Into Verse Two——————————————

Verse Two:

(spoken)

I Just want to make this right before I go. Pay my bill or at least knock it down, I don’t know. I wish I could set you free from what I’ve done, but I figured it out, you ain’t the only one…

(sung)

That bus is still running behind and sometimes I get so tired of standing here looking stupid…

(spoken)

What the hell am I hoping to find… Anyway…

Bridge Two:

(sung)

Thought about hoping a train… Getting there quicker… But thinking like that only makes me sicker… It’s like my life is stuck in A Minor or something… I don’t know what to do about it, but I know I gotta do something…

Hook Two:

So maybe I could tell you something real… It’s a hell of a deal…

But I can’t hide myself inside.. I need something to call mine…

If we never really had it, what was it we pretended?

Was it over long before us or only started once it ended?

Instrumental———–Finger picked back to Verse Structure———————–

Verse Three:

Anyway, I just had to write this out… Learn to walk before I fall again. I’ve been working on living, cleaning up some of this sin, but I don’t know… What’s the use in being me if what I was is all you see? Where’s the good in change if the world’s still strange? It’s like I’m still stuck in A Minor or something… I don’t know what to do about it, but I know I’ve got to do something.

Bridge Three:

Can’t stand up… Keep falling down… And the little ball keeps spinning around

Livin’ my life in blue… … …

Tell me what I can do…?

Hook Three:

But I could never tell you nothin’ real… And I ain’t sayin’ nothin new…

It was easier to hide the way I feel… Can you see it the same way too?

If we never really had it, what was it you pretended…

Tell me, how long will it be ’til this broken life is ended…?

Xtro:

I don’t know anything I thought I knew… I don’t know… I don’t know anything I thought I knew…

Instrumental———-Finger picked to stop————————————————-

Principal Chords:

Written In C Major Played from A Minor. Instrumental piece…

Am= Am – A4th – Am – A9th +7th – Am = 8 beats

Dm= Dm – D4th – Dm – D9th +7th -Dm = 8 beats

Intro/Xtro

Am G Dm F Fma7th Am G Dm Am Dm Am

Verse

Dm Am Dm Am

Bridge

C G Dm F Fma7th C G Am F FMa7th C G Am F FMa7th C G Am F Fma7th C

Hook

G Am F FMa7th C G Am F Fma7th Am G Dm

Or Alt

C G Dm F Fma7th C G Dm F Fma7th C G Am F Fma7th Am

Why I Wrote It:

This is the first song I ever wrote. It was written at Clinton Correctional Facility Annex around October 1st 2006.

I was teaching a music class and one of the students thought we should write our own songs to perform at the coming Christmas show. I was reluctant but once I got going enthusiastic. As it turned out I was the only one who actually wrote a song, and the only one who actually performed. Since then I haven’t stopped writing. Over one thousand sets of Lyrics, not all good, but several that I like, and over eighteen manuscripts, some fiction some non fiction, three plays six or seven journals. It was like unlocking a door that had been closed for over thirty five years at that point. It just came out.

I have about a hundred songs that I really like. They will end up in this database over the next few years. I’ll begin publishing the manuscripts in just a few months. I’m starting with a series.

This song is about my life before prison. What changed inside of me in prison because of the people I came in contact with, and because I was tired of being me. Also I was sober. Something I had not been for over thirty years at the time I came to prison in 2002. There is music for these lyrics. I’m writing this in October of 2012 as a free man after ten years in prison.

