Writing For Rain

Boxing Day

2011-08-03T09:17:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody! Yeah, it HAS been a long time since my last post. And it will most likely be a long time until my NEXT post but until then, here is a short story called Boxing Day to keep you occupied.

enjoy

Boxing Day

by Mike Shorten

Lights shone down hotly on the ring. Drunk men threw garbage and insults down into the ring where Randall fought.

Crap, Randall thought to himself, leaning back against rough ropes marking the makeshift ring. Blood poured into his mouth from his gashed forehead and broken nose. He sat on a small, beat-up wooden stool, no shirt and old tattered jeans. Bruises and contusions marked his hardened tan body and he continuously brushed shaggy, sweaty brown hair from his eyes with hands wrapped tightly in cloth. The knuckles under the cloth bulged out, brass knuckles hidden beneath the many layers.

Randall felt exhausted. He had been going for three rounds as hard as he could, landing almost every punch he threw and dodging or blocking most of his opponent’s throws. He was a good boxer, easily better than his opponent. No, that wasn’t the problem—the problem was when his opponent landed anything it felt like Randall was like getting a blow from a sledgehammer. He knew that at least a couple of his ribs were broken. Randall felt a towel slapped onto his shoulder and he used it to wipe blood and sweat from his face.

“He’s kickin’ your ass, boyo!” yelled his brother Paul from behind. Paul had reached over the ropes and was massaging Randall’s shoulders encouragingly. “Get back in there and start landing some damn punches! You’re fast, but you can’t last forever. He can.” Randall stood up and started bouncing, trying to keep his blood flowing, his heart speeding. He turned toward Paul, raising his right hand in a gesture. Paul saw it and, faking offense, offered it right back. Then he smiled and yelled in encouragement, ”Go get you some robot!” and went back down to lean against the raised floor of the ring, watching intently.

Randall turned back to the center of the ring and began staring down his opponent. A literal barrel chest shone brightly though the dents where Randall’s brass-knuckled fists had pounded into it, trying to smash through to the machinery inside. Long, skinny metal arms ended in pads meant to keep the robot from outright murdering any human opponent it fought, though the padding actually offered little relief from the hammer blows it delivered. Skinny metal legs stuck out awkwardly from the bottom of the barrel, and the head looked like a metal ball welded to the top. The robot’s blinking red eyes were set half an inch back into the head, to keep them from being smashed. The robot’s machine voice emanated through metal grating three inches below the beady eyes.

The robot sat in the corner opposite Randall’s, its handlers working quickly through an open panel in its chest, oiling and adjusting quickly before a bell could sound the beginning of the next round. The only movement from the robot was its head slowly rotating, following Randall as he danced around the ring. Finally the robot had had enough and pushed the mechanics working in its chest away and snapped the chest cavity shut with a clang. Then the robot stood. Though its voice box was dented, it was still able to speak.

“If you survive this you will regret it.” It said mechanically to Randall. Randall ignored the robot and kept dancing around the ring. Though the pain in his side still ached horribly, Randall could feel a second wind coming on. Power coursed through his body as he imagined the coming round; how he would punch, dodge, dance, punch. He pictured the robot falling broken to the ground.

Suddenly the ring bell rang and Randall snapped his focus at his opponent. Randall wasn’t the only one who had taken a beating. Despite what Paul had said, he could see the robot wasn’t moving quite as well as it had when the fight started. Maybe the feet weren’t moving quite in sync. The left arm twitched every few seconds. Randall allowed a smile to pull at his lips before moving in.

The robot attacked first, a quick snap at Randalls head that Randall dodged. Randall returned fire with a few jabs of his own, trying to feel his opponent out. The robot blocked the first two but wasn’t quite fast enough to catch the third. It landed full on in the robots face, snapping it’s head briefly back. Randall took the opening and threw several heavy body blows, knocking the robot off back.

The robot replied with a flurry of blows at Randall, warding him off. None landed but Randall still danced away. He went in again and jabbed quickly, three successive stabs at the robots face. Once again the robot caught the first two but missed the third, falling back as the blow landed on the side of its head. Once again it warded Randall off with wildly thrown punches but before Randall could take advantage of the robots instability.

Rob danced around his opponent, taking his time with light jabs, taunting the increasingly frustrated robot. He was filled with elation and barely felt the pain in his side. Randall thought he had discovered a pattern. The three jab combo to the robots head had shown it. The robots programming caught the first two but wasn’t quick enough to catch the third. He must have damaged the circuitry.

With a sudden decisiveness Randall lowered his head and raised his fists, stalking slowly towards his opponent. At the ringside Paul noticed the sudden determined look on Randalls face, the look he had seen a hundred times; Randall was going in for the kill.

“No! Stay back!” Paul yelled desperately. “Stay back, wear him out!”

Randall didn’t appear to have noticed, or was more likely ignoring Paul. Paul swore loudly. His brother had always been headstrong, ignoring Paul’s more cautious advice. This blind confidence in himself usually worked out alright for Randall but Paul had a bad feeling about this time. He too had noticed the robots supposed failings with the three jab combo but suspected it was a trap to bait Randall into coming closer where his speed would count for nothing against the robots superior strength.

The robot was backed in a corner and Randall had just reached it. He dodged a few of the robots swings and then opened with the three jab combo, smashing his fist into the robots head at the third punch like before. Again the robot seemed to go off balance and Randall moved closer to land some heavier roundhouse punches to the robots mid-section, hoping to bust the machinery inside completely.

As Randall got in close, the robot leapt forward and hugged its arms around Randalls body and whirled around throwing Randall into the corner heavily. Randall slammed into the ring post and struggled to keep himself up, grabbing the ropes for support. Paul screamed at him to get out of the corner. Randall felt woozy, his head had hit the post behind him and the broken ribs had begun to sear with pain, sapping Randalls strength and will. He looked up through a haze of pain and sweat towards the robot right as a heavy padded fist slammed into his face.

