Trespasser (Part XXII)

Posted on September 14, 2015 by R. Richardsson

Another rainy day. As the summer months waned, they came more frequently, bastions of the months to come. For the first time in weeks, the smell of smoked food didn’t fill any of their windows. The women weren’t busy making side dishes, nor were they baking pies, and the children weren’t playing outside.

The residents on this dead-end street had grown distant since Davie had taken his fall. It wasn’t something that had happened immediately. They came with casseroles and well wishes, and they spent their free time doing anything to help his wife out around their home, but eventually the fridge was filled. Over the course of two weeks, all of Davies’ unfinished projects had been finished, and there was nothing new for anyone to say.

Bryer street grew stale, and where most its inhabitants were unhappy, one, in particular, thrived. ‘Dandy’ Andy ‘From Down The Street’, wore the biggest of smiles. He walked with an extra bounce in his step, and he winked at everyone as if he knew their darkest secrets.

Oh, but if only they knew his.

If they knew his deep, dark secret, they would sing a different tune indeed!

But that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, not if he had anything to say about it. Because HIS, deep, dark secret, was being shared by someone else, someone who could still say something about it. Not the old black man from down the street, however, he had seen to that! That one wouldn’t be saying much of anything in the foreseeable future. No, not that one, but a much younger flower. One more to his liking. One he had recently picked as his own.

He had thought of her as his flower from the moment that he laid eyes upon her. Oh, she had been planted by another, a gardener who had tended to her, fed and watered her, and pruned her so that she was always pretty, but he thought of it as her having been planted just for him. She was HIS flower, and he would do with HER as HE pleased!

He had picked his flower, but he had yet to pollinate it with his special brand of pollen. He had come close. Oh, so close! But then that old black man had interfered!

“HE’S IN MY HOUSE!”, he’d screamed over and over in his head, during AND after having dealt with him.

He worked it into a chant. “hesinmyhousehesinmyhousehesinmyhouse”, repeating the words with manic fervor. He had dealt with the old man, but he couldn’t get him out of his house. Even after it was done, after the cops had completed their investigation and left, he just couldn’t get him out of his goddamn house!

“He’s. In. My. House!”

His skin crawled at the thought of being violated.

“How dare he come into MY HOUSE! Fucking THIEF! VIOLATOR! NIGGER!”

Just when he was ready to take his flower and bring her home, HE had-

“-fucked everything up!”

Andy was angry. He was happy. He was furious. His emotions were all over the scale as he thought about the old man and how he’d had the nerve to trespass upon his private domain.

Andy was sad. He was giddy. He was nervous, because with the old man out-of-the-way, he was finally going to be able to get what he wanted. What he won-ted. He giggled at his clever play of words, humming as he skipped up the steps to his front door.

Soon.

“He’s. In. My. House.”

“Shut up,” he said to nobody in particular.

The Morelli Bros. (Chapter II, Part III)

Posted on August 15, 2015 by R. Richardsson

Toad’s legs were like tiny pistons, working tirelessly as they carried him further into the fort’s interior. Though it was small on the outside, the halls beneath it were many, and it would be several minutes before he reached his destination.

Toad was very different from the majority of his people. Unlike most, who were happy to integrate into society per norm, he was born with an adventurous spirit. As a child, while his siblings and peers were performing light duties to help their parents, he was exploring dark caverns, or climbing magic vines, just to see where they’d lead him.

When he wasn’t questing, he spent his time running. Toad was the fastest creature this side of the kingdom, aside from the wild yoshi, but those were so rare that it was hard to find contest in the claim. He found comfort in the movements that his body made. The light swing of his arms, the flex and relaxing of the muscles in his legs, the steady intake and release of the air needed to continue, all had become second nature to him.

So in the comfort of running he retreated as the stone walls blurred past him, and he soon took little notice of his surroundings. He had traversed this path enough times to know the route by heart. As he ran, he had to occasionally duck under the arms of various slave workers, who were busy with the construction of the interior. He dodged when another of his folk, a youngling by measure, stumbled into a pile of unwound Bob-ombs, the latter whose lifeless eyes seemed to accuse any who looked upon them.