Yes it’s very long, about nine to eleven minuets depending on the instrumentals. It should be here somewhere recorded as should the sheet music…


Home: https://www.writerz.net



0

Walmart


Posted on May 21, 2024 by dello

Dell 12-18-23

Walmart: We went out to start the Van three days bac and it had a dead battery. Turns out the ground was loose and so it wasn’t properly charging. Funny, we just had winter tires put on at Walmart, an Oil change and the Van winterized. Guess they missed it.
So, I thought, okay, I’ll buy a new battery, just to be safe, and I looked up one on Walmart, it said it was in stock, and ordered it and they said it would be delivered the same day. Three days ago. It never showed up and the next it changed from preparing to order placed and stayed there. Yesterday I called and they said there was a delay, and it would be delivered within two days.
Today I called again since the order had changed to delayed and stayed there for all three days. No email, no notifications of any kind, and of course no battery.
Today they told me the store did not have the battery at all. My option was to cancel it and since I had no choice I did.
So, like an idiot I went back to Walmart online and ordered a battery charger/booster so I could at least get the damn thing started and get somewhere where I could buy a battery if needed. Walmart had three in stock, and I said to allow a replacement if needed, so that should solve it. I paid for express to get it quick as we have now been without a car for 3 days, and so, it was set to show up in an hour. In about 10 minutes I reloaded the page and Walmart informed me they were out of the chargers and all replacements for it and so it would be shipped if they could find a store that had one.
Another customer service call and I was told I could not cancel it until the hour was up. I waited, called again and canceled it. They gave me a 2 dollar refund. What? Where’s the other fifty.
It ended up that they had no solution. They agreed to refund ne within five working days. So, I am out about 150.00 and still can’t start the Van. So I went to eBay and ordered the same charger/booster for under fifty bucks delivered and it will be here eventually.
Lesson? Big corporations do not care about you, also Walmart sucks, and so do their employees who don’t bother to do their jobs by at least notifying you when something doesn’t go right. I removed all my credit-cards, and I am done with Walmart.


0

Notes from the Edge 02-27-2024


Posted on May 20, 2024 by dello

Fort Drum NY

My Home Town

Fort Drum

Fort drum is the nearby military base (U. S. ARMY) to me: As in just a few hundred feet away from my house. The Tug Hill Plateau adjoins it and that adjoins millions of acres of Forever Wild Lands that extend from Northern New York far into Southern New York. I live in a tiny village of a few hundred people; the closest city is about seven miles away, and small for a city: In fact, this whole area probably would have slipped into oblivion years ago if not for the base, which also happens to be the largest military winter training facility in the world.

The ARMYs 10th Mountain division is stationed here yes, the same men and women who fought in Afghanistan and Iraq for years now and will be coming home for good very soon.

In 1907 the Black River Great bend area was first used by the NY Guard for summer maneuvers as Camp Hughes. In 1908, Brigadier General Frederick Dent Grant, son of General Ulysses S. Grant, was sent there with 2,000 regulars and 8,000 militia. He found Pine Plains to be an ideal place to train troops. The following year money was allocated to purchase the land and summer training continued there through the years. With the outbreak of WWII, the area then known as Pine Camp was selected for a major expansion and an additional 75,000 acres of land was purchased. By Labor Day 1941, 100 tracts of land were taken over. Contractors then went to work, and in a period of 10 months at a cost of $20 million, an entire city was built to house the divisions scheduled to train here. Eight hundred buildings were constructed; 240 barracks, 84 mess halls, 86 storehouses, 58 warehouses, 27 officers’ quarters, 22 headquarters buildings, and 99 recreational buildings as well as guardhouses and a hospital. The three divisions to train at Pine Camp were General George S. Patton’s 4th Armored Division (Gen. Creighton Abrams was a battalion commander here at the time), the 45th Infantry Division and the 5th Armored Division. The post also served as a prisoner of war camp.

Pine Camp became Camp Drum in 1951, named after Lt. Gen. Hugh A. Drum who commanded the First Army during World War II. Camp Drum was designated Fort Drum in 1974 and a permanent garrison was assigned. In January 1984, the Department of the Army announced it was studying selected Army posts to house a new light infantry division, the 10th Mountain Division. Fort Drum was chosen and has been reaffirmed as the division’s home base a few times since then.

Originally activated as the 10th Light Division (Alpine) in 1943, the division was re-designated the 10th Mountain Division in 1944 and fought in the mountains of Italy in some of the roughest terrain in World War II. On 5 May 1945 the Division reached Nauders, Austria, beyond the Resia Pass, where it made contact with German forces being pushed south by the U.S. Seventh Army. A status quo was maintained until the enemy headquarters involved had completed their surrender to the Seventh. On 6 May, 10th Mountain troops met the 44th Infantry Division of Seventh Army.

