Almost...

Hello to all. I am moving to Colorado and am very busy, so sorry I haven't been writing. Give me till the end of DecembeR!

Sorry guys...

I'm dreadfully sorry that I haven't been writing. I recently had to break up with my fiance, so just give me a few weeks and I will be back in the saddle and ready to write...just not right now. I don't even feel like breathing atm, let alone writing.

Busted hand?!

Howdy ho, kids! It's Smile Time!

Man, I sure do love that show Angel.



Recently, as in earlier today, I got something potentially exciting in the mail. DAW books has rejected my manuscript! How fun. I made this video of it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNIffA2BcdM&feature=channel_video_title

Also, I cut my hand up pretty bad today. I was breaking a toilet (the toilet that I had to install that wasn't allowing me to write this blog for the past few days. Damn shrapnel.

In lighter news I have about 70 odd pages to go in Hole in a Helmet, my ww2 novel! Here's a piece I hope you'll enjoy. I found it quite comical.

“J. C.,” Fairbanks called. “Look on your map. Where are we?”

The squad’s sniper rolled over, sighing as he tried to reach behind his backpack and grab a roll that was sticking out one of the loose pockets. He muttered obscenities as his fingers were just barely long enough to tap it.

Leaning forward in a casual motion, Mike stripped J. C. of the map and then handed it to him. The sniper sat up and gave him a nod before rolling out the blueprint of France. “By my estimations…” The man tilted his head to the left, then the right, then arched a brow.

“Bar, come check this out.”

The tall man scooted over on the ground to where he sat next to his team member. “What?”

Both men pointed to different spots on the page, whispering to each other and either nodding or shaking their heads before finally setting the paper down.

“Well?” The leader asked, a bit agitated.

“We are officially lost,” was the reply. All the men gave a sigh and fell over.

Fairbanks’ blood boiled at that. “Officially lost? How can we be officially lost? Just look for the chapel a mile from the road!”

J. C. shook his head, saying, “I wish it was that easy.”

Sharps pitched in, asking in an elevated tone, “Then what were you pointing and nodding about?”

“Then what were you pointing and nodding about?”

The sniper turned the paper around to show the squad a black and white rolled up photograph of one of his favorite models striking a pose in a skimpy wear. “She has lovely breasts, no?”

Back!

Hello chaps and chaspinugipods!

Sorry I haven't been on for so long. My computer died. It literally died. We buried it and held a service. The eulogy was beautiful. I am still in mourning.

I have been on my other computer, the one that is like a prostitute with all the viruses and problems in it, and have been getting by so far. My virus program is broken and won't update so I am having to work behind the popups of people wanting to sell me some bogus protection device. I sometimes sit back and think how well off I would have been if I had bought a condom for my computer's wire that leads to the internet. Perhaps I wouldn't have any viruses then!

So on this machine riddled with smallpox, AIDS, and Alzeimers in which it sometimes loses its train of....train of...uh....train of...I have been writing a book called Hole in a Helmet. You saw Chapter 1 in my last post. Well, a few things have prevented me from finishing this book in this wonderful month of September. For one, my back gave out again so I had to lay in bed and wait for it to heal. My fiance's grandmother and her mother's best friend died. I am getting ready to move to Colorado. Oh yes, don't forget laziness. And the lack of a working computer...did I mention laziness?...were the big factors. So what did I do? I compiled a book of every Pickup line you can imagine so I have a sister or brother book to my Confucius Say book. I literally published it today and will tell you guys more about it next week when it's published.

Recently I got the opportunity to send in my manuscript of Areoth to Dawpublishing, which is a distributor of Penguin. Within 4 months I will know if I can publish with them or not! Pray for me! :)

As for now, here is a little bit of Hole in a Helmet. I am on page 104 at the moment, so I am getting there slowly...slowly........train of...uh...train of...

“God I hate this shit,” Mike whispered to himself before exiting the room. He didn’t hate Americans, but he hated the ones in the military. Half of them seemed to be assholes and the other half seemed to be off fighting the war.

The day was young so it kept his spirits high that he would find his new company before any of them would head off. Following the directions he had mapped together from the previous night, finding the right tent was as close to being a breeze as possible. The doorway was already open, having been unzipped as the sun had made its appearance, and shouts coming from inside.

Each of the tents seemed very affective at containing the noises within them to where a shout was just a peep to anyone outside, despite the doorway being wide open.

Mike approached the tent, but right before he got to the entrance a figure shot out of it, tackling him and causing him to stumble back and drop his bag and rifle, catching the man who thrust against him. Rather than being a full-on tackle, it seemed the man had been thrown out rather than running out.

“Hey, buddy!” Mike said in reaction as he was nudged by the mass hurdling towards him. The man in his arms straightened himself out. His nose was bleeding and he had a bulge under his left eye.

Standing upright, he straightened his uniform out as though it were no big deal to be all banged up and huffed. “Throw me out of my Goddamn tent, will he?”

A voice called out from the doorway. “My tent!”