Paul watched as his brother was pummeled mercilessly by the dented robot. As he watched, his mind rebelled against what he was seeing, his brother being killed, and turned to other things.

Paul thought of how they had been as kids, Paul always trying to guide Randall, teach him things, keep him safe. Randall always trying to run faster than his legs would carry him, fight the biggest boys in the playground, ignore Paul’s advice and do what he wanted. How Paul had trained Randall as a boxer, traveling around the country, taking any fight offered them. Then the war had come. The invading army had used robots to crush Americas armies and bring the country to its knees. After the war was over, the occupiers had integrated robots into society. Robots had been everywhere and it was only a matter of time before someone wondered if a human could stand up against a robot in a fight. Boxing robots had been built and had quickly dominated their human counterparts.

Randall had seen the robotic dominance of boxing and had felt it was his duty to be the first human to beat a machine, to stand up for the country he had been a part of. He and Paul had met with several underground promoters and set up tonight’s fight.

A ringing bell marking the end of the round pulled Paul from his memories. The robot had pulled away from the beating it had administered to Randall, blood dripping from its fists as the machine went back to its corner. Paul leapt into the ring and ran to Randall. Randalls face was smashed into a bloody pulp, his chest had odd lumps to it. Paul cringed as he noticed a small white edifice of bone protruding from Randalls ribs.

Paul grabbed a sponge from the water bucket on the edge of the ring and started dabbing at Randalls face. His brother didn’t respond and appeared to be unconscious.

“I’m stopping the fight, hold in there buddy.” Paul whispered gently. After propping Randall up on stool, Paul turned to the center of the ring and whipped the bloody towel he had been carrying on his shoulder into the center of the ring signifying Randalls withdrawal from the match. When he did this, he noticed a brightening of the robots eyes and heard a sound of disgust emanate from its voice box. Paul glared furiously at the robot for several seconds and then turned back to his brother.

By this time a paramedic had reached Randall and Paul helped the man strap his brother to a stretcher and retreat back through the jeering crowd into dimly lit locker rooms.

Paul stood next to his brother and watched as the paramedic worked on Randall. An hour later the paramedic had finished his work and instructed Paul on how to care for Randall and departed. Paul sat with his brother lost in thought. He was remembering what he and Randall had talked about right before the fight.

“There’s still time to back out.”He had said as he finished wrapping the brass knuckles to Randall’s fists. “We could still grab our stuff and bail through the back door.”

Randall had sighed and looked at Paul with exasperation. They had been through this a dozen times before but Paul had felt he needed to try one more time to dissuade Randall.

“Nobody has ever won a match with a robot! I know your good but you’re not that good. I trained you and I know you’re limitations. And this is the point where you need to just… back down.”Paul had said.

Randall turned away and started bouncing on the balls of his feet, loosening up.

“You still don’t understand why I’m doing this bro.” Randall had replied without turning around. “I’m not doing it to prove anything to myself. I’m doing it to make a point. I’m doing it because someone has to stand up to the robots and what they represent.”

“And what do they represent?”Paul replied skeptically.

“They represent America’s defeat! Every single time a robot puts another fighter out of commission it’s the invaders boot in our countries face!” Randall said calmly. “I’m standing up for an idea that THEY are trying to mash out of me.”

Suddenly Randall stirred and pulled Paul out of his thoughts. Paul stood and walked over to the table where Randall lay.

“Hey buddy. You alive in there?” Paul said lamely.

His brother nodded ever so slightly. His entire torso and head were wrapped in bandages, only his eyes showing. A cast protected his broken right arm. Numbing liquid flowed through a needle stuck into the vein in his left arm. Randall still wore the torn jeans he had worn through the fight but nothing else.

“I’ve called a taxi to take us back to the hotel.” Paul said.

Randall nodded again but a sad look had made his eyes droop. Paul thought he understood. Randall was feeling defeated; the ideals he had fought for were now, in Randalls mind, as beaten and defeated as Randall himself was.

As he looked at his defeated brother, Paul had an idea. He hurried over to the duffle bag he had brought and stored in a locker. Rifling through it he found what he was looking for. After pocketing the object, Paul went over to Randall.

“I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to take care of before we head out. The taxi should be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll be back before then.” He said. Before he finished talking Randall fell asleep exhausted.

Paul wrote a note and hurried out into a hallway and found a porter. He handed him some bills and told him to make sure the man in the locker room got to the Richards Hotel and to give the note to Reed, the hotel manager. Paul promised him another wad of bills when the man was brought to the hotel. The porter nodded. Paul went back into the room with Randall.

He scribbled a note and put it in Randall jeans and then stood watching his brother sleep for several minutes quietly.

“I’ll see you around bro.” He whispered and then left the room quickly.

Randall woke several days later in his hotel room bed. His bandages were clean and fresh. Sun streamed in from an open window illuminating the small but clean room. A duffel bag sat in one corner but the room was otherwise empty. Randall looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw a piece of paper with his name on it leaning against the clock. Underneath was a copy of that day’s news paper.

Randall reached over and picked up the note. On it was a message from Paul.

-Randall

I’ve paid the bill for your room for the next week, if you need anything, just ask Reed. He’ll take care of you. I’ve gone to finish what you’ve started. If I’m not dead then I’ll be in a prison somewhere. Thanks for standing up for what you believe in.

-Paul

Randall was confused by the letter. What had Paul done? He reached over and grabbed the newspaper that had been sitting under the note. The glaring front page headline made him catch his breath.

DRIVE-BY SHOOTING AT CLUB LEAVES SEVERAL ROBOTS DEAD

The End.