Following the war, the division was deactivated, only to be reactivated and re-designated as the 10th Infantry Division in 1948. The division first acted as a training division and, in 1954, was converted to a full combat division and sent to Germany before being deactivated again in 1958.

Reactivated again in 1985, the division was designated the 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry) to historically tie it to the World War II division and to also better describe its modern disposition. Since its reactivation, the division or elements of the division have deployed numerous times. The division has participated in Operation Desert Storm (Saudi Arabia), Hurricane Andrew disaster relief (Homestead, Florida), Operation Restore Hope and Operation Continue Hope (Somalia), Operation Uphold Democracy (Haiti), Operation Joint Forge (Bosnia and Herzegovina), Operation Joint Guardian (Kosovo), and several deployments as part of the Multinational Force and Observers (Sinai Peninsula).

Since 2001, the 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry) has been the most deployed unit in the US military. Its combat brigades have seen over 20 deployments, to both Iraq and Afghanistan, in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom.

When records speak of land acquisition for the base, they omit some things. First, we’ll go back a way. Joseph Bonaparte had himself smuggled into New York. This is the older brother of Napoleon. Eventually he purchased large tracts of land in upstate New York in 1818, some 150.000 acres.

The towns of Wilna and LeRay were included in these tracts. By 1819 he established a land office in Carthage New York (About ten miles from my home). He acquired another 150.000 acres encompassing most of the North Country as we know it now, and set his headquarters up in Natural Bridge, just a few miles away from me. He built a huge mansion in that area as well and resided there for many years with a mistress that lived there for many years after he had left and could often be seen walking along the road.

When the military annexed the land to enlarge the base, they purchased the entire village of LeRay including the mansion (Pictured above). The entire village, farms, homes, roads, and township line were moved. The old village, farms and roads have been used for military maneuvers since that time. The Mansion was restored and is used to house visiting dignitaries to the base.

As a young boy, 10 or 11, I would spend my weekends at the base selling newspapers along with my friends. The barracks were full back then, young G.I.s from all over the country. They would buy every paper we had just because they were bored, and they wanted any news from anywhere. Most of those young soldiers would soon be bound for Vietnam. We would pile into a neighborhood man’s pickup truck and he would load us up with papers and drive us out to the base, then Camp Drum. Past the gate/entrance without slowing and then turned loose to wander the entire area freely.

In my twenties I drove Taxi and Fort Drum was the destination of choice for most of my passengers. The weekends were full of either picking up soldiers or dropping them off. The base was wide open. The main entrance then was one that still exists just down the road from me but is not used any longer. There might be a guard in the guard house as you entered the base, but they would just wave you through, no problem.

Later in my 30s I would go digging for bottles on the base. You had to check into the base commander’s office to let them know you were there, and approximately where you would be, and that was it. I would search the old roads, houses and farms. I had quite a collection before long: All sorts of old bottles and other artifacts from the former town of LeRay.

I was away from this area for decades. Now the base is much larger. The entrance has been moved several miles away, and the entrance near me is closed. You are no longer able to enter the base unless you are stationed there or a civilian who works there, and I’m sure there are no little kids selling newspapers. I have not driven Taxi in decades, and I know no-one from that life, so I’m unsure what they have to do for clearance, and or access to the base, and I’m positive no-one is digging for artifacts in what used to be the old town of LeRay.

I hope you enjoyed this short history. I have lived my entire life around this base, and it is what keeps the economic engine running here in Upstate New York.


Home: https://www.writerz.net


Need a book written? Click Here



0

Notes from the Edge 5-20-24


Posted on May 20, 2024 by dello

 Notes from the Edge May 20th 2024

Good afternoon. I have to leave to take care of some things and so I thought I would do this blog beforehand, so it gets out. I have been working late and my wife as well, so we watch programs or listen to programs and glance at the screen occasionally while we work. If the story is good the work doesn’t get done so we stopped doing it that way and began actually taking time at night to watch TV together, you know like normal people do.