The expression on the man standing with Mike grew more intense that it had been already. The man gripped his fists and threw a miniature tantrum right in front of everyone before bursting back into the tent screaming, “I’ll fucking rip your guts out and strangle you with th-“

There was a slapping sound of skin meeting skin. This time the man came out not bent over but spinning around seemingly unable to stop his rotation. He tripped and fell into Mike’s arms, his back against Mike’s chest.

“Fuck you cunt!” He screamed back to the tent as he straightened himself up and out of Mike’s grasp.

“No thanks. I’m straight,” said the voice in the tent as a reply to his insult.

Mike was totally bewildered at what was going on. The man in front of him turned to him and pointed back at the tent saying, “Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” Upon seeing this already beaten up face, the feature that was added was now a bump on top of his right eyebrow.

The only thing Mike could do was shake his head and say, “Nope, sure can’t.” The whole time in his head, Mike was rerunning the numbers he had read on the paper through his head. On the tent in front of him was a large patch where all the white numbers read out to anyone passing by of what company and what squad of that company was inside the green miniature fortress.

As Mike slowly leaned down to pick his gatherings up, the paper he had gotten from the main office being in his pack, the man who had been thrown out twice was busy licking his wounds, wiping the trail of blood from the bottom of his chin as it had rolled all the way down.

With his belongings attached to him, he closed his eyes for a second before marching forward. Was this to be his new military company and regular company? Hopefully, he wished, the rest of them were going to be a little less aggressive than this. He had been in France for only a day and already he wanted to go home. Ducking his head, Mike made it easily into the entrance of the tent before there was a slap and everything went black.

Arg!

Noooo!! My computer died! All my saved files have been messed up!!!!

Sadly right now I have no access to all of the books I was working on before my computer died. Arg!

I'm trying to get everything sorted out. In the mean time, take a gander at a book I am working on on another computer. Keep in mind it still hasn't been edited yet...That's only when the book is complete.

 Chapter 1

There it was again. A bright summer day. Flocks of children rummaging around the ground. The record player spurting classical music with some man on a saxophone while some voluptuous woman spilled her heart out with every word that sprawled out of her reddened lips.

“Dinner’s ready!” She called out in her angelic voice, her ripe white hand which had been working to the bone pressing up against her mouth to let the sound travel. The kids didn’t mind. They were all too happy to spring up from their game of jacks and marbles games and make an innocent dash for the wooden table.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He said, slapping the cap off of a few brewskies for him and his friends while his wife poured herself a glass of sweet Merlot wine. “Kids, go wash yo hands befo suppuh. Nah I do believe I done told you once already. Listening to their father, lips licking, aching to get at the turkey that was displayed on the table, they all made their way for the two-story house on the hill.

The sun was setting but it would follow up on its promise to give them ample time for their meal. Orange light bathed the fields in front of their white wooden cottage, four children eagerly pushing each other aside to be the first to wash up.

With a small grin she sang as she set the table, the record player her aide at sanity. “Days go by…days go by…No one gets younger, but you always remained at my door…waiting for me and no one else…standing in the rain just to see a glimpse of me.”

The man smiled and set his beer down, wrapping his arms around his lady and giving her lips a small peck before whispering, “You always did love that song.”

“How could I ever forget it, Charles? Every time it was raining I always saw you sta-“

Boom

Mike was thrown to the side, his helmet colliding with Edward’s. The slapping of the metal sent a vibration right down into his head causing a slight ringing in his ears.

Edward, with his arm across Mike’s back, pried him off while screaming, “Get the fuck off of me you nitwit!”

His eyes were wide open. Not having heard what the other man said, Mike grasped hold of the rail that was used for keeping one in their seat and jerked himself forward until he was in a sitting position with the help of Edward’s shoving. At first he couldn’t see, but that all changed when a red light started to sound off right behind him.

Squinting, Mike turned around, spinning his head frantically left and right as screams and orders invaded his own personal space, of which there really wasn’t any at that time.

“Smith down!” Someone called out while pointing all the way to the back of the plane.

All heads turned, hands grasping feverishly for the railing above them. “Get a medic on him, stat!” The chief commander called out as he took a leap to his feet.

Nodding, the man with the reddened plus sign on his helmet jumped up but was soon thrown into the air as the airplane gave another jerk, a large explosion ripping their hearing from their heads. Instinctively Mike let go of the railing and slapped his palms over his lugholes only to be thrown once again on Edward. Always a hardened man, Ed grabbed the boy’s face and threw it, like a baseball, away from himself.

“Get someone else’s shoulder!” He cried and then rested his hand again on the pipe just above them all.

The medical officer, quick to his feet though definitely banged and bruised up with a bloody nose and a slight concussion, grappled with the feet along both sides of the seats, using them as bars in which he slowly dragged himself over to the injured man who had been flung all the way to the back.

“For God’s sake, men! Keep your hands on the rail at all time! We’ve been over this!” The sergeant screamed, his loud vocals being inhumanly shattering to all those in the chassis of the plane.

