A Work in Progress (The Wolf Man)

The Wolf Man

Flying through the desert, the air is warm, the stars are bright, and I’m as high as a kite.

Caught me a long ride outta Mesa, New Mexico heading for the Promised Land of L.A., California. The year: 1968.

It’s early morning. I mean it’s really early . . . like 1:00 a.m. early.

We blow through four counties, we’re movin’ fast. My life is waiting for me on the West Coast. Ain’t got no time to mess around in this bohunk desert. Ain’t got no time for this bullshit.

Then he spoke to me. He came from the stars. His voice dove into my being, and I’ve never been the same since. The Wolf Man had my soul. The Wolf Man showed me the way. The Wolf Man was the way!

To be continued . . .

Advertisements

Danny and the Viking Funeral

Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

Danny and the Viking Funeral

I’m not too happy with humankind at the moment, but I’ll say hello anyway. My name is Danny. To my legions of fans I am known as Danny the Dog.

Today I want to talk about my human. His name is Andrew and he is a real idiot! Andrew wants a Viking funeral. Do you know what a Viking funeral consists of? I didn’t think so, and neither did I until Andrew opened his big yap!

When a Viking died, they put him on his boat, set it afire and pushed it out into the fjord. Oh . . . and one more thing, they killed his dog and laid him at the feet of the dead Viking just so the guy could have his dog with him in Valhalla!

I mean . . . what the hell? What had the poor pooch done to…

View original post 217 more words

The Last Excerpt from RESOLUTION

He was Huck Finn, the celebrated lawman. In his day, back when the frontier was still wild, he had tracked men through fiery deserts, up impassable mountain trails, and into places no sane man would venture. He’d been shot at and wounded; his blood had marked his back trail. Once, in the Sonora Desert, he went without water for an agonizing four days and had almost died of thirst. But he had always traced his man and brought him back to face justice, or if the hombre put up a fight—buried him where he had found him. However, he was younger in those days. Time had not taken as much a toll on him as it does on some men. But all men slow down with age, and yes, even Huck Finn.

He walked the valley as in a dream. He would halt his forward movement every five steps. And standing knee-deep in the snow, swaying back and forth like a sapling in the wind, he would wait for his life-force to return. He had set that measure for himself. Five steps at a time. No more, and certainly no less.

Bright, frustrated with the slow pace, ran up ahead and then back to urge his master on. Huck smiled at the dog and thought, Good boy. Keep me going, don’t let me stand still for too long. So much depends on me—and on you, old friend.

He lost track of time and before he knew it, it was dark, though his situation was not entirely dire. There was sufficient light from the stars and the borealis to allow him to find wood enough for a small fire. He had to attend to his feet. They were like blocks of ice and almost as white as the snow that he crouched in. Another few hours and they would have started to turn black. After vigorously rubbing them with snow for a hour, the feeling started to come back. As the painful tingling moved from his ankles to his toes, he moved his feet nearer to the fire. Then he had to deal with his blackened and scarred face.

Will I ever feel warm again?

With blood once again flowing to all parts of his body, he took a moment to raise his gaunt eyes to the heavens to take in the wonder of God in the form of the aurora borealis. He was not a religious man. He hadn’t had much truck with God over the years, but on that night he said his first prayer in many a year. He prayed that he might live to get to Jass’ cabin. He had no concern for himself. He had to live for Molly and John. If not for the thoughts of them, he would have lain down in the snow a long time ago and fallen off to his final, blessed sleep.

When Bright had finished his last ration of bird and weasel bones, Huck stood up,  and on pure willpower, he plodded on—he trudged on—to the west . . . always to the west.

Andrew Joyce’s Molly Lee

RESOLUTION

They are as hungry as the wolves, but they take no time to mix their flour and sugar. The only thought is to put miles between themselves and their adversaries—if that is possible. It is hard going with no visibility. But Huck has discerned in the last few days that the snow on the trail lies about three inches lower than on the rest of the terrain. To his eyes, the trail is clearly marked; he keeps to it without difficulty.