Last week we finished up You on Netflix, at least until the next and final season rolls out and we began watching Under the Bridge on Hulu. Both compelling shows. I’ve seen reviews that liken You to Dexter. Maybe in a very generic sort of way. But not much. You is about a man named Joe who is a stalker who gets obsessed with the women he stalks, falls in love and then the first time they show they do not feel the same he decides he has to kill them. That is the plot loosely. Recommended if you like dark thrillers.

Under the Bridge is about a young girl who is murdered by another young girl, part of her peer group and a gang of their own. Dark thriller also. A reporter comes to town to write a story and becomes personally involved because she has her own past to uncover, and she is from that same town as well. I don’t think I spoiled anything in either explanation. They are both worth watching if you are into the dark side of psychological thrillers.

I left you a free short story from the short story collection Crime Time. I hope you enjoy it and I will be back tomorrow, Dell…



CRIME TIME

Dell Sweet 2017 all rights reserved foreign and domestic.

LEGAL

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places or incidents depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual living person’s places, situations or events is purely coincidental.

Portions of this novel are Copyright © 2010 – 2015 Dell Sweet. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, electronic, print, scanner or any other means and or distributed without the author’s permission.

Permission is granted to use short sections of text in reviews or critiques in standard or electronic print.


Crime Time: Nine short stories from Author Dell Sweet…


PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS

Nine Fifty-Nine A.M.

I lowered my wrist to my side, settled myself back into the shadows of the treeline and raised my binoculars to my eyes.

I swept the back deck and rear entrance, shot across the fence to the next house in line: Nothing; and nothing. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I had been wrong all along.

Being a private detective isn’t all thrills. Most of the time it’s doing exactly what I was doing: Sitting and waiting. For hours sometimes, with little to show. Other times you just happen to walk into the middle of something, get everything you need in those few seconds and feel a little guilty about even charging for it, let alone keeping the retainer: If there was a retainer… But of course I always fight past that. After all money, making a living, is why I do this job.

Apparently this job wasn’t going to be one of those kinds of jobs, but what kind of job was it going to be? Hard to tell.

I was watching the house of Paul and Melinda Fields. At Melinda Field’s request. She was a friend of my wife Joan. So you would think that the request would have come from my wife to help her friend, but it had not. It had not come that way at all. It had come instead in the form of a phone call to my office. Melinda had called and asked me to meet with her, and she asked me to keep it quiet. She didn’t want her friends to know, meaning my wife too, I concluded.

I was okay with that. You get a lot of that sort of thing as a private eye. People think odd things, maybe they’re even a little paranoid. If a woman or a man thinks his or her loved one is cheating on them they sometimes want to keep the information as quiet as possible. They want to know. You’re the private dick so it’s okay if you know, but they don’t want anyone else to know.

This was day two and I was about to burn up the retainer. I had nothing at all to show for it. But as I said that is the private detective game most of the time. Waiting and seeing. I simply hadn’t seen anything. Well, almost nothing. Apparently Paul did keep things from his wife. Right now, for instance, he was supposed to be at his office. He wasn’t of course. Joan had left for work, but he hadn’t. And more than once he had checked the windows as though he were expecting someone. Peeking out of the drapes; sliding the deck door open and peeking out before he stepped outside… Sipping his coffee as he looked around and then quickly stepping back inside. Odd.

Odd, but not exactly indicative of much of anything at all. He had done nearly the same thing yesterday and I had wasted nearly four hours watching him pace the deck, check the windows, pace the kitchen, refill his cup, pace the deck some more, and then finally get in his car and drive to the office in the early afternoon.

Paul Fields was a contractor. Not one of the big ones, but not one of the small ones either. They lived in a nice subdivision. Melinda sold real estate. Between the two of them they did very well. She drove a nice BMW and he drove a new Ford pickup. One of the big ones with the big price tags. It looked as though it had never hauled anything in its life. All shiny black and chrome. Lots of chrome.

