Weekly is my new routine

Bruce wondered how people could stand the music, much less each other in the closeness of the dance floor. But he had not come here to cleanse or socialize, he had come to drink and drink he would, but on some one else's dollar, Henry would handle the money while he handled the drinks.
As the night progressed , he handle his drinks well as he watched, wallowing I his own self pity as others made connections and danced. Closer than he would have liked but that was with a fathers heart.
He mused on the probable damage his ears and other organs make be taking from the though drowning music and the vodka he drank like soda. To drink it like water would have been a more apt description but he didn't care, his mind had started up the stages of intoxication soon after the 7th drink and after that he lost count. The buzzed transformed to the thickening though to the sludge of drunkenness and he bemoaned to no one the divorce that the court had designated. Loosing the only life he had had up to that point. And how the bitch, no, whore of a wife had brought it about by the affair she had been having. Some guy who had been sharing HIS bed in HIS house. The home he had bleed for and sweated over.
When he had come home early, he had walked in on then in the heat of it. Grunting and rutting during the school hours that had kept the kids from finding out some how. In the drive had been the red truck he had seen driving by as he had driven home from work. To often and to recently now that it came to mind. But what it had come down to the fight, when he had walked in, dropping his shoulder bag by the door and gapping at them as they finished their heat they were in, oblivious to the rest of the world.
They finished and the air pressure of the house slammed the door behind him. The room stank of sex and sweat, clothes strewn over HIS hard earned furniture. They had looked up, his wife horrified, the man with a strange look of deer in head light that changed into a shit licking smile that had woken a rage that he had not felt since his earlier football days when he had channeled it into the defense line.
They had separated, the man, standing to a full  6' 5" with only a shirt to Bruce's 5' 11" in button up shirt and dress pants. The shirt proclaimed "Beefies, two for one happy hour" and stretched a size to small over his chest.
His wife slithered off the couch and back up, clutching her garments, trying to find the open top of the pants and opening her mouth to speak.
"B-Bruce,"she stammered, finding the top and almost jumping into them," I-I didn't expect you home so early."
The though, I can tell, flashed through his mind but remained unspoken as the man spoke, his voice the deep thrum of a baritone, no nervousness or stuttering, but calm and collected. A man who is used to be under pressure.
"Your wife and I were just getting acquainted."
The almost hint of self pleasure in that voice made him stop for a second, he looked back at his wife of almost 6 years and bearer of his two children, who was just standing there blushing redder than sun burn and stammering "Bruce."
The man turned slamming a fist into her face, causing what would be later a cracked jaw, spinning her around to the floor.
Bruce launched himself at the man before he turned around, shouting something that might have been a threat or insult to his wife. His linebacker muscles screamed at their sudden demand and his hip caught the corner of the couch between them as they collided and his low point of impact caused them to tumble. After which it became a confusion of fists, elbows and knees as they each had tried to beat each other senseless. It would have been a close thing had it not been a close thing had it not been difference in their ages, his prime being behind him and this mans being now as he proceeded to bruse and bludgeon every inch of Bruce until the police arrived.
They had been dragged apart, the man whose name turned out to be Dave something had been allowed to put on his pants before being put into a police car while Bruce had failed to get back at him, spitting the vilest things he could think of at him as he was put into the back of a police car.
Then, after the police statements and the whore wife moving out of the house with the children, she had claimed that he had hit her, HE, who had never even  spanked the children if they had behaved badly.
There had been court and the arguments and the verdict which had decided HIM to be he unfit father and denied him everything but the child support and his truck. She had let him take what clothes he could pack and a few toiletries, even as she seemed confused at the turn of events and the children spent an extended trip at their grandparents while the separation took place.
Three years later, after losing his job and getting rehired by another company headed for bankruptcy, he was here at a club, almost dragged by Henry  who was convinced that if he looked hard enough, he would find a girl in the shallow chromosomed denizens of this loud hell. Looking at the bottom of his empty glass, he wondered though his drunkenness how it had come to this.
And that is when it hit him, literally. The cloaked martian battle ship that would end up demolishing a third of the city and smearing to a paste all his fellow nightclubbers took Bruce out first. His head snapped forward his glass driven into his eye like a grisly monocle, killing him instantly, much to his dismay, though sparing him from the liquid gravel sound and the hardly voiced uproar of those around him being ground into the floor. The music soon followed, squealing into nothingness as fast as the battleship fell. As mentioned, that section of the city was flattened, the ships cloaking only failing once it had stopped moving and the piloting lights that lined the ship gave off a brought orange hue that pulsed to a bullhorn like siren of alarm, designating to at least the martian that the crash landing had hardly damaged the ship.