It is a gray world that they travel in.

• • • •

The fog does not deter the wolves. They easily follow the scent of the two-legs.

• • • •

They were out in the open. Huck had on his “snowshoes” and was in the process of taking another step when Bright’s hair along his back stood up and his upper lip curled, exposing his teeth. Huck noticed and stopped what he was doing and rapidly removed his snowshoes. He could not see more than a few feet out, but he knew that they in were trouble.

“They’re here,” was all he said to his companions.

• • • •

The two-legs are just ahead. The three females fan out to attack on the left—to drive the two-legs to the rear, where the males await. The pup, in happy anticipation, watches and learns the way of the hunter.

Andrew Joyce’s Molly Lee

My Illustrator and Her Work for My Story, “Bobby the Big Blue Bunny”

And don’t ask me why the bunny is gray!

Andrew Joyce’s Molly Lee

I Once Saw a Guy on a Bridge

(I stole—I mean borrowed—this from Emo Philips)

Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, “Don’t do it!” He said, “Nobody loves me.” I said, “God loves you. Do you believe in God?”

He said, “Yes.” I said, “Are you a Christian or a Jew?” He said, “A Christian.” I said, “Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?” He said, “Protestant.” I said, “Me, too! What franchise?” He said, “Baptist.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?” He said, “Northern Baptist.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?”

He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist.” I said, “Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?” He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region.” I said, “Me, too!”

Northern Conservative†Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?” He said, “Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912.” I said, “Die, heretic!” And I pushed him over.

Andrew Joyce’s Molly Lee

Huck & Molly (RESOLUTION)

Jass cleared his throat then said what he had to say. “It’s gonna be real slow getting through that snow, even for you two. I’m just gonna hold you up. If I fall behind, I don’t want you waiting up for me. The trail is clearly marked from here to my cabin. So you go on and I’ll see you there. I got my matches, and if you leave me with a little of the flour and sugar, I can mix them in melted ice and live off that for a week . . . easy.”

Huck looked over at Molly. “Did you hear somethin’?”

“Nope. It must have been the wind.”

“I reckon so.”

Jass was not amused. “There ain’t no wind. There never is when it’s this cold. And I won’t be put off. I won’t let you jeopardize your lives haulin’ a cripple seventy miles through some of the worse country in Alaska . . . and . . . when it’s 102 degrees below freezing!”

Huck threw another thick spruce branch on the fire and waited for the ensuing sparks to die down before speaking.

“Look here, Jass. You gotta know one thing about Huck Finn and Molly Lee McMasters, and that is when we say we’re gonna do something and we give our word on it, then we do it or else we die tryin’.”

“But . . .”

“Ain’t no buts about it. I’ll break trail as best I can. Molly will follow me, and you, Jass, you’ll bring up the rear. The three of us are gonna make it, or the three of us are gonna die together in this godforsaken country. You understand?”

“But what about the baby? You’re gonna chance his life?”

Huck looked to Molly. He wanted her to answer Jass. “John has thrown his lot in with us. He had no say about it, but that don’t matter none. The four of us, and that includes John, are leagued for better or worse. Now do you understand?”

Jass nodded, but said nothing.

“Alright,” said Huck, “that’s good. Now let’s get going. I’ll carry the pack holding the food, I put the gold in there too. Molly, you, as you have been, are in charge of the baby. And Jass, after Molly and I have trampled down the snow a mite, you should have no problem keeping up.”

Jass struggled to his feet, and once steady on his crutches, he looked Huck in the eye and said, “I ain’t movin’ until you hand me that pack. No man is gonna carry my gold for me. Least of all, you, Huck. It weighs thirty-five pounds! If you don’t give me that pack, then you might as well sit back down, ’cause we ain’t going nowhere.”

Huck gave Molly a side glace and she nodded her answer. So Huck shrugged and took off the pack. After handing it over, he said, “Now can we get going?”

Andrew Joyce’s Molly Lee