Despite the red light flashing right behind Mike, every so often a loud explosion would set off and a bright flash would light up the sky, a bit of that beaming into their own plane through the window.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” A scrawny boy, scared to death at only the age of 15, asked as he grappled with his Garand rifle, hugging it close to his chest as though it made the world of difference to his wits. He was relatively near the front of the plane so it took no great effort for the sergeant to hear him.

“What the fuck do you think is going on out there you putz?” The reply came from the only man daring to look out the window. Sergeant Rye was a tough man who never took shit from anybody. He knew more than the average Joe and was quick to note things, such as the fact that half of his recruits were under the age of 18, all rearing to fight in the war and lying on their applications. It was an honorable fear, but having had the experience of many men, he knew that the most unreliable person was the 15 year old next to you in a foxhole. With this attitude he never had a kind word for them.

Another explosion ripped through the air. This one shook their own airplane, forcing it to jerk a foot to the right. One could have sworn that for a split second it had been daytime. The fact was, though, that it was really the small hours of the morning.

A man in the front of the plane, clutching his legs as he bent over, was bawling his eyes out. He too was another teenage recruit. “God help me. God help me. Jesus Christ. Come on. I swear I’ll go to church and pray-“

Sergeant Rye grabbed hold of the kid and screamed directly into his ear, “Do you see God out there? The only people out there are the Germans! Now you go out there and fucking help yourself!” The man was fuming at the mouth. Mike, who watched as this happened, got the instant recognition of Déjà vu, seeing a rabid dog in the face of their leader. With his hand on the back of the young boy’s collar, the strong, grown man lifted him to his feet and, kicking the door open, threw him out of the plane.

For a second everyone was stunned, their eyes as wide as plates, their hands gripping their guns so hard that they could almost bend the metal of the barrels. With a grunt as though it were all a play, the sergeant took two steps back and looked towards all the cat eyes that glared at him.

“What the fuck are you Goddamn idiots waiting for? Get your asses out there now!” He said as he grabbed another young recruit, this one around the age of 17, and threw him right out of the plane’s door. For a split second they were all blank, but it started to occur to them that this was the real deal. For the past six weeks they had been crawling through mud, doing push ups, and firing rifles. Nothing was ever shooting back at them. The second they took a step out of the airplane they were cannon fodder. Anything goes. “Now, now, now!” Sergeant Rye screamed as he pointed to the door and waved for more people to come.

With no delay, almost like robots who had just gotten their commands, they all jumped up and formed a line in the tight space they were provided in the isle between the bench on the left and the right. “Go! Asses out! Bottoms down!” Their leader screamed as he physically pushed his recruits out of the airplane door.

In front of Mike was a man named Jimmy. Behind him was the brute of a man, Edward. The man was literally over 250 pounds of all muscle. He was so large that he could hold two submachine guns at once and fire them both off at the same time without having to worry about recoil. It was a common joke around camp that no gun would give him kick because then he’d beat the shit out of it, and they didn’t want that. Not from Edward.

Like a true warrior, Jimmy marched forward, Rye’s hand on his back, when all of a sudden a large explosion rocked them all. A horrendous, repetitive beeping sound began to roll out of the cockpit. Within seconds the plane was in a full nosedive towards the ground, the air creating a loud rummaging sound to mask the beeping. Grasping onto the rail, Mike’s skin was pressed right up against his face, his teeth bearing as his eyes squinted and almost instantly dried. He couldn’t keep them open. The wind was too much.

In the back of the plane came horrendous screams. They were too late. They couldn’t make it to the door. In Mike’s head, though, it clicked that he could. Gritting his pearl whites as the cross, which was strapped around his neck, stuck right into his cheek and stayed there as the wind piled him, he grabbed out in the darkness of his closed eyes and took a defiant grip on the doorframe, hoisting himself forward. He had always been a strong kid, but this one was beyond him. Adrenaline was the miracle here.

Looking to the side, Mike grabbed a hold of the sergeant’s jacket strap, the strap that connected his parachute to his back, and gave it a great yank, throwing the man out of the airplane. It was karma. He had been throwing so many people out, now it was his turn. At first the man’s body didn’t move, but with the help of the half conscious sergeant, the elder jumped out and immediately lifted into the air as the plane raced straight down towards the ground. The old man was one thing, but the 250 pound brute behind him was something totally different. Mike didn’t even take the chance to look back and see if Edward was still standing. There was no time. With the last amount of strength he had, the 18-year-old boy dug his nails and fingers deep into the metal and, with the grace of a sloth, hoisted himself out into the open air.

The air double-timed against his face. His eyes couldn’t open and his mouth couldn’t close. A steaming whiff of burnt metal and char brushed up against his face and entered his lungs. All he could sense were the vibrations in the air as airplane after airplane raced past him towards the ground. Wrestling with the oxygen that had done such a good job of keeping him alive for his whole life, he now fought for the buckle on his parachute. Instead of reaching an arm out, Mike slid his hand along his jacket until his fingers looped into a hook. In panic he ripped it out.