A stroll

He wiped his mouth, he had been messy again, but hadn't been able to conrol himself. He reached down and picked up the trash, cramming it in the nearest trash can, it was too big to fit but with his supeior stregnth and a crunch it fit.
He looked around, good no one was around.He strolled slowly around the bushes, out of the semi concealed corner of the park that he had been dwelling in. He had been out longer than ususal but he enjoyed his midnight walks.
The park wasn't very large and soon he was out of it and turning down the streets lit by their luminescance making his way back to his appartment. No one was on the street and the few cars that passed him took no notice.
His third floor apartment greeted him with the glow of occupency as he opened the door. THe stairwell light had been off but his night vision had alway been great. Inside, the appartment smelled of dust and mildew they had not been able to cocse out of the wood work itself and the sented candles they lit only seemed to renforce the underlying oders.
From the set of mismatched couches that somehow were wedged in split level living room, Ashley looked up from her laptop and grinned at him.
"Enjoyed your walk,?" She asked rising and eyeing his front.
He looked down and saw that his front was darkened with his repasted and blushed.
Ashely had drifted over to him and ran a finger over the area, it came away darkened and she put it in her mouth. She moaned and grinned at him.
"You should have shared or taken me along if you were going to have a snack, and you always have that knack of chosing the best ones."
He looked at her, her black curly hair sholder lenght and out of control, her skin white from lack of sun, the perfect nose and red lips now thinned in repproach. And her eyes, a mis matched set of Red and brown, almost lustful at the moment.
A giggle broke out from her throat breaking the sexy vixen mood and she spun away. Her face breaking into a grin as his arms cluched at thin air in an attempted hug
"You will have to be quicker than that."She grinned as she sat back down to be bathed in the shifting light of the webisode that she had been watching."And you should get cleaned up, if Jake sees you like that, there will be hell to pay."
He nodded and then made his way though the kitchen and to his bed room. THe dresser creaked as he opened the drawers and extracted a new set of clothes and changed, tossing his soiled things into his laundry basket.
He made his way to the bath room and washed his face, the water running red as the dried stuff came off of his face. Glancing up, he was met by a red haired Mand with freckles and pale skin. A stubbly beard started and would be shaved soon but not just yet. One his throat, a bought of scar tissue starting at the base of his throat to where his adams apple was. He had never been able to speak after that had happened and had taken up sign language to tell people what he needed. He hated how the only noise he could make was a grunt that told nothing of how he really felt.
He stopped, water dripping from his face and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He heard the water dripping, and whoose of the facet as it gushed water, the tinny sound of light tubes above the sink. The beating of his heart.
He opened his eyes, letting out his held breath and turned putting on his shirt.

Writer Block

It had been burning him for ages it seemed, for the past week he had done nothing but it and ponder, go for walk and put off working. He had signed a contract and now loafed around, doing nothing.
He looked over at the computer, black as the screen was, if the mouse  moved than a back ground of an Elephant would stare back at him. Reproachful and magnificent, its trunk curled around a box with "Langdarf, locked" written below it. It had been the birthing place in the book that had gotten him the contract in the first place. He had bought the PC with money from it and hoped that though it he would be able to funnel the myriad of stories and lore that surrounded his mythical land, but nothing came.

He stared for another moment and then looked back out though the window to the backyard. Mowed and well kept, no a tree, bush or building marked it back to the tree line more than 100 yards back. He had hoped one day to put in a pool and have his friends come over but he had few of those as he did. Working on the manuscript as diligently as he had, his socializing ventures, BBQ's, Pub nights, Hiking adventures, had been postponed and he had not talked to them in over six months. His mind was still staggered by that.

Having almost daily working as an assistant manager, and then spending nights with his friends eating and drinking with his friends, he had taken a month off work for vacation time and sat down to write his book. His savings had been saved up, he was almost a year ahead on the house payments and his retirement had been well underway. So he had worked.