The Desert

2011-04-06T15:37:00.000-07:00

This is a short story I wrote awhile back. Strange because while I was writing it I LOVED it and thought it the most genius piece of work ever constructed by man. I read it again later that day and freaked out about how bad it was. I will add my comments at the end of it but for now please enjoy...

The Desert

Charlie woke in the desert. The sun burned down on his face and a heavy hot wind ripped at his clothing. He was dressed in a torn white button up shirt and his favorite jeans. Standing, Charlie found he could see for uncounted miles in every direction. Nothing interrupted his view.

“How did I get here?” He muttered to himself. Charlie could not retrieve a memory which could have led to a desert in the middle of nowhere. As he stood the sun continued to beat down on him and Charlie began to feel thirsty. Not having a water source, he decided to begin walking.

“I’ll die just as soon here as somewhere else,” he reasoned with himself. “And here I don’t have water.”

As he set off, Charlie’s feet began to burn. The sand was like walking through hot coals. Charlie took his shirt off and tore it into strips which he wrapped around his feet. His undershirt protected his chest, and with the leftover cloth, he wrapped his head to keep out the burning sun.

Lines of smooth black stones the size of plates began to catch Charlie’s attention as he walked. They extended into the horizon without any noticeable vanishing point. Out of curiosity, or just for something to change the monotony, Charlie nudged one of the stones out of formation. The stone slid away and then snapped back into place, making Charlie jump. He tried it again with the same result. Then he lifted a rock over his head and tried throwing it. The pull from the other stones was immense. As he struggled, the line of rocks began to pull upward; the ones closest to the space where the stone Charlie held had been began to float up towards the rock he held. Charlie’s arms began to shake with the effort of holding the stone away from the others and he let go. The stone snapped back to its place in line, the other stones doing the same.

Charlie sat, amazed. What could be holding these stones in perfect formation? Charlie thought maybe magnetism, but what would keep the stones in perfect lines stretching on forever instead of just bunching up?

By this time, the sun had begun to set and Charlie began to dig a hole in the sand to sleep in. He wasn’t sure where he was but had heard stories of deserts becoming freezing at night and ovens during the day.

Finally finished, Charlie slithered into the hole and pulled sand over himself. The desert began to cool slightly but not to the freezing point. The sand retained its warmth and soon the cool air and the exhaustion of walking in the desert lulled Charlie to sleep.

As he slept, Charlie dreamed. He dreamt he saw bright lights flashing across the sky, chasing each other, flying solo, drifting slowly. Then he dreamt of one of the lights slowly approaching him, a bright column of light floating down around him and then he dreamt of himself slowly floating towards the light. As he came closer and closer to the glowing sphere, Charlie’s vision began to black out. Soon, Charlie dreamt no more.

---

Charlie woke to the blaring of an alarm clock. He sat up in surprise and looked around. He was in his one-bedroom apartment in the city, lying in bed completely naked and clean. Charlie hurriedly sat up and rushed to the bathroom.

When he looked into the mirror, everything looked normal. There were no burns from the sun, no sand or grime—no sign he had ever been in the desert. Then Charlie looked at his eyes. They were normally a deep blue but now they were a deep violet. As he watched, they slowly faded back to the normal blue.

As time went by, Charlie began to wonder if he had imagined the whole episode, dreamt of it in some crazy dream. Charlie had checked a calendar and saw that the day and night he had spent in the desert would have had to have happened in the space of eight hours. Charlie had fallen asleep one day and woken up the next day. No time was missing.

But it had seemed so real! Charlie began seeing a therapist who told him that it was merely his mind trying to live a fantastic life he had dreamt of as a child. Charlie tried to convince himself of this but never could quite believe it.

One day Charlie was rooting through his laundry, trying to find his favorite pair of jeans. Finally he found them at the bottom of a pile of dirty clothes and pulled them out. As he slid them on, Charlie’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. As he reached into one of the pockets, he pulled out a handful of sand.

The End

So. This is a first draft with NO fixes of any kind. Some things that bother me:

I used his name to much. Not really sure how to get around this.
There was zero character development.
The story needed to be fleshed out A LOT. There was a lot of material there that needed to be explored and expanded.

There's probably more but I don't feel like getting into it. Let me know what you think?

Agent M: Sales Associate Part 4

2009-11-10T20:29:00.000-08:00

Hi. First things first: if you haven't read parts 1-3, read them before you read part four. Okay so I really liked the way this part turned out. The characters are developing in a way I like and also... I wrote a section with no fight scene! It was hard but I finally did it. tee hee. Tell me what you think, good or bad! I want input!!!

enjoy...

PART FOUR

Agent Demetri Song leaned back in his chair. It had been a long day sorting through all the reports on the Yakuza that the Agency kept but Demetri felt he had learned some things that would help his mission. Some very interesting things indeed. Demetri stood and looked out the large window in his new office. Part of the promotion he had recently received.

“Agent Song? There is a gentleman here to see you.” Came the voice of his secretary over the intercom. A secretary! Demetri had gotten more than just the window office in his promotion. A smile crept onto his face. He was finally making it! And he was doing work he knew would save not just the nation but the world.

A cough sounded behind him interrupting his thoughts. He turned and beheld a middle aged man. Age hadn’t come harshly to this man. The gray at his temples only added to his commanding presence though admittedly the bandaged face didn’t help. Nor did the limp or look of pain at every other step.

“Agent Miles. What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that I would tell you what you needed to know. No visits are needed from your side. I’ll tell you when…” He was cut off as Miles leapt across the room and grabbed his tie, jerking him up to the older mans eye level.