A shiver ran down his spine, sending a chill throughout his body as he expected one of the dangerous orbs to suddenly come to life. Before he could find out, he was running down another corridor and the scene was long behind him.

He was only stopped once when, ahead of him, a Magikoopa was using its magic to command a small group of Drybones to work. Four of the undead koopa were tethered to a mighty Thwomp trap, a living block covered in spikes and whose sole purpose was to kill any that cross its path, and were dragging it toward a rope and pulley. There, it would be taken to the top of the corridor and placed in its hidden alcove, where it would await its victims.

He knew that it wouldn’t be long before even he was unable to pass through here, and his little heart grieved for the prisoner below. He had yet to see the dreaded King of the Koopas, but if the fear in the eyes of all those around him meant anything, he knew that there was little hope for the girl he was going to prepare for it.

He was close.

There was only one more obstacle before he reached his destination, a retractable bridge that had to be activated near the door to her cell. He stood at the edge of the chasm, the bottom of which was being filled with molten steel, and motioned to the guard on the other side.

The creature looked very much like the koopas who marched on two legs, only this one’s shell was covered with thick spikes. In the right light, he thought, it could easily pass for true leader of this army, King Bowser. It bore a strong resemblance the cruel tyrant, or at least to its descriptions, such as the purpose for which it was created.

It was the guardian of the depths, the keeper of the key, and the last test any intruder would have to pass to gain access to the door it was protecting. Unlike any other creature, these were created using the blood of the King himself. The intention had been to protect his bloodline, but the outcome had not been as planned.

These creatures may bear the resemblance of Bowser, but they were nothing like the evil king. Most lacked the intelligence to speak and acted solely on instinct, attacking any and all creatures they deemed inferior. While some could only muster enough of their wits to jump on their enemies, others had just enough sense to attack with weapons, or with their legendary fire breath.

Once it had locked into place, Toad slowly crossed the bridge with his eyes pointed to his feet. To look up was to provoke the guardian, and no magic would protect him from the wrath that would incur.

“Please let me pass, please let me pass,” he chanted with each carefully placed step. Even though he wore a magic pendant around his neck which allowed him just that, his nerves wouldn’t allow him to pass quietly.

The Bowserling leaned down as he approached, sniffling deeply of his scent and drooling with anticipation. One misstep and he would be lunch.

Across the White Line

Posted on August 12, 2015 by R. Richardsson

This isn’t my typical fare for those of you expecting something delicious. I don’t have any monsters in this post, nor will anybody die. Sadly, there will also be no twist endings, no surprise villains, and I will not be creating a world you’ll want to visit from time to time. Tonight I will be stepping outside of my comfort zone to talk about something that happened last week.

Life changing? Sure. For some, this was an event that might give cause to completely alter one’s life.

Enlightening? Possibly. I suppose there is something to take away from all of this. Later that day, my boss says to me; “Do you believe in God? You should, because he believes in you.”

The day in question was August 4th, the day I nearly died.

The image you see here is the wreckage of my 104, the truck I had been been entrusted with when I took my job as a driver.

I had just left the quarry in Edgarton KS, headed to a job site less than ten minutes away. I had a number of routes available to me, three to be exact, of which I had chosen the quickest one; hwy 199, going east. For those of you without any knowledge of this road, and I expect that number to be in the ‘most of’ category, it’s a narrow two lane jobber.

Normally, I try to follow the highways that have a full, or in the very least, a partial shoulder, in case something should happen. Today, I thought that I could get a little bit further ahead by shaving a few minutes off of my route. Three, to be exact.

Somewhere deep down, I knew that I had made a mistake when there was no shoulder on the other side of the line. Once across, you were in the grass. These fears came to fruition about a mile in.

Ahead of me, I noticed an extra large pickup coming my way. More specifically, I noticed that his two rear-axle tires were on my side of the road! I had only a split second to react and I moved over a little to the right.