The man lived in Jeans, work boots and button up chambray work shirts. He was in his early forties, looked thirty five. Fit, attractive in some ways. I could see why she might think he was  screwing around. I just didn’t see any evidence of it if he was. Maybe, I thought, I should have run it past Joan. Maybe she felt this same thing a few times a year, once a month: Who knew. The only thing that had stopped me was that Melinda had made it a condition of hiring me. And so I hadn’t.

I lowered the glasses, slipped a cigarette from my pack and lit it, and then settled back to smoke as I watched. I know, they’ll kill me, but isn’t life killing us all every day? I know, I know, excuses. I got a ton of them.

I took a deep drag and blew the smoke out my nose. I glanced at my watch. Another hour and that would be it.

It was about then that things got interesting. Paul had, had the drapes open on the rear sliders. They suddenly swept shut. My first thought was that he was about to leave for the office, but out of the corner of my eye I caught a taxi drift up to the curbing a couple houses down and stop. It sat idling for a few moments and then the back door popped open, a woman stepped out and hurried off down the walk toward Paul’s house.

I got the camera up and snapped a few dozen pictures before she was out of my line of sight, but who knew what they might be worth? She was moving fast and her face was not fully turned toward the camera. She had one hand up, brushing at her hair as she walked. I changed the card and slipped the other into my pocket. I hated to be short when I needed to shoot.

There was a gap in the drapes. I couldn’t see much through the shadows as I focused with my binoculars. The digital camera didn’t offer much better on zoom, but I clicked a few shots off anyway. Many times I had found the money shot in the pictures I didn’t think would be worth anything at all. I then began to scan the second floor bedroom drapes for movement. There was a set of sliders there too that opened onto an upper deck.

A little movement caught my eye so I kept the lens focused there. Something or someone brushed up against the drapes, they stuttered open for a brief instant and I clicked off another dozen shots out of habit. You just never knew where the money shot was going to be, or if there was even going to be one, but if you didn’t shoot you couldn’t get anything.

I put in another hour, but there was nothing much to see. I had just about made up my mind to shift my cover to the front of the house just in case she slipped out earlier than I thought she would, when a taxi rolled up to the curb of the house next door, and then coasted to a stop, presumably, out of my line of site in front of Paul’s house. I cursed under my breath. Piss poor planning on my part. No other way to see it. I could have gotten a clear shot of the woman, whoever she was.

All in all it made no difference though. The retainer was shot, and most people never went past the retainer. He was fooling around with someone, most likely, and maybe one of the shots I took would even be enough for Melinda to recognize who the woman was. If proof was all she was after she had that.

I retreated back into the woods and made my way to a dead end service road where I had parked earlier, tossed my gear onto the front seat of the beat up old Dodge I used for surveillance, and followed it in. A half a day shot. I had another case to look into, a simple straight forward process serve. I had some good information on where the person should be, hopefully she would be. Maybe it could be a slam dunk kind of day. Well, except for missing the exit shot. I cursed once more under my breath as I keyed the old Dodge and headed back into town.

Nine Twenty-Seven P.M.

I shifted into park, dropped the keys into my coat pocket and levered open my door. At the last moment I turned and retrieved my binoculars, camera, and the small .380 I usually carried when I was somewhere where unexpected things might happen.

The process serve had been a bust, I was tired and grouchy. I palmed the small gun in one hand: I had found myself in the woods more than once on surveillance jobs. Bad neighborhoods a few times too. The .380 was small in my hand, but a large comfort in my head.

I had started with the gun after a friend of mine who worked for the PD and moonlighted as a private eye, small stuff, mostly process serving, had been ambushed by an angry husband he had been trying to serve divorce papers on. He’d been shot four times and had barely survived the hurried ambulance trip to the hospital emergency room. The PD career was done, and the private eye stuff too, although a few of us threw him a bone when we could: When he was sober. I decided I’d rather have something to show.

I had nearly bought a .44 caliber, but one test fire had convinced me to leave that for something smaller and hopefully non fatal. I know, I shouldn’t really be concerned with that. After all, if I am going to have to use a gun to defend myself it should be capable of laying someone down. I just haven’t been able to believe in it yet. I have flashed the .380 twice and ended violent confrontations right there. My ex-PD friends say don’t pull it unless you mean to use it… Maybe… Someday.