“Listen up you little upstart. First I’m the senior agent here. I don’t care what supposed power you’ve been given over me, if you ever try to put me out of the loop again then the only thing you’ll remember from then on is the hospital you wake up in. I have the first hand experience to know what’s going on. Second you better tell me everything about this little mission you’ve gotten me caught up in. Two break ins at my house, not including your own, in one night and a near death experience makes me think that I better know what’s going on. So spill!” Miles yelled into his face.

Demetri thumped back into his chair as Miles let go of his tie. This man was crazy. His file said he was a washed up agent who didn’t have his edge anymore. This man had crossed a fifteen foot office before Demetri could react. He felt his heart pounding and immediately tried to calm himself. He still had a higher rank than this man. Pull it together Demetri! Assert your authority.

“Agent M. Like I said before, I have been given autho…” Demetri was interrupted once again as a flat palm connected with his face at what seemed like an impossible speed.

“Like I said before,” Miles sarcastically mimicked, “If you ever pull rank on me again you’ll regret it. That smack was your LAST warning.” The look in his eyes told Demetri he meant what he had said.

Demetri paused to think. Well… he had to roll with this turn of events. Maybe he could even turn it to his advantage. A dangerous agent like Agent M had turned out to be could be a good asset. If there was any danger he could just throw the older man at it and hide. Yes he could use this man! Demetri tried to pretend he believed it.

“Alright Agent Miles. You’ll…”

Miles interrupted once again. Demetri frowned. Would this man ever let him finish a sentence?

“Miles. Call me Miles.”

“Okay Miles. You’ll need to read up on the case file I have put together.” Demetri felt satisfaction as he plopped the mammoth sized case file on the desk in front of Miles. Let this overgrown lug read through this. Unfortunately the look of horror he had expected to see on the older man’s face never came.

“You seem to have gathered quite the file here. I’ll return it to you in two hours with notes of my own attached.” Miles said as he scooped the file into his brief case. Demetri gawked. Two hours? It had taken Senior Agent Z over a week and a half to get through it and he hadn’t attached any commentary. Miles continued.

“First though I would like a brief summary from you. As annoying as I find your ambition to take over, it shows you have at least some brains. Lets here it.”

Demetri stared back at Miles for several seconds before agreeing. He stood and powered up a computer and a projector, which he aimed at the blank far wall, and began speaking.

“I have uncovered, through my own means, that the Yakuza, the Japanese Mafia, has been running operations out of a local BargainMart.” On the wall he pulled up a picture of the store. “They use the regular truck shipments to transport drugs and other items. When the shipments come to the store, Yakuza members working at the store receive the product and make it disappear. Other clandestine happenings have been going on which we haven’t been able to discover but on the surface it appears to be a drug running operation, simple but ingenius.”

Miles sat in his chair looking thoughtful. Finally he asked a question.

“If it’s a simple drug operation, why is the Agency being called in? Why don’t the local police handle it? Or the FBI or the CIA?”

“That’s exactly the right question. We’re handling this because I have found evidence that the drug cartel is a cover for something else.” Demetri said excitedly. He pulled up a new slide. It was a picture of a dragon surrounded by an army of samurai. “I believe that they are trying to summon an army from the netherworld to destroy the world.” He finished breathlessly.

Miles stared at the picture on the wall for several minutes and then sighed and stood up.

“…You’re an idiot.” Miles said and opened the door to leave.

Demetri jumped in front of him, cutting of his way to the door. His heart thumped. Now that he had put it out for the older man he felt that he had to go all the way. He was impressed with Agent Miles Bastion now that he had met him. This was a man who could help.

“You said you were attacked! By who? Was it an Asian man with a sword? Did he seem disconnected with the world? Almost as if he was from another time?!” Demetri said quickly.

Miles again stared at Demetri.

“Is there more of this in the report?”

Demetri nodded.

“Ok. I’ll read it and then decide if your crazy. Agent Z seems to believe you or he wouldn’t have promoted you.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Demetri replied. He stood aside and Miles opened the door and began leaving. Suddenly something occurred to Demetri.

“Wait, Miles. Why did your file make you out to be a broken washed up agent?” He said quickly.

Miles stopped, facing away from Demetri.

“I have a lot of enemies within and without of the Agency. You will to if you stay here long enough. It’s best if they underestimate me like you did. It gives me the advantage.” Miles said and then left, the door swinging shut quietly.

Demetri stared after him and then went to his chair and collapsed. He realized he was sweating heavily.

“Here we go…” He said quietly to himself as he stared out his brand new window into the city beyond.

Agent M: Sales Associate Part 3

2009-11-08T19:52:00.000-08:00

I had a little more time to work on this section. I actually enjoyed writing it. As always tell me what you think.

PART THREE

Miles stared at the spot where the man had disappeared. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline made him super aware.

Miles reached into a hidden compartment in a drawer of the bathroom counter and pulled out a Glock 9mm, one of several handguns he kept hidden through-out his house. He loaded a magazine and stuck the an extra in his pocket. He cocked the gun and began searching his house. The two bedrooms came up empty as well as the living room and kitchen.

Miles sighed, unloaded the gun, and began heading back up the stairs to put the gun back in its hidden panel and get in bed. Maybe he had just imagined the man. He was getting older and all the action he had seen over the years could have affected his judgment of what was real and imaginary. As he shut the hidden panel and slid the drawer closed, a movement in his peripheral vision made him pause.

Turning Miles looked at the frosted bathroom window. The shadow from a tree waved back and forth. That must have been it. He was definitely imagining things. All the events of the day had been building up to the point where he couldn’t think straight. Miles turned away from the window just in time to miss the shadow growing larger and larger, blotting out the shadow of the tree. There was an explosion of glass and something smashed into his back driving him to the floor. Miles, temporarily shocked, could do nothing but dully struggle against the weight on top of him. He felt a powerful arm snake around the front of his neck while another wrapped around the back cutting of his oxygen and, more importantly, the blood to his brain.