Two things immediately happened:

Because I was carrying a full load, and as it always does when I move a little too suddenly, the trailer began to rock from side to side. When I felt it move, I looked out the side view mirror, wrongfully thinking that it had gone over the white line.
Because I looked out the mirror, as nearly every driver would do at this point, my hand hand followed the movement of my head.

At that moment, what I thought my trailer was doing, was happening to my tractor!

I wouldn’t realize this until later, however, as I swore it was the former of the two that sucked me down. That being said, there were only six seconds left until –

I watched in horror as my truck slid from the road. To my credit, I almost kept her on her wheels! However, and as I was later informed, I did what eight out of ten drivers would have done in this situation. I kept fighting to get back on the road. As such, when I reached that point where only five of my eighteen wheels were still on the pavement, my tractor overturned and slammed into the ground at a little over forty-four miles per hour, give or take.

There were only six, when I felt myself losing control, but they were the longest six seconds of my life. It was at that moment that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I had come to the end of my life.

I wish I could say that I said something memorable, like in that movie; “The Perfect Storm.” Remember when the boat went down and the crewman said something to the effect of; “This is going to be hard on my little boy?”

Or what if I had gone with a witty one-liner? “Well, this is one way to lay down some rock!”

Unfortunately, the sad truth of it is I went with; “No. No, no, no, NO – OH FUCK!”

That’s when the ground exploded into the cab. That, and about two feet of the rock I was carrying that day. When the dust settled, I didn’t have time to think about how I was alive. I looked down into what was left of the passenger area of the cab and tried to make sense of it. It looked, and I would later discover this to be true from the outside as well, as if it had been crumpled up like a wad of paper.

I heard steam. I could hear something leaking. I looked out the hole where the windshield had been and saw a pool of liquid forming on the ground.

The dust settled, and I burst into action. I had seen the movies enough times to know what happens next. Directing my attention to my side, I located my seat belt release and fought for escape.

*CLICK*

Success! I was free!

The next two or three seconds are a blur, nearly lost in my memory, but I somehow birthed from that unholy compartment and back into the world.

I remember pulling myself to my feet and charging away from the truck as if the hounds of hell were at my heels! What a sight I must have been to the bystander who’d stopped to help. THIS man, bloodied, and wearing a terrified expression, pulls himself from the wreckage and charges as if possessed!

I remember the expression of shock/amazement/fear on his face as I waved him away.

“Got. To. Get. Back,” I shouted between gasps.

I was struggling for air. I was also trembling from the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I didn’t know it at the time, but I had sustained some damage to my left shoulder. Maybe in the impact of the crash? Or, maybe pulling myself out? Who’s to say… As I write this, pain is consuming every nerve ending in what I believe is the rotator cup area, and I’m wondering just how much more I can pound out on my keyboard before I’m happy with the results.

And actually, there’s little else to tell, from then on, that I feel is relevant to this post.

The bystander allowed me to call my work, 911, and my wife before leaving.

The person who caused my reaction, the one driving the extra-large truck, never stopped, and hasn’t been heard from since.

And, I have been on the mend now for over a week.

I don’t know how long this place in my life will hang on to me, I’m hoping to have some good news after my next doctor’s visit, but I do know that the wounds will take longer to heal in heart, than just in body.

Amazing that these are the worst of the abrasions I suffered! Not pictured were the scrapes, cuts, and scratches on my arms and legs, probably earned during the escape. And, obviously, we can’t see the damage done inside my shoulder, but I assure you the bruises forming there are telling a story of their own.

Strangely, this hasn’t changed my outlook on the future.

Once I am able, I plan to get in another truck, back at it. Since this job is seasonal, and most of the work is in the warm months of the year, I anticipate (as well as look forward to) the remaining months to be used writing my books. Of course, I work on them during the week when I can, but some nights I don’t get home until well after dark.

I guess I am sharing this with you, my friends and avid readers, because I wanted to show you what was on the other side of the computer screen. I don’t do this often, for I am not always fond of what I, myself, find there, but this time I felt compelled to. As I mentioned before, I find myself heavy of heart as of late, but I’ve heard that sometimes it’s best to just tell the tale.

104 has been laid to rest this week, but I have not.