Instantly Mike was jerked upwards. His lungs gave a flip and his heart smacked against his ribcage, but he was still alive. As tears ran down his face both from the trauma to his eyes and the injustice against humanity that was being performed and the fact that he was right in the middle of it, he cracked his lids open just slightly enough to see his own plane burst into a smoldering mushroom as it struck the ground as one big heap of metal.

The noise of the siren inside of the plane was gone, but a whole new sound filled the air. Bullets whizzed and ripped past Mike. As he stayed as still as possible, almost mistakable for a statue, lead slashed and cut the sides of his arms and legs, trickles of blood staining his uniform. If he moved even an inch he could put any part of him in harms way.

Flat ground couldn’t come soon enough, though it never came at all. Unable to turn his parachute in any direction, the trees below him began to look less and lees like patches and more and more like thousands of daggers laughing at him in the early morning as they snatched and sliced at him. As he descended into a tree that seemed taller than most others, he flailed about to try and wave off the branches that struck and poked him. “Fuck France!” He bellowed as he twisted and turned. The parachute was tangled at the top of the tree. Eager to free himself, knowing he was a target just waiting to be shot, he began to tug and pull on the ropes connected to his backpack. Mike continued until he heard a sudden large snap. Again the air brushed against his face as he plummeted for the ground before landing with one leg on each side of a thick branch. His eyes crossed and he fell into the brush below him, his hands grasping his nads as he shook. He was sure that something had popped.

While lying there, bullets flung left and right. In the background were odd explosions and seemingly only a few feet away were guns going off before horrendous screams were heard followed by silence. Mike had no idea where he was, having paid more attention to the trees than anything else. Still quivering from the shock and pain of his bruised egos, his 18-year-old eyes peeped out above the tall grass. It was hard to see anything, but every so often an explosion would light the way.

To Mike’s surprise there was a house not one hundred feet away from him. The only bad part about this was that the lights were on. Regardless of if there was a parade going by, it was the one checkpoint he knew at the current time. If he turned around and marched back into the darkness he might never find his way. Lifting himself in a crouched position, the private took one step forward before falling flat into the ground, his head down and his automatic Tommy gun two feet away. The cause of his sudden drop was the worst thing imaginable at that time.

“Ich sehe es,” a voice called out. “Wir müssen schauen sie,” the other replied.

Two Germans, or what Mike could only figure as Germans, had opened the door right as he had raised himself out of the grass on his journey towards the big house. They were monsters of men. Larger than life. In their black and gray suits they looked like the Devil himself, though Mike had gotten just a split second look before eating mud.

Apart from that there was nothing. With his eyes closed and his nose puffing grains of dirt into the air, he lay there on the ground shaking. Were they still outside? What were they doing? If only all the noise from the surrounding area would quiet down he would be able to hear. Inhaling, a grain of sand slipped up into Mike’s nose. It quickly made its way into his lungs and embedded itself seemingly in the worst place it could find, hoping to cause him trouble. With wide eyes and a closed mouth, the young recruit began to cough wildly though keeping it in to where his chest pounced up and down as his lips held tight to each other, his hands clinched. Immediately, down to the millisecond, the coughing ceased as the young man heard a leaf of grass break in two.

“Hier ist es,” he heard. “Wo ist die stelle?”

“Ist der Mann tot ist, denken sie?” He heard in reply. The two voices were very different. Unlike the boys that he had been with on the airplane before it had gone into a plummet, these men were old brutes with gruff and guttural vocals.

“Gehen sie zurück innen. Hier Nichts,” he heard. What did it all mean? It was so foreign. The words alone sent chills down his on a particularly cold night. As Mike lay there, he could feel the cold metal of his chain sinking into his neck. Was Jesus with him? Or was the cross just a device that could possibly get him caught or killed now or later on? He didn’t know whether to rip it off or to keep it on, but at that moment he knew just to lay still.

Biting into his lips, the camouflage was his only defense. Mixed in with the darkness, it was all he had. The Germans for their part gave a few more undecipherable words and then turned back for the house when suddenly Mike heard the clinking of metal against metal.

“Eh,” one German said.

“Hm?” The other one replied.

Mike heard a scuffle as one man sunk to his knees, fishing along the ground with one hand. Another explosion filled the sky. As his head was turned towards the two darkened men, the flashing of the fire defined their outline. The man on the ground looked up as a comet of metal hurled just overhead. Light streaked across Mike’s eyes. Shaking in the uniform that clung to his body, his hand gently crept downward from the ground towards the 1911 pistol at his side.

The German man kneeling in the dirt, oblivious to the fact that an American soldier was not a foot away, grasped a hold of Mike’s Tommy gun and whispered back to his friend, “Maschinengewehr.”

“Amerikaner?”

“Ja.”

The two men kept their voices low despite the fact that noise was coming from all around them.