Miles’ mind seemed to grab onto the fact that he was being strangled as something to focus on, something that made sense. He knew he only had a few more seconds before he passed out and a few more seconds past that before the lack of blood to his brain killed him. Instinct and years of training kicked in and Miles fought back.

Quickly he pulled on the arm and began trying to tuck his chin under the arm. It was harder than normal as he was lying face down with his assailant pinning him. Suddenly he felt his chin get under the arm and he arched his body bringing his knees up and with a powerful surge, threw his assailant over his head. His assailant, a thin wiry Asian man, flew into the opposite wall. Cracks appeared from the ceiling to the floor and a large dent in the dry wall where the attacker had hit.

Miles scrambled to his feet and went for the drawer where he had just deposited to gun. Cursing himself for unloading it, he whipped the drawer open and grabbed the gun and a loaded magazine just as the Asian man smashed into him. The magazine went flying but Miles was able to hold onto the gun.

The two men went crashing sideways into the bathtub, Miles once again on the bottom. His head smacked into the hard linoleum wall and blood splashed into his eyes as blows began raining down on him. He twisted onto his back, brought up his forearms to guard his face, and kicked the attacker of him. The man stumbled back. Miles struggled out of the tub. He could feel pain coursing through his body. Several ribs hurt sharply and Miles suspected they must be broken. Miles knew he couldn’t take much more. He was getting to old for sustained hand to hand combat.

The attacker had backed away towards the door into the hall. He was dressed all in black tactical clothing and wore a small thin sword on his back which he slid out as he backed away staring at Miles while he moved. Miles still held the unloaded gun. A quick glance around the bathroom told him the guns magazine was nowhere to be found.

“The fact you are still alive means you are at least a mildly worthy opponent.” The man said. “But I fear that you will not live out the night.”

Miles stared back in shock. Why was this man talking to him. If he was in the man’s place he would have taken the swords advantage and killed Miles as quickly as possible. And what was with the sword? Who carried a sword around? Did this man think he was some sort of ninja?! Miles chuckled quietly at the thought and then caught himself. He could feel hysteria creeping up on him and the erratic questioning thoughts weren’t helping. Miles tried to breathe evenly and calmed himself.

“Laughing in the face of your imminent death? You truly are a brave opponent. I hate for you to die without knowing who you are. But, as you Americans say, orders is orders!” The man lowered his sword to the ground and bowed. “Honor to those who are about t… *AGH*!!” The man’s words were cut off as Miles leapt forward and slammed the butt of his empty gun into the man’s head.

The man stumbled back as Miles continued to beat at him with his gun. The man stumbled away out of the doorway into the dark hallway. Miles rushed after him intending to continue the assault. The man ran towards the window at the end of the hall but stopped before he reached it, turning and raising his sword into a guard position. Blood poured into his eyes and he looked like he would collapse at any second. Miles stopped and assessed how he would continue the fight. He felt like he would collapse at any moment, the last attack flurry had taken almost all he had left.

“You are not as honorable as I had hoped you would be Agent Miles Bastion.” The man said, sputtering through his own blood. Several of his teeth appeared to be broken. “But who is honorable in this day? It is no longer the way of war I am beginning to learn. We will meet again, Miles Bastion, and when we do, I will see how long I can hold onto my honor in this new world of yours.” And with that the man turned and smashed through the window. Miles charged forward expecting to see the man sprawled across the front walk. What he saw was a puff of black smoke that swirled out and then pulled into itself and disappeared. There was no sign of his assailant.

Miles turned and collapsed against the hallway wall. Sleep began to overcome him and his last thought was of how to survive this mission.

Agent M: Sales Associate Part 2

2009-11-01T20:27:00.000-08:00

Alright peoples. This one is really rough. It's late and I'm tired but I wanted to post this today. It doesn't have great continuation from part 1 so there are confusing holes and contradictions. I didn't really like the tone part 1 set and decided to go a different direction with Miles' character but I don't want to rewrite part 1 at this time. So. Try to figure it out. thanks for reading...

Miles walked through the rain from the bus stop to his two story townhouse. He could drive to the office but preferred to take the bus. People watching had always been a hobby of his and it made the drive interesting.

Coming up the the stairs to his front steps Miles stopped and looked up into the sky and closed his eyes asHad his career really come to this? Bureaucratic support. Cleaning up what others find to boring to do. Don’t bother the other agent? He knows what he’s doing? That never happened.

He walked up and stepped into the quiet house. The quiet ticking of the front room clock was the only sound that greeted him. He flipped on a light and took his jacket off, sticking it in the coat closet next to the front door.

A sound clicked in the kitchen. Miles whipped his .38 Special Revolver out of his shoulder holster without making a sound. Silently he crept through the small front room and towards the two way saloon style kitchen door. Taking a deep breathe, Miles counted to three silently and then rushed in to the kitchen flipping on the light.

A thin wiry man with plain brown hair sat at the small kitchen table. A cup of juice sat in front of him half empty. Next to it sat a 9mm Sig Sauer pistol with a small laser sight and flashlight attached, 3 loaded magazines, a heavy black hunting knife, a small pen light, and a standard issue medical kit.

“These are yours. Keep them with you at all times when not at BargainMart. When at BargainMart keep them in your employee locker.” The man said quickly. He spoke with the clipped tone of someone who is used to saying whatever he needs to as quickly and efficiently as he can.

Miles stared at the man for several seconds and then sat down across the table. He steeped his fingers and thought for several minutes before answering.

“I’m guessing you’re my partner on this mission. Your name would be?”

The man stared hard at Miles as he replied.

