Posted in Stories and Fiction

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 5: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5 – The Final Chapter

I reach down with my mind and find him, lying there in the weeds. Thick mud settling, closing over his head. I wrench him free. Caress his tiny blue face and the life-beat throbs again. Rise to the surface with the child and set him free.

The child breaks through the surface of the lake with a rush of water and the father stares in disbelief as his son floats to him and falls into his arms.

Alive.

A life.

Trembling.

Puzzled.

Joy.

Father carries his child up from the lake to the house.

Wonder. And I?

I watch them go and slip back down into the depths.

To sleep.

My birth premature.

Sleep.

I am broken.

Sleep.

I will not awake.

Death.

Sleep.

Joy.

Posted in Stories and Fiction

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 4: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Closer.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Face turning blue and eyes wide closing.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Struggle, thrashing in the water about me, then stillness. A twitch.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Heartbeat throbbing and slowing. One beat. Two. Three ragged chords of life. Silence.

I am waiting for my revenge.
And then, a scream, not unlike one I have heard before. Of such pain and agony. Loss of one’s own. Pain. Helpless, hopeless loss and pain.

Scream of a man for his child.

She had cried thus. Scream. Piercing my soul like a thousand needles and ripping from me that unknown emotion. Scream.

And I know.

Posted in Stories and Fiction

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 3: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Yet I have sensed a special bond between this man and his child, something which I cannot comprehend. It lies not in me. I know. I have searched many times, but though I have much, I have not this. I long for it, but I will forget all desires save one, vengeance, and push my being to its completion.
Wait. There is a movement nearby.

The child has come to the pond under cover of the dusk, away from his father’s piercing eyes. He moves stealthily down the shore with rope in hand, gazing out with grim determination. Creeping closer. Closer.

“John, where are you!?”

Call of the father cutting through the child knowing his mission must wait.
“I’m down here by the lake.”

“I thought I told you …!!”

“Yes, but I want to show you … aaaah!”

Slip and the child tumbles into the depths,
falling,
falling,
falling
down
to
me.

I am waiting for my revenge.

Posted in Stories and Fiction

Weekly Serial Book 1 Chapter 2: Witness Unseen

(Author’s Note: Early on in my blogging, to honor the old pulp magazine serials, I began a weekly serial series of my stories. I have decided to repost those stories in serial form. Each Friday will feature a new chapter until a story ends. Then I will begin a new story. Enjoy!)

Witness Unseen

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I awoke from my sleep years ago to screams of a mother in pain.

My mother.

Who had sheltered me through these centuries of fire and ice and in whose warm bosom I had safely slept, awaiting my birth. She, my faithful Keeper, screamed in pain. Wave¬ upon wave of her torment washed over me and I wept with her.

My wail joined hers.

The earth shook with our agony and the treads of the great yellow monster which chewed at her flesh for days and then spat her back out again.

Chewed at my mother.

Until those two-legged ones took the monster away and a black gaping wound remained.

Still we screamed on.

Then the rains came and washed our pain away.
I trembled with rage at my helplessness; that I, one so great, could do nothing while my mother writhed in agony. I, trapped by forces set in motion before my existence.

So I trembled and waited. I wait still.

But soon.

And you see now why I must awake and destroy them who hurt her so.

Posted in PEACE GROOVES

Today I Am Skipping An Assembly

The following is a true story. It is an essay I wrote when I was 16. While it is tempting to edit it, I offer it here in all of its innocent teenaged glory. It illustrates my early pacifist formation and my struggles with how best to live that out in a public school setting. I hope it will serve as encouragement to any young person willing to take a tough stand for peace today.

Today I am skipping an assembly.

I don’t like doing anything against the rules of the school, but Jesus’ rules come first. In the assembly, John Marsh, Secretary of the Army, will give the Charter to the JROTC they are forming here at Meridian High. I hope everything goes well, but I’m not going to it. I can’t go to an assembly whose idea is totally military. The JROTC keeps prime material for the army. Then when those kids grow up they’ll probably join the Service.