“Gehen Sie zu haus,” the standing man whispered. With a nod in the blackness the kneeling man rose, his hand grasping his newfound trophy by the middle of the weapon, half way between the end of the barrel at the butt of the gun, he crept forward using the light in the house as a beacon.

Twitching his top lip as he squinted to see in front of himself, Mike popped the cap on his pistol’s holster and, with a delicate cautiousness, slipped the .45 out of its holder. As he felt the tip of the scope on the end of the barrel graze the leather of the pelt that held it, his heart began to race even faster. Though it was a cold night the back of his neck felt as though it was on fire, nothing able to put out the flames. Every few seconds a flash across the sky would illuminate the ground, and as he looked towards the house he could see the two men brighten up, their backs pointing his way.

Shooting targets was one thing, but here were two living creatures in front of him. Being only a young chap, still in his teens, it scared the hell out of him, even if he was the one doing the shooting. Back at base it was easy to say that he was willing to kill any man who tried to take his life, though he never did as he was an extremely modest person by nature, it was much different here where not only was it possible to duck hunt with two men that were clueless to his position, but it was also necessary.

Trembling, Mike turned himself until his knees rested in two little holes that his bones bore into the wet mud. Sliding himself to his feet he kept in a crouched position, scooting forward all the while being careful not to step on any twig or step on any specific grass that could give his position away. Raising his hand, the pistol gripped inside of his palms, which were beyond sweating, a waterfall dripping to the ground, he narrowed his eyes and took aim.

Mike put a slight bit of pressure on the trigger, his throat flexing, his neck burning, and his body expelling liquids from every hole imaginable. The eyes in his head were teary when he needed them the most, his head ached as though he had been swatted with a plank and nail, and his joints each twinged with a false set of pseudo-arthritic pain. The man was conscious the whole time of how deep the trigger was being pulled back. He couldn’t just go popping off shots into the night. Not only did he have to wait for another explosion to brighten the field ahead of himself up, but he had to aim correctly, fire off two shots only, and mask them with the sound of some machine’s noise working in the near distance lest he alert the men still in the house, if there were any, that danger was near. The last thing he needed was ten Germans sprawling out of the abode.

The flashes had been going off ever since he landed, but now they seemed to be on a stale mate with what needed to be done. For what seemed like minutes there was no light. The field was pitch black and the Germans were only getting further away. Taking the initiative, deciding to possibly use line of sight when the men walked in front of his view of a window, Mike slipped to his right and wandered over twenty feet before hearing a heavy thud land behind him.

Not only had he heard it but so had the two Germans. Both spun around, their Mp 40’s raised, Mike’s Tommy gun flopping to the ground. Still there was no light.

“Wer ist da?” One man bellowed out.

“Sei ruhig!” The other one hissed.

It all added to Mike’s nerves. If they had just been shadows in the darkness, he would have had target practice. By asking a question it flooded the American’s mind that this was a personality in front of him. His lips trembled and his aim wavered. A deep breath was taken to steady himself.

There they were. Germans and an American. Both in the darkness. Both less than twenty feet away. Both aiming right at each other, yet neither knowing what to aim at or where.

Mike’s trigger finger got heavy. It would take split second timing to pull off anything. Now that they scowled in his certain direction, lying down on the ground would be foolish as his camouflage could only do so much. Moving out of their way would only cause them to notice movement and to fire upon it. The situation was a stalemate put forward by the divine himself and left to the three men of two different factions to fight it out, to test themselves as human beings and as soldiers of God. “If God before us, who is against us?” But what if God was for none of them?

Instantly a spark lit up the surroundings. The Germans, wide-eyed, caught just a glimpse of Mike before he drilled just one hole in each man before pausing as the two bodies dropped like bricks in midair.

He had done it, but he wasn’t ashamed. The adrenaline inside of his body prevented his emotions from pulling back to weep for the fallen soldiers. For the fallen human beings. They were all fighting the same war. Mike could feel the sudden tide in himself as he went from simple farm boy to man in that very instant. Lowering the pistol, the American, still in his crouched angle, scurried over to the two men.

One was clearly dead. He moved not a millimeter. Mike could see the glare of the moon shining off of the submachine gun. Its barrel pointed away. It wasn’t going to move any time soon.

The other one, the man who had grabbed Mike’s Tommy gun, coughed and gargled on his own blood. Despite the other not moving, this one wiggled and squirmed on the ground as though the American was no matter at all. He knew he had been seen already. He knew the American had taken the action and that the little duel was over. Coughing and gasping, his hands clutched his throat as blood squirted out of his veins and flowed over the side. Upon Mike’s arrival, the man’s hands were coated in a thick liquid that glowed in the light of the moon.

Mike rushed to the poor fellow right after giving a glance around to see if anyone else was there. Dropping to his knees he grabbed hold of the man’s hand and squeezed. “God I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” He whimpered. The adrenaline that had buffed him up and had shooed away his fight or flight syndrome had now come back with a vengeance, resurrected by his deeds. The soldier dropped his gun on the ground next to him and grasped the bloodied German claw with both of his hands, squeezing and blubbering. The farm boy was all of a sudden back.