I dropped the camera and the gun into my other coat pocket, wound the binocular strap around my hand and walked around the back to where my office is. Joan and I have a deal. I don’t track whatever I have been walking through all day into the house and she won’t divorce me. She was that passionate about it. I emptied my pockets, slipped off my boots I used for the woods, which did, I noticed, have something that could have been mud, bear shit or even dog shit that I could have picked up crossing my own back yard, on them: Joan’s poodle, Mister Tibbles. We’ve agreed to hate each other. I thought about a sniff test, decided to pass, I never could distinguish poodle shit from bear shit anyway, slid on my slippers and walked the shoes to the back door.

Joan called down from the upper level, probably the kitchen. More specifically the bar that was just off the kitchen. My office was on the lower level. You could translate that as basement and you would be correct. I would only add converted basement.

“Yeah… It’s me,” I called back.

“Be careful in the backyard. I took Mister Tibbles out and I couldn’t see where he went.”

That answered that question. “Uh huh,” I answered.

Nothing else floated down to me. I left the landing and walked down to my office. I transferred the pictures off the two cards, then opened my image program as I dialed Melinda’s number. She picked up on the first ring. Her voice low, sexy. It said, “Please buy this property from me, baby.” Sexist, yes, I know. I try not to be. And I felt even worse about being one because of the bad news I was about to give her.

“Mike,” I said.

“Oh… Mike.” She sounded surprised.

I ignored it as I loaded the pictures and searched through them one by one. “Melinda, I have some bad news…. I’ll send you a report on this, but I thought I should call and talk to you just the same… Instead of you reading it in a report.” I searched through the thumbnails as they came up. “I have a few things left to do, but essentially… You were right, Melinda… There’s no easy way to put it, your husband, Paul, is seeing someone.”

I continued flicking through the thumbnails and selected two that might be useful. One shot through the upstairs drapes showed a woman. I ascertained that from the dress she wore. Her face however was turned away from the camera, a blurry blob in shadow.

The second photo showed her hurrying from the cab. Part of her face was obscured by one hand. I would work on both photos and try to get something that Melinda could identify. Melinda stayed silent on the phone.

“I don’t know who the woman is,” I admitted. “She outfoxed me and that doesn’t usually happen. Maybe she was being careful or maybe she’s a little paranoid… I…”

“I know who she is, Mike.”

I stopped. “You do?”

“Yes… I… I had hoped you would identify her though… I wanted to be absolutely sure.” She said sure, but she sounded very unsure.

I transferred the two pictures to some other software, started with the first one from the bedroom shot through the drapes, and selected the areas to work on.

“Mike,” Melinda said even more softly.

“I’m looking over a few photos I shot right now. Trying to get a good, clear face shot,” I told her. She sounded on the verge of tears. Like she was unraveling over the phone. It made me wish I hadn’t addressed it over the phone at all.

The face became clearer pixel by pixel. I have a good machine, it didn’t take long, and I didn’t have to bother with the other photo. “The picture’s coming up, Melinda,” I told her, but my words clogged in my throat as the picture finally came up, and I fell silent myself. She spoke into my silence.

“Mike… I would have told you, Mike… Mike?” She sounded panicked.

“What?” I managed.

“I wasn’t sure… Not completely, Mike.”

“But you hired me to find out? Me? Why didn’t you hire someone else?” A hard ball had settled into the pit of my stomach.

“I… I don’t know… I thought… I thought… I thought you would want to know… Mike… Mike I didn’t really think it through. I was angry… Upset… I wasn’t thinking straight, Mike. I wasn’t.” Now it was her turn to fall silent. I could just barely hear her breathing over the phone in the hardness of the silence.

“I’ll send the retainer back, “ I said at last into the silence. “You… You know maybe this was best… I don’t guess I would have wanted one of my friends to be the guy on this… Finding out. It’s just a little hard to think right now.”