Jesus loves everybody and He died for everybody, including the Communists and everyone else the American government terms “enemies.” Jesus said that we should love our enemies.

On most of our money we have a motto. It is “In God We Trust.” If we trust in God, why do we have Armed Forces? If we trusted in God and had faith in Him, we wouldn’t need Armed Forces. God would fight our battles for us. And by showing love instead of hate and contempt, we would know even if the countries or people didn’t change, that what we were doing was right and that the Lord was with us. America doesn’t trust in God. It trusts in guns.

Jesus also said we should pray for our enemies. How can we pray for our enemies in the morning and then go out and train to kill that same someone we prayed for? Christianity and the Armed Forces don’t mix. If we truly follow Jesus whose whole life was centered around peace and love, then we cannot participate in something that is totally opposite of what Jesus stood for. We as Christians should know that following Jesus as best we can does not mean that we should disobey the things he taught. If we are followers of Him then we should put everything aside.

Jesus died for you and me and everyone else and He is the only way. Jesus wouldn’t want a JROTC, or Army, Navy, etc. that kills people He loves and died for.

1983

Originally posted here November 2011

Posted in Stories and Fiction

Cold War Kid – Portrait of a Dead Race (Now on WattPad)

The first short story of the Cold War Kid series, Portrait of a Dead Race,  is now on Watt Pad!

Find it here:
https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/84083689/write/309237146

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

The Archer

The-Archer by kmls

In the high sea of clouds,
in willowing wisps of white,
an evil lurks

The winds of the world bring
the first whisper of change,
an alien thing.

A dragon.
Red as blood, gleaming darkness,
his armor, invincible?
Heavy metal talons, drooling jaws,
acid falling, burning earth below.

It screams through the sky,
wings creaking, fluttering furiously,
breathing flame.

Men flee,
like tiny ants scurrying
from desecration
into it.

Only One holds his ground,
a bow and one arrow
in his hand.

The Man awaits,
as if to allow the dragon to
devour him.

Then with a flash,
he looses his arrow.
It soars through the air.

Blood gushing,
the dart buried deep,
the dragon crashes to the ground.

Landing on the One.

From amongst the dragon’s corpse,
amidst dying coals and wisps of smoke,
a figure crawls,
stands.

It is the Archer,
the One,
Him.

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

A Mountain Stands

A black dome rises into the sky.
Smoke and fire belches forth from its heart,
Raining hot magma upon the land.
The earth shakes and groans
as a mother experiencing new birth.
Black ash creeps o’er the land.
The once bright day grows suddenly dim.
Day passes into night
With barely a change in the sky.

Many days pass.
The air becomes clearer, brighter
As the ash is swallowed by the wind.
The mountain no longer sends its fire skyward.
Only a thin wisp of smoke curls up from its core.
Occasionally, rumbles can be heard.
But they do not disturb the returning wildlife.
Deer, rabbits, wolves, all start a new day
as may birds sing their joy.

May years pass.
The mountain still stands.
Its highest peak, almost hidden in the clouds,
is rounded by the many storms it has endured.
Its barren slopes glisten red,
As they catch the last rays of the setting sun.
The mountain stands,
having taken the brunt of Nature’s forces.

The mountain stands.
Will it ever fall?

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)”
English assignment May 16, 1983

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Death of a Monarch

Great and noble was Caesar,
All thought but eight.

In dark shadows lurked they,
Bent o’er their plans.

Noble was one only,
In their horrid venture.

For the good of Rome only,
conspired he with these men.

Envy and Mischief were in the dark hearts of the seven.

On three quarter score in the month of March,
They knelt down at Caesar’s feet,
In false recognition of his honor.

Those eight bright daggers descended,
To be dulled crimson,
When Caesar did reign,
Even his costly blood!

From the collection “Words at 16 (1983)” This was an English assignment with two classmates.