His legs kicked spontaneously as his voice tried to moan in agony, but all that came out were liquidated coughs; right up until the time he slowly ended his kicking and lay there motionless, his eyes towards Heaven.

The only remaining soldier had the same feeling as though he had just been caught by his father. He remembered the lashing he used to get and could still feel them on his ass as he looked down at the silhouette on the muddied ground. With a sniffle Mike slowly rested the limp paw on the supposed corpse’s chest before crawling over to his weapons, picking them up. He had to search around for his rifle as it had bounced a bit as it had been flung and was a good three feet away. Another explosion rocked the sky as another heap of smoldering iron crashed somewhere nearby. Grasping the weapons, the soldier sat there a moment, finding himself as he looked up towards the house. It looked just like his farmhouse back home from the angle he sat in. There was the cow pen, and there were the pigs. And the chicken nest; oh how he loved to play with the chickens.

Inside of himself it was a battle. He had already done a service to the United States by killing two soldiers against his freedom. How much was enough? How much until he fulfilled his duty? Would it always be this hard to swallow? Grabbing his Tommy gun after sheathing his pistol, Mike slipped to his feet, tears running involuntarily down his face though his vision was fine and his face was calmed and relaxed, he did the only thing he could do. With a gun in his

I'm So Lazy!

Last month I did half of the Christian Joke Book I am working on, but this month I am so freakin' lazy! Oy! I guess I got burned out from reading a Swami Prabhupada book. Every time I read one of his books I feel like I am reading the same book just reworded. He says the same things over and over! I now fear reading his Baghavad Gita As It Is...

I felt inspired this month to start writing, but I have a large problem. For some reason whenever I am writing sentences these days, nothing comes out right! I think I might have computer dementia or something!...It's worrying me..

I'll give you an expert from my new book. This is the first ten pages of a sort of Christian meets timetravelers novel where two brothers keep reincarnating over and over and keep killing each other until judgment day their actions choose the fate of the human race! First off, you will notice that the first parts of this book are a bit off, for example Cain was not the animal killer, Abel was. That is part of the later dates in the story..

As for any spelling and grammar mistakes, words messed up or incomplete, that's part of the dementia! Just remember that this is not the final copy, nor have I gone over it yet to see if everything is right. That comes after I have finished the book! Here's the first 10 pages or so.

                                      Chapter 1

Cain took a deep sniff. Air filled his lungs. The oxygen just as quickly flushed back into the ecosystem, now able to recycle with the plants around him. He was waiting for something. With a rock in his little mitts, his odor stinking to high hell, he kept in the brush and waited. Casually he flung the rock up an inch in the air before catching it, a small smirk on his face. The boy, only ten years old, had been practicing his aim on rabbits. Now there were no more rabbits. But there was a brother.

It took only a few moments, but the arch in his lips returned as he peered between the bush leaves at his target. Never did it inch closer, but its path was predictable as it was itself walking on a straight path. Hidden in the bush, the sound of silence accompanying him, the boy caught the rock once more in his hand and readied it.

In minutes his target was just enough past him to where he wouldn’t scare it off if he moved. As he moved into the sun, making sure not to clash against any of the freehanging twigs, the boy Cain lifted the rock, threw his arm back, took mighty precision with his catlike eyes, and sent the rock slicing through the warm air.

Like a bullet it ripped from him, the explosion gathering force as it started to fall from the air, gravity calling it down to Earth. With the targeting and accuracy of something never seen before in history, the rock met its target with a quieted tap before falling to the ground along with his catch of the day.

In a brisk pace reminiscent of a professional sprinter, only this was a way of life, the boy dashed for the figure on the ground and eventually came upon it. In agony the collapsed vessel rolled over, its hand on its head, tears bawling from its eyes. Seeing the mass of the shadowed creature coming towards it, the being flopped dizzily to its feet and then bolted off towards the muddy hut a few meters away.

Cain huffed. As the figure got away he slowed his pace to a mere walk and approached the entrance of the building, an arrogant look of lack of amusement apparent across his features. As he entered the doorway, his mother bellowed out.

“God as my witness, Cain. One of these days you are going to kill Abel!” The fairly observant woman blathered as she applied a small cloth to the back of the young man’s dripping head.

“No, mom. He’ll be fine,” Cain replied as he lazily looked over his brother’s wound. There was a big gash and the hurt boy seemed to be very shaken up by it, but what was to be expected? A hug? Not from Cain. He was a killer. A hunter. His skills would have been legendary had they not been the only four people alive, his father Adam included.

Eve sighed. The trouble that Cain had been putting her through ever since he was born made her again scold herself for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time for listening to the snake. She was young. She was new. What else could she do? Above all she had been confused. It was a story that they, meaning her and Adam, had kept from their two sons. The best thing, they agreed, would be to just raise them in the hopes that they would be normal boys.