“Demetri. And we’re not partners. Technically you will be the lead agent on this mission as you are obviously the senior agent but let me get something straight. You have no actual authority over me. Agent Z has promised absolute confidentiality regarding this mission. You will only be told what you need to and only by me. Agent Z has confirmed this control.”

Miles nodded slowly. Demetri continued.

“ You will be handling basic paperwork and getting me equipment that I need. That will be the extent of your involvement.”

Miles said quietly, “Then why the gun? The knife?”

“It’s basic field equipment. I was told you’ve been on enough missions to know what you’re doing.” Demetri replied.

“Just wondering.” Miles said.

“Listen. Don’t try and get involved on this one. Just do the job and get out.” Demetri snapped.

Miles nodded slowly again. Demetri stood up quickly and finished off the juice.

“ Thanks for the juice. If you just keep your head down on this one, I can guarantee you’ll get a promotion. Though you’re the senior Agent, I have some influence with the Upstairs Agents.” Demetri said. Miles nodded again. Demetri stared at him and then walked out the front door.

Miles continued to sit. What a sad existence he had come to! He was a senior Agent but Agent Z had already passed him on to a bureaucratic job.

With a sigh Miles put the gun back in his holster and went up to the bathroom upstairs. He removed his clothes and put on pajamas then walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He picked up his toothbrush, put toothpaste on it, and began brushing. As he looked into the mirror, something flickered behind him. His heart jumped and he whipped around. A dark young man in black clothes stood leaning against the door frame to the bathroom.

“You’re getting involved in something that will destroy you. Ask for a transfer. Get out while you can.”

Miles grasped for words

“Who… how did you get in here!”

And then the man disappeared.

Agent M: Sales Associate, Part 1

2009-10-28T21:05:00.000-07:00

Hi. This is a test story I'm working on. Let me know what you think.

“I’m getting transferred where?! Are you kidding me?!! A desk job!!” Agent Miles Bastion roared. Spittle flew from his mouth and splattered on the face of Agent Z, his superior. Rage clouded Agent Miles’, or Agent M as he went by at the agency, thinking, dampening his stupidity filter. All the little things that had bothered him over his long career working for the United States International Affairs Agency (USIAA) came to his mind and he decided to let them out.

When he let go of the reservoir of pent up frustration, everything decided to come out. For half an hour Miles paced back and forth pointing, cursing, threatening, and insulting his boss. “… And you’re breath smells!” Miles finally sputtered as his energy, and frustration, was finally spent. He breathed deeply, held it for a count of ten and breathed out loudly as he flopped into the chair he had abandoned half an hour ago facing Agent Z’s desk. He was breathing heavily and sweating lightly. He wiped his forehead with his jacket sleave and looked his boss in the eye and thought carefully over his words before he finally spoke again.

“… Level with me Z. We’ve known each other long enough. Hell, I’ve spent the last thirty years of my life here and almost that whole time we’ve worked together. I think I’ve earned some honesty. Tell me the truth.” He finally said.

Agent Z, hard faced and lean as ever but beginning to show his years, looked tiredly at Miles. He seemed to be searching for words but couldn’t find any. Finally he stood and faced out the window behind his desk. The sun was setting over a snowy, cold city.

“We’re getting old Miles. We’re just not as fast or strong as we used to be. Can you feel the aches? Hell, when it gets below forty degrees I can hardly get out of bed my body hurts so much. I prefer the comfort of a bed, a blanket… and this desk.” He turned back to Miles and looked him in the eye. “We’re just not young anymore. The Agency has recruited and trained some strong new talent. The Agency needs your brains out of the grunt work, the killing and running and fighting and hiding. We need you to show these boys what to do and let THEM do it.”

Miles stared back into those hard eyes with hard eyes of his own.

“Bull. Shit.” He spat. A half smile crept onto his face as he continued to stare at Agent Z, his boss and former partner. “You still want it. You want the adrenaline and the fight. You want it just as bad as I do.”

The two continued to stare at each other in silence. When Agent Z finally spoke, laughter laced through his words.

“Good. You’ve still got you’re edge. I needed to make sure.” He sat and reached into his desk and pulled out a folder and tossed it onto the desk in front of Miles. “Here’s your new assignment. And you’re gonna need all the steel you can get for this one old friend.”

Miles reached out and grabbed the folder, opened it and began reading while Z talked.

“You’ll have one other Agent with you. They’ll be under your command. You can select anyone you want with one stipulation. They have to be young. You’ll both be runnin’ hot at all times while on this assignment. You can choose you’re weapon at you’re discretion.”

Miles nodded, not questioning what Z had said. He continued reading while Z looked on. Then something caught his attention on the page he was reading. He jumped down several paragraphs and read it quickly. Suddenly he stopped and looked up.

“You can’t be serious.”

“We’re very serious. You are our most experienced field agent and this assignment will need all the experience and adaptability we can get.”

Miles glared at Agent Z and then looked sullenly at the words he had read.

“… positions will be provided at the location. Head agent will have the position of Sales Associate while Secondary Agent holds position of Custodian. The BargainVille Supermarket management has not been briefed and unless entirely necessary will not….” It went on like that.

“I’m working in a grocery store.” Miles said.

“Grocery store?” Miles replied, “Heavens no! This is a Supermarket. They sell everything, not just food.” He finished and smiled smugly.

Miles groaned and let his head sink down into his hands.

Woo

2009-09-30T19:38:00.000-07:00

WOW it's been a long time. So i'm working on some completely new ideas. I won't post them yet so if i don't end up posting them, it won't be a bummer. But i'm super busy and writing is hard for me to get around to, much less using the internet. So. Yes. But I'll try.

Correction

2009-05-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

Hi I've actually finished Possessor part 2 so I thought I would just post the end. It has a better end to it than the one I had before I think so enjoy.

We Interrupt The Story To Bring You This News Flash!