“Sure it is,” She agreed. “I’m so upset.” She sobbed once as if trying to choke it back and then the soft sound of her crying came over the phone.

I was not at the point of tears. I was at the point of anger. That hard place where it’s brand new and you can’t seem to swallow it down. I was there, at that place. It’s a hard goddamn place to be and I realized she had been there too, maybe still was. It was also a dangerous place to be.

“I have to get the hell out of here,” I told her. Twice I had found my eyes locked on the .380 where I had set it on the desktop what seemed like a million years ago.

“Me too… It makes me sick to know it for a fact.” She was still crying, but trying to get herself under control.

It was spur of the moment, but my mouth opened and with no artifice the words tumbled forth.

“I have a cabin… It’s nearly the weekend… Up in Maine… It’s a drive… Isolated… A good place to think.” Silence from the phone. “If you wanted to… Oh hell.”

She laughed a small laugh, followed by sniffles and a few seconds of silence. “I’ll meet you somewhere?” She asked.

“Airport? … You could leave your car in the long term lot… Pick it up Monday or so…”

“Let me get some things together…” She went back to crying for a few moments. “I’ll just… Just leave him a note.” She laughed again, sharply this time. “You know what, I won’t… I’ll be there in… An hour? An hour, Mike?”

I nodded and then realized she couldn’t see that. And so, I told her I would meet her there in an hour. I clicked off, slid the phone into my pocket and just sat there for a moment. My eyes dropped back down to the gun, and it seemed to hold me hypnotized for a length of time. Like a spell I had to break. I forced myself to look away. I got up and walked away from it. I went up to our bedroom and filled an old suitcase.

I half expected Joan to walk in, see what I was doing and stop me, but she didn’t. I expected her to say something when I came back down the stairs and crossed through the kitchen to the back door, but again she didn’t. If she was sitting there in the gloom of the bar area or had migrated farther into the shadows of the living room, I couldn’t say. She said nothing. Mister Tibbles growled lightly and that was it.

I moved the car, backed my Jeep out of the garage and out into the street. A few minutes later I was cruising the interstate through the darkness, heading for the airport.


If you enjoyed it consider getting the book at Amazon.

Crime Time

Crime Time is a collection of nine crime stories from author Dell Sweet. From short stories to near novel length… #Crime #Fiction #DellSweet #Kindle #Amazon


Home: https://www.writerz.net



0


Posted on May 20, 2024 by Author Sam Wolfe

 

Sam
Wolfe

In The Moonlight:

In The Bathtub Again

Gizzel

The water was perfect, I thought, maybe a little too perfect… It was
putting me to sleep.

I rested my head against the rim of the tub and drifted. It really was
relaxing me. I tried to follow that thought, but found that I couldn’t. My
eyelids felt heavy. Too heavy. Heavier than normal… Weighted. It took so much
effort to open them.

I tried to focus my thoughts, but every time I opened my eyes the bathroom
swam in and out of focus and I had to shut them once more. As I tried to make
sense of it a face swam into view, it panicked me, but even so there was no
physical reaction from me at all. Even the panic I felt seemed removed. Aloof.
Panic felt by a disinterested party. Like it was a reaction that belonged to someone
else instead of my own.

“Hey,” he said. A young guy. Unshaven. Wild hair. I could smell the street
on him.

His teeth were yellowed and chipped. Looked to be blackening in places I
saw. His tongue continuously licked at his cracked lips. I couldn’t speak.
Wouldn’t have known what to say if I had been able to, and I was having a very
hard time keeping my eyes open. The lights were too bright.

“Hey,” he said again. “I didn’t know you would be naked… In a bath tub…
He didn’t say that… I’m sorry…. I really am sorry.” His hand swam into view
as I watched. Normal except a black lump seemed to be fused to it. A black lump
with a blacker hole in the end of it. Fire spat from the blacker hole. The
lights went out… #Scifi #Fantasy #Horror #Mythology #SamWolfe

https://books.apple.com/us/author/sam-wolfe/id1308114944

https://www.writerz.net

0