((With apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson and to The Psalmist.))
"Half a league, half a league
Half a league onward
Into the shadow of the valley of death
Rode I, a wanderer.
"Forward, and with great praise!
Faith in the Son!" I said.
Into the valley of the shadow of death
Rode I, a wanderer.
... ... ...
Cannon to the right of him,
Cannon to the left of him,
Cannon in front of him,
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell
Boldly he rode as well,
For His rod and staff, they comfort me
And I shall fear no evil."
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Placeholder - Thunderstorm
So...I've been REALLY busy recently, and while you'd think that would give me plenty of material to write about, mostly I'm content to keep my thoughts to myself. I do feel a little bad about being so inconstant about updating, so in lieu of a "real" update, here's a short excerpt from a short story I've been writing. This is an original work, so please do not use, modify, or reproduce without my permission.
___________________________________________________________
You never want to go outside when it's raining in the city.
Two-hundred foot concrete towers suck a lot of moisture out of the air, and those same towers create a wind tunnel that turns slight breezes into noticeable headwinds that drive the rain everywhere. Any raindrops that make it to the ground are the ones that are actually trying to - raindrops with a death wish. I've heard it's worse in big cities like New York, where the rain is not only already dead, but looking to take its revenge on anyone unlucky enough to be out in it.
Tonight had been even worse than that. A grand mal thunderstorm came in, just before the restaurant closed. It was too late to call a friend for a ride - sunrise mornings and office cubicles would keep them in tonight - but it was too early for a taxi to be the safest way home. Not that it mattered; my wallet was empty except for a fiver. That meant walking. Sixteen blocks, in the stygian rain.
Piggybacking wireless from an apartment across the street (I had no idea how long that signal would stay up - they were pretty dense to keep an unprotected access point in this part of town), I resigned myself to getting pissed on by the leaking awning as I huddled over my hand-held, trying to keep it dry. I wanted to storm back inside, tell Boss-man to get it fixed, but he would ignore the complaint. He always ignored me. He might do something about it if I could get the Brat to complain about it. Nothing else ever seemed to work.
The faint glow of my hand-held flickered. Donate money, donate money, Jesus loves you, donate money, free porn if you give us your credit number. Nothing from Brother, nothing from the Twins, nothing from anyone. Brother had sent me a call before going on a first date with some girl. "I need a favor. I need you to tell me I'm fun to hang out with. Convince me." He said he'd call back when it was over. That was three days ago. Must be a damn good date. The Twins were racist, superficial, loud, and flaky as hell...but they hadn't moved up north like everyone else. They were always good for a drink or a quick fight, and sometimes that was alright. The glow flickered again. Dammit...battery's about to go. With a sigh I pocketed the device, shook water out of my hair the best I could, and stepped back into the storm. Sixteen blocks... I became one with the rain.
___________________________________________________________
You never want to go outside when it's raining in the city.
Two-hundred foot concrete towers suck a lot of moisture out of the air, and those same towers create a wind tunnel that turns slight breezes into noticeable headwinds that drive the rain everywhere. Any raindrops that make it to the ground are the ones that are actually trying to - raindrops with a death wish. I've heard it's worse in big cities like New York, where the rain is not only already dead, but looking to take its revenge on anyone unlucky enough to be out in it.
Tonight had been even worse than that. A grand mal thunderstorm came in, just before the restaurant closed. It was too late to call a friend for a ride - sunrise mornings and office cubicles would keep them in tonight - but it was too early for a taxi to be the safest way home. Not that it mattered; my wallet was empty except for a fiver. That meant walking. Sixteen blocks, in the stygian rain.
Piggybacking wireless from an apartment across the street (I had no idea how long that signal would stay up - they were pretty dense to keep an unprotected access point in this part of town), I resigned myself to getting pissed on by the leaking awning as I huddled over my hand-held, trying to keep it dry. I wanted to storm back inside, tell Boss-man to get it fixed, but he would ignore the complaint. He always ignored me. He might do something about it if I could get the Brat to complain about it. Nothing else ever seemed to work.
The faint glow of my hand-held flickered. Donate money, donate money, Jesus loves you, donate money, free porn if you give us your credit number. Nothing from Brother, nothing from the Twins, nothing from anyone. Brother had sent me a call before going on a first date with some girl. "I need a favor. I need you to tell me I'm fun to hang out with. Convince me." He said he'd call back when it was over. That was three days ago. Must be a damn good date. The Twins were racist, superficial, loud, and flaky as hell...but they hadn't moved up north like everyone else. They were always good for a drink or a quick fight, and sometimes that was alright. The glow flickered again. Dammit...battery's about to go. With a sigh I pocketed the device, shook water out of my hair the best I could, and stepped back into the storm. Sixteen blocks... I became one with the rain.
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