“Come now,” Eve beckoned as she again addressed Abel’s head wound. “You two must start getting ready.” Cain groaned. His brother, on the other hand, was a goody-two-shoes that followed every letter his parents uttered down to the T.

“Why must we go and feed grandpapa? You’ve seen his arms. He could probably make a tree faint just by looking at it. Why do we have to bring him food if he can just go and hunt for it himself. You guys always act like he created the universe or something.” With that the young man was out the door with his arms in the air in a huff. Adam placed his hand on the back of Eve’s shoulder and smiled.

“He’ll grow up, love. One day.”

The woman nodded as a tear slid down her face. She was the most unlucky woman in history, and she knew it. Hell, she was the only woman in history. By default she was also the luckiest, the prettiest, the stupidest, the smartest, and also the one most likely to be elected Ms. Sumeria for the day.

It was the end of their seven day cycle. Every few hours, of which they never bothered to count, the chariot which God housed himself in, the spark of light that illuminated the flat surface of the hills and meadows surrounding them, dashed across the sky and, for a seemingly equal time to that, the light went out and God’s house pulled the blinds down on the windows, giving peace and darkness to the lands but also allowing the most sinister of creatures to play host to the fields and jungles. On this end date, of which they counted as seven as so instructed by their holy king, Elohim, they would gather up the riches of the land they were ordered to till and keep and offer him the little bits of food they so eagerly needed. It was a heavy deed and an anchor on their hearts and spirits, Cain being the one to react the harsher than any of the others who rather kept their feet in line and their heads down.

The boy Cain was already outside, tapping his foot as he awaited his parents. While they gathered together their baskets of vegetables, packed inside of homemade straw baskets, the troubled boy was holding three rabbit carcasses by the ears, the three corpses dangling under his hand as their ears pressed firmly into his palm. He felt powerful with the bodies he held, knowing he had been the one to take them with his wit, quick reflexes, and by the skill of his workmanship as a hunter and a provider to himself only. He was extremely self reliant and if everyone in his family were to bugger off he would be able to live for as long as he needed lest some random flood cast him into the depths of oblivion.

When the time came for the three of them to eventually leave the house, they had with them beats, corn, a few apples, peaches, and a bundle of grapes that they had thrown in. It would last anyone a good few days on one basket alone, but with the three of them holding their share of what they had reaped from the land they so carefully tended to, they were indeed providing Elohim with all the food he would need until their next seven day cycle was to come to a close. The lot of them had no idea about vitamins, minerals, proteins, what have you. They ignorant thought that one could eat the fancies of Earth and could survive on one or two vegetable types alone.

The sun was bearable on this day, as it usually was on the day that their god needed something from them. The thought never crossed their minds but rather they saw it as an omen that it was a good day to approach their elder. With their baskets in hand and their spirits as low as ever, their resources being tapped for the cycle, they strut forward down a road that had been there ever since Adam and Eve had left their once pure garden. Though they had been kicked out, they hadn’t left with empty wallets, but the tending of the field had to be experimented with. God had given them a house and a road but it was their fault for not eating fruit from the tree of knowledge about agriculture and gardening. They had been too busy eating from a more sinful tree.

No words were spoken between each other. Their task was ahead of them and, being the only humans alive, they really didn’t have all too much to speak about. The weather was always the same with two days of rain a cycle and five days of sunshine, what else was there to talk about?

The path they traveled was no more extravagant than anything else they had seen on their walks. They were never attacked by the beasts of the land as they had providence over all creatures, though some got awfully close to attacking before Cain did away with them. He was a true warrior despite the fact that there were only three men alive at the time. The entrance to God’s keep was very lack of thunder indeed. The only thing to tell them that they were near their god was the fact that in the distance was a footprint that Adam had left all the times ago for the past ten years of their service. He made sure to stick his foot in the same hold every time they headed back towards the house lest the winds of time cover it up and they waddle thoughtlessly past their destination.

In the very distance, over a mile, they could see the posh golden throne that Elohim sat on. He always knew what time they were coming and he always knew to be there on time. Cain would never dare throw a rock at his grandfather, but the thought had crossed his mind at times. The fact is that the old man would probably grab it out of the air and crush it in his mighty grip. The likes of his figure had a certain godly quality to it that the young boy just couldn’t put his finger on. While he hated being around people, he always admired the physique and aura that the old man had. If he was to grow up, that was how he envisioned himself.

Being so physically active day in and day out, it took the four of them no time at all to arrive at the throne of the almighty. The radiance of the plush chair itself was a thing to behold, but the majesty of God was a thing in unto itself.

Arriving at the same time they had always arrived, or at least what they could track as the sun swung over the Earth in revolution, Adam bowed his head and came forth, the head of the household presenting his basket of various fruits and veggies he had personally plucked from the solid ground. Backing away with his head lowered, Eve herself presented her own doings. She herself put the baskets together every week while her husband Adam worked the Earth. She had also been responsible for wearing the clothes that they all wore, her cheeks in full blush every time she wore her cloth in front of her maker. Abel too brought his dish forward. He had helped his father pick some of the pieces that went into the variety. After his presenting the boy slithered backwards. Elohim, up until this time, had a great smirk across his lips. His servants, the sentient pinnacle of his creation, were making him proud.