Well not worked as the case may be, The first week had been like this one. Sitting in front of his computer waiting for inspiration to hit, the few outlines he had tried turned sour quickly and his previous short stories were mind achingly dull when he had tried to read them. Making an exercise of rewriting them had crossed his mind, but his attempts had only muddied his already terrible work.

It was the next Monday when the inspiration had struck. After trying the first few days and failing, he had started cleaning out the attic, sorting boxes and boxes of old toys, trinkets, plastic awards for cross country and soccer when he cam across a box he had not see in years.

It was his grandmothers jewelry box. At least on his mothers side, his fathers family had never spoken to them, something to do with dishonoring the family and had disowned him. But the ones on his mothers side had loved them all to make up for it, They had one daughter and when he had arrived between his Older brother and younger sister, they had ogled and cuddled him as much as the others.

It took him back to the Sunday when he had seen the box, they had gone back home from church and had stopped at "Grand Parents House" ,as they had called it, and he had wondered into their room out of curiosity. It held their bed, wall to wall closet, and on the opposite side, the dresser with top mirror.

On top of the dresser had been the Jewelry box. It was all silver and gems that twinkled and refracted across the ceiling as a tree swayed in the slight breeze outside. It had been mesmerizing and he had stared at it for a long time before his mother had come and gotten him.

In the following years up to her death, he had asked about it and she had related how his grandfather had bought it for her during their 20th anniversary, she kept all her treasures in it. The box was 7inches wide and half as high and deep. The lid opened to depression where she had kept her earnings, and the two drawers on the front where she had kept her necklaces and his grandfathers cuff links so he did not lose them as he had been apt to lose everything, keys, wallet, cards, shoes, socks and all manner of things he had lost but he always quipped that he heart had always been hers to keep so he never lost it. Along with his cuff links.


They had been gone for more than 10 years, after a car accident with a deer had killed them. After the funeral, and an over dramatic reading of their will which had told them that they wish their family the best and hoped that they would live long and prosper, they had sorted though the house, selling everything they didn't want or couldn't use. The box had not turned up during the search though. Both his mother and sister had looked for it along with him and the friends they had come along to help (With the cleansing as they called it) but it was not found.

After those 10 long years he had found it in his attic, in boxes of old dishes that had come from their house, He guessed that someone had though it was some sort of cream and sugar holder but when he had opened it it found out that it had been cleaned of jewelry, To large to pocket, someone had taken the jewelry and left the box.

He had almost cried then and their, in the front room where the table was strewn with boxes from the attic being resorted or boxes and relabeled. He had sat down and heard something shift in the box. Curiosity over rode his depression and he tilted it again, nothing. Tilt the other way, shift and a 'tock' sound as something hit the other side of the box. He opened the lid again and tilted. Empty as it was, he saw the little depressions where the box was divided in to partition move as the 'tock' came again.

Lifting the worn and faded red insert, a small photo had been secreted below. Lifting it presented him with a challenge as his fingernails were to short and its edge seemed to be glued to the bottom. After failing to pick it up several times, he took a knife from the box and flipped it up so he could grab it.

The picture was of his grandmother and father on either side of a baby elephant, its trunk holding his grandmothers hand. Written on it was "Best time with Cremona" and the date beside it.

He had stared at it, not knowing who Cremona was or knowing who had taken the photo, but reading the word had somehow opened a flood game in his mind and seeing his Grandparents smiling faces had reminded him of the stories that his grandfather told him and his brother and sister when they had slept over at their house and wanted to hear his voice.

He had walked over to the computer, and started working on his book, with his grandparents in his thoughts and his grandfathers stories in his head and told them though his eyes.

Damn

I have not been keeping track of the time and Have not come up with anything new until recently Here goes.

