Witch Hunt – Ch. 3

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“I can’t believe you’re doin’ this, dude.”

JD rattled around in some boxes tucked into a corner of the walk-in closet in his bedroom, Dillon leaning against the door jamb watching him as he fished out the equipment he needed.

“I made all the arrangements. I accepted the commission. I told the client I would be there, and when … what’s so hard for you to believe?”

“That a guy who’s all scientific will have to click here to continue reading this entry

Witch Hunt – Ch. 2

Just joining us?  You may want to start at the beginning!

The phone on his hip began buzzing immediately as he struggled to open the door, the bags of groceries laced over his wrists. The plastic handles dug deep into his skin as he stumbled inside, grimacing in pain and struggling to get through the living room into the kitchen beyond, hefting the rattling white bags atop the counter.

Dillon shuffled in after him, more bags dangling from his fingers. He kicked the door closed behind him and ambled through the living room after JD.

“Hello?” JD puffed into his phone as he put it to his ear.

“Hey, baby,” Wendy’s voiced cooed. “Have you missed me?”

“Oh, hi!” JD sang, his face brightening. “I was just going to click here to continue reading this entry

Witch Hunt – Ch. 1

(If you like this, you can view the whole thing on the Witch Hunt page.)

Dillon walked out of the busy little gas station building, a look of disconcerted irritation on his face. He stopped after a few feet, gripping his pants near the top of the thigh and lifted his foot off the ground slightly, shaking it and hopping on his balance leg. He wiggled his hips as he walked a few more steps, then repeated the jiggling hop-dance, bending his knees and shifting his hips. He continued toward the car, pausing to do his bizarre ritual like a mating exotic bird.

JD watched carefully as he approached. He was filling the car with gas, his face stamped with a sort of confused curiosity. Dillon stopped once more before clicking here to read the rest of this entry

Experiment in Fiction 5

Well, today is the last day of digging through my archives to find old stories to present to you. Mostly because I’m out of old stories to present to you. Any further fiction experiments presented will be new stuff, first seen by you, oh helpful and persistent readers. Thanks to all for coming by and providing feedback.

This one is also from the ’04 period, and this is again what I originally called a “prologue”. There’s more of it, but I’m not sure how much because I haven’t read through it. The usual disclaimer about being a first draft applies; so does the request for anything you’ve got to help it get better. Thank you all for playing along, and thanks so much for spending so much time with me. I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as I have.

The foreman watched through the mirrored, shielded faceplate while the crate was slowly lowered from the boom. It swung easily in the light gravity, not pulling into a pendulum swing as it might have in regular gravity. The sealed crate was contained completely, and there were no seams visible from his vantage point. Not that it mattered, but it was still nice to know that a standard crowbar wouldn’t pry open the package. On the bottom of the crate, the tiny multi-wheeled rolling loader was waiting.

The boom lowered quickly, and a cloud of dust exploded away from the platform upon which the putty gray container sat when it touched the surface. White-gray plumes of eons old powdery matter skittered away as if in slow motion from the underside of the lift, then settled quickly in the absence of atmosphere. The men moved about clumsily in their bulky pressure suits, and while great strides had been made to make the work easier, technology still limited them to the heavy materials required to contain the life-sustaining atmosphere and pressure.
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Experiment in Fiction 4

Hello again, everyone! Continuing with the experimentation and feedback process, here’s another one from that 2004 era in my writing career. I decided to really try it at that point, and I was warming up to a story my wife and I thought needed to be told. When I tried to tell it, though, it flopped horribly. Anyway, this isn’t that one, but another that I concocted around the same period. The same disclaimer applies — forgive my bad grammar and such, and give any crits you think will help it along. Thanks to everyone participating, and I hope you’re enjoying them.

East Tennessee – Appalachian Mountains

The powerful Mercedes roared along, the road winding like a ribbon of asphalt up and down the rolling hills in the mid-autumn evening. The sun was just below the horizon, and the misty sky threatened to unload the rains held back for several days, pregnant with the precipitation common with the southern states. Rick Martinson was settled into the comfortable leather seat, the sophisticated stereo system oozing the soft sounds of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons from the CD player. His hands were draped over the leather-covered steering wheel comfortably, his tie and collar loosened and his suit jacked laid delicately over the back of the passenger seat.

He had to click here to continue reading the entry