The New Dragon Saga: Training

sword grip

Found at Kung Fu Magazine.com – No image credit available

Chapter 1: Buddy the Ambrosial Dragon had only been sporadically living with Landon and his family for the past year or so. Now that he had grown to his full stature (about the size of a school bus), he always had to shrink himself downwhen he came to stay with them, as he had right now.

He didn’t tell his seventeen-year-old apprentice anything about his “secret missions,” and Landon knew all too well that once the Dragon’s mind was made up, there was no changing it. The only time they got to spend with each other was during his lessons in the teen’s personal pocket universe, the small pouch which was its entrance was sitting on the top of his book shelf here in his bedroom.

The high school senior slammed shut his calculus book, tossed it on the floor with the other texts, and got off his bed. He pulled the ear buds out and closed the music app on his phone, stuffing it in his pocket. He felt strangely anxious. There was something not right, but his senses couldn’t pinpoint it.

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Hope is Being Sucked Out of Life One Person at a Time

memorial

A Boise mass stabbing left nine people hurt, including six children, after a man attacked a 3-year-old’s birthday party on Saturday, June 30, at an apartment complex near West State Street and Wylie Lane. Four of the victims were critically injured.

I don’t know if I successfully communicate this on my blog, but I do try to understand people who aren’t like me. I may not always agree with them, but I want to know where they’re coming from. After all, I’m not the sole source of human knowledge, and I’m not the ultimate moral and ethical authority in the universe. I suppose my efforts are wasted, at least with a few folks who really, really need the world to be polarized, and if you aren’t like them, you’re evil. Nevertheless, I do want to get some sort of comprehension about people, even those who (probably) hate me.

This stuff like this happens and it sucks all of the hope out of the room. Really, I’m suffocating.

A 30-year-old guy was staying in an apartment complex in Boise, Idaho near where I live. He’s from Los Angeles, and I can’t really glean from the news stories why he was here in the first place. Apparently, there was some sort of trouble with the apartment manager and/or tenants, and he was asked to leave.

So what is his response? He gets a knife and, targeting a child’s birthday party, stabs nine people, including the birthday girl who was turning three. She was flown to Salt Lake City for treatment and just died of her injuries.

A three-year-old little girl is dead and for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

The suspect is in custody and being held without bail. The victims were all recent immigrants from Ethiopia, Iraq, and Syria. All they wanted was to escape the violence of their countries and make a new life here in the U.S. This guy (I won’t honor him by posting his name or photo) took away the hope they found here.

Every time something like this happens, my faith in humanity diminishes just a little bit more, I become more cynical, and I become more like the pundits on social media who demand the (metaphorical) heads of their enemies on a platter just because they dared to disagree with them.

I know we live in an evil world and human nature isn’t really a great nature. We have to work hard to overcome the lowest levels of who we can be. Apparently, this person didn’t feel like working that hard and now a three-year-old girl is dead.

My granddaughter turned three last week.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t like people very much right now.

The Prison

prison

Found at the Libertarian Republic website.

Gravity.

It’s pulling me down. I feel so heavy. I can barely stand.

No, I’m being pulled down now. I’m on my knees. Who are these creatures scampering around me? What are they doing with those chains? How come they are so light and fast when I find it so hard to move?

The weight. I’m pinned to the ground. The chains are so heavy. I can’t get free.

They’re going now, those creatures. Gremlins, gnomes, who knows what they are but they’re handy with bolts and blow torches. I’m held fast, too heavy to get off of my back.

Gravity. I’m powerless to resist it. I want to stand but I can’t. Don’t you understand, I can’t. I’m not strong enough.

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The Last Lunch at Nanking’s

chinese restaurant

© Singledust

Joel had been bringing his son Chris to the Nanking’s on Balboa since he was seven. They had father-son talks over dumpling soup or dry-fried chicken. Tommy Woo, the owner, was like an uncle to the boy. Joel and Chris eventually became a fixture at Nanking’s.

Chris was 30 now and engaged. This was their last lunch together.

Nanking doesn’t open until noon, but Joel asked Tommy for a favor. They lunched at ten just the two men with Tommy and his staff.

Chris opened his fortune cookie and read it. “Your life will change dramatically. Never thought these things were true until now.”

Joel smiled weakly and looked out the window.

“They’re here son. You ready?”

“Yes, Dad. Thanks for this one last time together.”

They stood. Tommy was near the kitchen door, tears streaming down his face.

“I love you, son.” They embraced, both crying now.

“I’ll turn myself in. You’re right. I caught Mallory cheating on me, but I shouldn’t have killed her. Now I’m going to prison.”

I wrote this in response to the Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge. Based on the photo prompt above, ideally, you’re supposed to write a flash fiction story of between 100 and 150 words, however the word count can go up to 175. That’s good, because my wee tale comes in at 170 words.

To read other stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.

There’s a very slight similarity to reality here. My son David and I periodically meet at a local Thai restaurant on Fridays about once every three months or so to spend time together. Beyond that, the story is pure fiction.

Finding Love Again

hotel

© A Mixed Bag 2014

The so-called Country Hotel was located in the center of town. Dreary, gray, depressing place, but it’s where Janice said to meet. He’d been in worse.

Dean checked in and took his luggage to his room on the fifth floor. Janice made the reservation, so she’d know where to find him.

He didn’t unpack, just took off his overcoat, laid it across the bed, and nervously looked at his wristwatch. Almost time. Would they remember him after five years?

He heard the knock. Children’s muffled voices.

He hesitated for a second, then opened it.

“Grandpa!” Eleven-year-old Aaron and nine-year-old Esther screamed simultaneously, launching into the room, embracing their grandfather.

“I appreciate this, Janice. I know you don’t have to do this.”

“Dad, they love their Grandpa and want to spend time with him.”

Thank God Janice was so forgiving and the kids were so loving.

Dean kneeled down and excitedly announced. “Guess what? Tomorrow, we’ll go on an airplane to where Grandpa lives in Florida. We’re going to have a terrific time over Spring break.”

Dean’s mistake cost him five years in prison away from his family. Now he was going to make up for lost time.

I wrote this in response to this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction. The challenge is to use the photo prompt (see above) to write a complete story of no more than 200 words. My wee missive comes in at exactly 200.

To read more stories based on this week’s prompt, visit InLinkz.com.