______________________________

He looked upon the giant bird, what had been called the bird of ages and wept for it. Motting, it huddled on the hull, a worn depression that could have been a nest surrounding it looking as old as the bird itself. It eyes were filmed and clouded, snot drained out of its nose. It's breathing ragged as if it were dying for a drink. The once vibrant red  plumage was dirty and dull.
It would come up to his head had it stood up, or if it had the strength to. It was hard to believe that this this was the key to a new age. It looked as if it was dying like the rest of the world.
Worn out, run down, not even magic was as strong as it once was. He feel to the ground and sat looking at it.
This was the most depressing site to come to after all this time. What had he done to come here?
Well how about stealing a ship from the murderus baron of Vinehard, who regularly staked people. Or nearly get mauled by grizzlies in the great forest of Garnag? Or come to think of it, let a beautiful woman get burned at a stake as part of a rejuvenation ritual that had obviously now worked?!?
He wept even more as he thought of his mentor Owin who had died on the trip, leaving him alone and frightened, of the village of dead orcs that he had wondered though smelling the burnt fleash that so remind him if the orcish raids that he had witnessed leading him to think how much the orcs were fighting to protect themselves as much as their human counter parts were.
All that, all that and nothing had come of it, nothing but this blasted bird. This fucking bird that was supposed to have erupted from fire at the beginning of each new age from a volcano that did not exist where it was supposed to be.
He wiped his eyes and looked around thinking, 'and where are the order who are suposed to be protecting the bird?
The place was deserted, or did he have the wrong

Give me feed back please

A New Beginning

This is where i will outline my intentions and ideas for this blog. Hurrah, you will know them.
Any why, This blog is intended to improve my writing skill and I will leave it up to you to read the stories I will write and leave you to make up your minds about them and their contents.
Any and all observations will be kept in mind and if you have any suggestions about the direction I should go or my technique are gladly appreciated.
Also if there are any misspellings or grammar errors in my works, please point them out as I would like to learn as much as I can from this.
Thank you very much for your time and here is the first story I have.


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Clara looked beyond the orchard from the hill on which she sat. The smell of apple blossoms heavy in the air around her and she breathed it in, loving the now afternoon air gusting, tossing her hair gently around her head. The blanket beneath her lumpy from the sparse grass, dirt and roots that were covered by its checkered length white on blue squares, or was it blue on white. Her dress bunched at her knees as she had lifted them as she sat.

The food she had prepared sat around her, all still warm from the basket that she had kept them in, which sat beside her. Now acting as a small table for the drinks she had poured, the china cups matching the dishware that was stacked around basket, having been put in first.
She called out then to the other three that had come with her. And she was joined by them and they sat down to eat.

Their was John, the first up the hill, he wore a white button up shirt, pleated slacks, with back shoes. His short black hair and brown eyes were what had charmed her, and his dazzling white smile that he flashed at her and he sat down delighted her, making her feel warm inside. He took a plate and began filling it.

Next was Billy, who was the spitting image of his father, and was only 11. He sported a button up shirt and blue slacks like his father, but wore brown shoes. His freckled face sported a bit of dirt and Clara quickly scrubbed it off his face even as he squirmed to get away from his mothers touch. Then took a plate, patted the   dog that had laid on the blanket beside John and filled it to eat.

The dog was a border collie and panted happily as the family sat to eat, and did not even sniff at the food until offered some by the youngest member of the Family, Dolly.

Dolly was 6 and fell onto the dog in a fit of giggles, she had been lead to the blanket by her brother and wore a yellow daisy dress  like her mother. She then sat in Johns lap and shared his plate with him, enjoying her time with her daddy as they sat on the hill in the perfect summer afternoon air.

Clara sighed, contented with the day. She was relaxed as she helped Billy to more of the food that was laid around her. Such a perfect day for this, she though, such a perfect day.



Clara opened her eyes. There was no summer sunshine, no John or Billy or Dolly around her on a hill in an orchard. What she saw was the steel side of the sleeping chamber in front of her. She lay on the bed and the dim glow of the auxiliary light showed her that the mechanical clock above her said 13:00. She sighed and unzipped the liner that held her in place.

She floated,  weightless in the gravity free tube that was her sleeping chamber and reach up, disengaging harness that held the sensors to her head. The imprints left by the them would disappear in a few hours but the it still reminded her of the hair she had had in the dream. Her hair had been shoulder length before she had joined the forces but she had kept it short since. Shaving her head as to keep it out of the way. She sighed at the memory of it and then opened the hatch to leave which was located at the head of the bed and closed it behind her.

The sleeping chamber dimmed as the hatch closed and the harness that had been around her head slowly retracted into a chamber for storage which closed. A small light turned from red to green and inside the chamber, the only light that was let off was a small read out that read "Nuclear Family V5.2" and went dark.