2009-05-25T08:59:00.000-07:00

To make my blog and the stories contained therein easier to navigate and find, I have labeled each as the title of the story and then what part it is and they will appear on the right so you can jump to the story and part you want without having to do some made crazy scrolling!

So I want to write the story I've been posting on this blog in full elsewhere and maybe even try to go somewhere with it and I have a lot of other ideas for writing so I am discontinuing it and am going to start posting just random short stories to practice writing. So sorry for the inconvenient cliff hanger but as the saying goes, when in Rome... yes. That might be funny if you've seen Anchorman. But maybe not. Well I might pick up the story later but not

So yes yes. But hey the next story will be starring some very interesting characters. Including Achilles, mercenary agent of the government and heart broken demi-god, full of regret and remorse! How will he seek redemption?!! Who knows?!!! Well, I suppose I do but... Hey look behind you! It's a giant... bunny.... robot... leg... with ... laser.... eyes....

*Clatter Clatter* (sound of Mike escaping out of second story window to left)

Possessor: Part 2: Awareness Awakening

2009-05-14T20:17:00.000-07:00

Hello ! Welcome to the second installment of my as yet unnamed story. I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. I wrote most of this section from a mobile phone. Thanks for reading. Once again please feel free to leave any commentary, be it positive or negative. Hope you enjoy!
-Mike

"You are nothing! Your creator will not help you! You are alone! Bow to the inevitable, worm. Give up. Noone can help you. You are lower than the dust of the earth. You will lose and I WILL CRUSH YOU! "

James cowered naked and bruised. Dust mixed with blood and sweat itched his tortured skin. Lash marks painted red lines across his body in the flickering light of dozens of torches.
He was in a large cave before a small set of stairs. On a landing at the top of the stairs say a throne made of human bones.

On the throne sat a demon twice the size of a normal man. His skin was a deep red color. Curved horns protruded a foot above its twisted goat like head. Large hooves capped muscled hairy goat legs. Arms bursting with muscle wielded a wicked whip. At the tip of th whip, tiny razor sharp obsidian stones glinted in the dancing firelight.

Whenever the demon spoke, flame dripped from his cruel lips like napalm. Drops from the hlames splashed up and stuck to James, burning on and on.

The demon continued his hate filled tyrade:
"you will burn like a thousand suns but never will you die. Your heart ripped into a thousand (here comes the sun) as it bleeds into a (do do do doo here comes the sun) crying for relief from the eternal(and I say, its all right)"

James, who up until this point had been in a thoughtless stupor full of pain, focused in on the demons words.

"what did he just say?" he thought.

He looked up slowly at the creature.

The creature had stopped speaking. The Beatles had started playing somewhere in the background. The demons face had assumed an annoyed look.

"it appears our time together is up. I look forward to our next meeting."he demon said. He then stood up and cracked his whip at James' face.
James had just a second to flinch away before the whip would hit him. As he lurched he felt his body tumbling down and then hit something with a soft thud. He opened his tightly shut eyes.

"Little darling it's been a long cold lonely winter..." played his radio alarm clock quietly. He was on the floor next to the bed in his bedroom. It had all been a dream. A horrible horrible dream. But a dream all the same.

"Wow." James thought as he began to push himself up. Then he flinched with pain. He looked over at his left shoulder which was covered in a clean bandage. He then noticed that he was shirtless and wearing only some sweat pants.

"What in the world..." he muttered and stood up. Then the memory of the night before came back to him. The two men in long coats. The homeless man. The pain of a bullet smashing into his shoulder. The strange words. Shimmering air, and possession.

James sat back down again.

Sitting on the bed, he let his mind try to wrap itself around everything but try as he may, he couldn't comprehend what had happened.

James shook his head, stood up and went to the bathroom adjoining his bedroom. He picked up his toothbrush, put toothpaste on it and brought it to his teeth to brush, simultaneously looking in the mirror. His heart skipped a beat as the image looking back at him flickered. James dropped his toothbrush and backed away quickly from the mirror. He looked back at the mirror and his image flickered again. Chills raced across James' body and terror started flooding his mind. His wide eyes stared back at him. And then winked. James yelled and lurched back again, smashing into the wall. A towel rod hit his head. He turned and grabbed it, wrenching it from the wall and turning back to the mirror yelled again as he smashed the long piece of metal into the mirror. The mirror shattered and sprayed all over the small bathroom. Pieces cut into James face and bare chest. He covered his face and stumbled out of the bathroom as fast as he could.

Once out of the bathroom, James tripped over a stray shoe and sprawled onto the floor. His heart racing, James scrambled back up and into a corner of his room where a baseball bat leaned. He grabbed it and then lay back against the wall, panting.

"What's happening to me?!" He yelled into his empty room.

A hollow knock on the front door to his apartment answered.

James went rigid. His frayed nerves kept him alert and his muscles tensed tight and hard. Gripping the baseball bat until his knuckles popped and turned white, he rose to his feet and crept to the door.

“Who is it?” James yelled.

“James? James it’s me, Jenny.” Said a soft but firm feminine voice.

James’ muscles relaxed and he dropped the bat. He reached towards the door knob as relief flooded through him.

“Jenny…” he got out has he opened the door and saw her. She was mid height, small build with blonde straight hair and stylish but simple clothes. Small dimples dotted each cheek. Blue eyes shone like gems.

“Jenny…” James said again and then passed out. This time he did not dream. Or at least remember dreaming.

Possessor: Part 1: Possession

2009-05-10T21:16:00.000-07:00

Hello. Thanks for trying out my story for size! I hope it's a fun read. Oh and for the sake of ease for you readers I have put the English translation to all the Latin phrases in parenthesis and italics after the phrase. Enjoy!
-Mike

James whistled as the rain soaked into his blue button down shirt and khaki pants. Soaked brown hair fell into his eyes but he didn't mind. Not tonight. It had been a good night. James walked slowly through the partially empty streets of his town, smiling at the occasional passerby. He stood taller than most at an even six feet.