Cain, with his head up, took a step forward. Rather than seeing any holy divine essence in the old man, he rather, with his own ego riding, thought the bright glow and power were just what made him awesome. Lifting up the dead rabbits he tossed them forward, the three landing on the ground in front of the three baskets before the feet of the king of creation.

“And if you need help skinin’ ‘em, you let me know grandpapa.”

The smile slowly fell from Elohim’s face. Such arrogance. Such disrespect. It reminded him of…himself actually. He stared down at the little snapper as strongly as the confident little boy bore his eyes back up at the powerful figure before him. There seemed to be no fear in him, no wilt or wedge that could be grabbed onto to send his Jenga blocks falling. He was a strong, mean, cold figure that would grab life by the horns and not stop pulling until the beast was dead.

God looked back towards the humble three behind him. There they were. His followers. The first three. Two of them had already sinned against him. They had quickly learned their lesson. Their faithful young son in Abel was growing up to be a very potent follower of a religion he was yet to know but soon to understand. With the humble gifts he had received, the powerful being nodded and directed them back home, there to await the next seven days of plunder that was to arrive.

\                  Chapter 2

Thus there was a great question to ponder. Good and evil. Bad and good. There being no formal religion between the only four people alive, the morals were not exactly wrong of Cain, nor were the attitudes of Adam, Eve, and Abel quite correct either. On one hand God saw that Cain had the ability to push all three of the other humans in existence around. On the other hand he saw that being humble came with respect for one’s brethren and the others they associated with. Cain got everything he wanted but was virtually an outcast while Abel had only the clothes on his skin but was accepted by the two adoring parents. There was no path that one could take where he would be both powerful and accepted. The first humans taught God that. It was a lesson he kept with him throughout the days that he spent in recorded history and after that. While he kept it in his omnipotent head, he played it out in many ways throughout the history that was to present itself. The ultimate game, though, was to see how it would play itself out up into the end of time. Judgment day.

Adam was growing old. Eve was beginning to sag. More humans populated the Earth and both Cain and Abel found themselves in good circumstances. Abel continued with caring for nature and bringing God the fruits and vegetables from the hollow grounds that belonged to the almighty. Cain, on the other hand, with his improving technology, hunted bigger game and squandered bigger pleasures. No animal was too large for him to take down, nor any woman too beautiful and upright to resist swooning in his wake. He was what every man up to that point would ever hope to be. In time his muscles grew as much as his heart did while Abel kept to himself with his little self-made cottage and the livestock that ate the pleasures from his fields. He never fenced them in because the love he had for them brought them back again and again. Birds would land on his shoulder for they knew not about the evils of man and wolves surrounded his complex, falling asleep next to the trusting rabbits that flocked the area. His own little private sanctuary was a safe haven for the creatures of the land, a break from all the killing and the bloodshed that was found on the outside.

By the age of fifty both Cain and Abel were working for themselves. Whole towns arose and cherished the abilities of the hunter. They knew of the kindhearted Abel and would sometimes use his innocence against him in taking food that they grasped with glutinous hearts. He didn’t mind, though. They could take it if they needed or wanted it. Unlike his parents back in the day, he had perfected the techniques of working the Earth to a point where it was just a matter of picking the fruits from the trees and the grapes from the vines every day. While he took in the vegetables and fruits, Cain brought in the beasts of the lands. Sometimes it was a lion. Sometimes it was a fire breathing hellhound. One time he even brought back the head of a gorgon, famed creature of Medusa. His skill quickly became legendary, but with so few people around and no writing system, he had a name that was forever lost into history with just a few verses.

On the Eve of his 60^th birthday, the muscular and still fit Cain trudged forward. Like the rabbits he had held all those years ago, he held a mere goat by the horns as it dragged behind him, its body leaving a trail in the dirt. In the tradition of his parents, Abel came forward with the same weaved basket of fruits and veggies he had come with all those years ago, every week continuing the long-held offering to his grandfather.

Christian Joke Book

Gooday Mates!

As you have read from earlier postings, I have stated that I shall have written two books in July. One being Enoch and the Extraterrestrials. The other was the Christian Joke Book.

Truth be told, since I am dealing with a lot of family, emotional, and physical problems at the moment, I think I will just have the Christian Joke Book be August's book. Sorry folks. Moving states and leaving your fiance behind is a hard thing to do!

Bear with me. I'll get it done!

In the mean time, check these sweet pictures out! The first one shows a published paper of mine being #7 of the months of July. The second one shows my Enoch and the Extraterrestrials being #40 on Kindle in the beginning of August. The last one shows my Were Ancient Gods From Other Planets being #76 for August in the beginning. I'm on my way! :D