The sounds of a city at night washed over him. Buzzing from street lamps, splashes as cars plowed through puddles, the throb of music from a club and a million other sounds. His thoughts drifted, never settling on anything, casually playing through his memories and dreams.

A gentle ding ding rang from his pocket as his cell phone vibrated. He reached in, pulled it out, and flipped it open. A text message popped up on the screen. James hunched over and turned away from the rain to protect his phone. The message read:

hey babe. i love you and i'll see you tomorrow. so excited!

It was from Jenny, his fiance as of about 2 hours ago. They had gone to dinner at an upscale Italian restaurant where James had hired a violinist to play as he got on one knee and proposed to Jenny. The whole restaurant had applauded, and the old gentleman at the table next to them had winked at James and nudged him in the shoulder and said "You're a lucky man."
Later they found out that the old man had payed for their dinner before he left.

James was picturing the excited look on Jennies soft face when an old homeless man flew out of an alley to his left and crumpled to the street. Two men in suits and long coats came from the alley and walked over the man they had just thrown. One kicked him in the face. Blood arched up and splattered on a white car.

"Brother Hector! Their is no need to do more violence than needs to be done." The older looking one of the two said. He was tall and had silver streaks through his jet black hair and a strong jaw. A tanned face framed black eyes that were tight with from a lifetime of hardship and worry.

"Sorry Brother Matthias. I hate these foul creatures! They deserve no place in this life. Let's get this over with."

The one called Hector was a slightly overweight looking man. He was white and had a bland lock of straight blond hair cut in a mullet on his head. He reached into his coat and pulled out a long black Desert Eagle pistol and pointed it at the old man on the ground. Flowing silver script was etched into its barrel.

"Holy crap!" James said to himself as he stumbled backwards. He dropped his cellphone which fell and shattered on the sidewalk.

At the noise, Matthias and Hector looked his way. Hector looked furious. He raised his gun and pointed it at James. James saw the old man smile.

"Hector, NO!" Matthias yelled but to late. A shot deafened James and a bullet smacked him in the left shoulder. James spun around and slammed to the ground on his back, his ears ringing. Pain stabbed in his shoulder and he looked over and saw his blood seeping into a puddle to his left.

"Vos have non vires of Deus in vos. (You have not the strength of God in you)." said the old man from his prone position, facing up and leaning on one elbow on the street as he looked at Hector. He was still smiling and dead eyes shone from his tired, unshaven, wrinkled face. Blood trickled from his broken teeth down into his beard but if he noticed, he gave no sign.

"Shut up you demon!" Hector screamed as he whirled to the old man.

"Hector!" yelled Matthias. "Calm yourself." He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and locked eyes with him.

"Is cur est quis vos addo constrictum mihi Matthias?(This cur is what you bring to bind me Matthias?)" chuckled the old man.

"I would bind you myself if I didn't already imprison your better, everto(demon)" Matthias said coldly. He looked evenly at the old man. Anger flashed across the old mans face.

James listened through a cloud of confusion and pain. "What in the world are they talking about?" he thought.

Hector, anger clouding his face, slapped Matthias' arms away. "Don't tell me to calm myself. Your holding me back." He pointed his gun at the old man again, screamed "Ego redimio vestri animus ut mei everto. Deus tribuo mihi vires flecto!(I bind your soul to mine demon. God give me the strength to overcome!) and pulled the trigger.

James cringed at the sound of the second shot and pulled himself into a ball. "God don't let me die, please don't let me die. Please help me!" he repeated over and over. The pain in his shoulder burned and blood continued to seep out.

The old mans head whipped back from being shot and his body slapped to the ground. The air around him started to steam and then a ripple in the air blasted out and slammed into Hector. Hector stumbled back screaming and dropping his gun. He clutched his head and dropped to his knees.

"Hector!" Matthias yelled and ran over and knelt in front of the other man. "Hector! Don't let him overcome you! Remember your training! Repeat the catechisms!"

Hectors eyes were squeezed shut and he whispered "God is great! He overcomes all! Through Him I can and will overcome all. By His love the weak are made strong! God is great! He overcomes all..." and over and over, weaker each time until his voice was hushed all together.

"Hector. Hector! Look at me. Look in my eyes!" Matthias said as he held Hector by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Look me in the eyes!"

Hectors face lifted, eyes still closed. A slow smile crossed his face. "Vestri Deus has deficio penuriosus Hector.(Your God has failed poor Hector.)" He said and black, hate filled eyes snapped open.

Matthias shoved Hectors possessed body back and pulled out a gun identical to Hectors from the inside of his jacket. "God did not fail Hector. Hector failed himself." He said as he rose and calmly aimed the gun between Hectors eyes and pulled the trigger.

"In Filiolus nomen EGO to order vos ut abyssus (In Gods name I command you to hell)" Matthias said as he raised his left arm to a square. A light seemed to glow from him and started to envelop Hectors corpse.

James had flinched again at the third gun shot and tears leaked from his squeezed shut eyes. "God please protect me." He said.

Just before Hectors corpse was completely enveloped by the light from Matthias, the air around his body began to steam. Matthias' eyes widened. "No" he said "This can't be happening". Then suddenly the air between Hectors body and James rippled and James felt a power shock him.

The last thing James heard before he blacked out was the man named Matthias yell, "Abbas EGO oro per thee! Servo is vir!( Father I plead with thee! Protect this man!)"

The End of Part 1

Well thats all I have so far. Tell me what you think! Positive or negative commentary, all is encouraged. Thanks for coming this far!
-Mike