April 7th: Imported More Stories

More stories have been recovered from the old defunct website.  And by recovered I mean I pulled them up in their last known form and redid all of the edits.  But, from now on I'll just call it importing.

New to blogspot Bits:

Science Fiction>>>>>>

The Death of Joseph Watkins

Curio>>>>>>

344 Boxer Ct

Someone Raises the Wolves

Drama>>>>>>

Blue Balls

As I continue to import the old stuff and pen new stories, I will start writing the dust jackets for the index pages so you can know what a story is about and who is in it and where it's set without giving the whole thing away.  Sort of like the "read more" except more functional.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

The Death of Joseph Watkins

***Polynyde tracked Joseph, country to country, continent to continent, around the world in 80 days, 8 days, 8 hours, it never mattered. Joseph hadn't spent the money because he couldn't.  Polynyde was always minutes behind, hours, rarely days. His life was 54 hundred days of nerve annihilating fear and nothing more.  And now, on the catwalk of a 400 meter tall wind dam in Kansas it was dawning like a full moon breaking from behind towering clouds.  "You have no where to go," the wind died as if the sinking realization that his trump card was so much chaff killed its spirit too, "no one will take you in.  No one will touch you.  No one will hide you," the 100 meter wide blades of the turbines thrummed gently, only meters below and spaced across the entire multi-kilometer expanse, as they adjusted their angles of attack to catch as much air as possible, "no one will smuggle you any further.  This operation became much less about you as soon as I reached the fullness of my service life 15 years ago," the process failure warnings increased their torrid pace.  The time was now.  "Go peacefully."  In a fraction of a fraction of a second the impulse flowed from Polynydes main processing center, to his distributor plates, to the fibers gripping the dull black cross hatched grip of his .22***

Someone Raises the Wolves

***"I'll tell you something, sir. That property probably isn't worth more than the deed it's printed. Not in Devonshire. Second, there is nothing out here but loose dirt and dogs so if you do find yourself owning something that is not one or the other, I suggest you let the Chesapeake lay her claim, cause she is going to claim these parts eventually." The truck hurdled earth mound and fallen branch alike in comparative silence for the next few miles. "Just, my suggestion is all," the cabbie qualified with a stiff tip of his woven straw hat. He leaned his head out of the window, ignorant of the thick clouds of mayflys and gnats that hovered in pockets thick enough to cut with a blade to spit his cheek full of chewing tobacco into the low brush. "See if you feel like honoring rain checks after a 43 year long whipping," he laughed as he handled the pickup with his left hand and placed more tobacco in his bottom lip with his right.***

344 Boxer Ct

***"Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear," Will performed a like gesture and they shook on it. Winton wiped his palms together a few times.  He vanished from the shoulders down as he picked his way through the thatched blades in the beating heat. Nearby, a fat flightless insect began its mid-afternoon song as though it were trying to imitate the sound of a stick dragging across the open mouths of an endless line of metal cans, several frantic yards at a time. "I think I last saw it near the middle of the yard," Will shouted, his thoughts racing back to several nights ago. Winton trundled on hand and knee for several more feet before sitting up.

"I don't see it!"***

Blue Balls

***"Fifteen minutes to grid, Tino!" Scott shouted as he came alongside the two Eddleton wood hounds. He fished inside the passenger side window and found the cable that connected to the onboard processor right where he left it. He unraveled it from the roll cage side bars, hooked it into the laptop, and downloaded his figures. Oscar and Joney watched intently, arms over eachother's short shoulders like a couple of bar flys stumbling back to their hay stacks. They loved this part. A few short moments passed and the deep throated V8 gave a cry like a lion in heat with nothing but vaginas as far as the eye could see. The twin turbochargers spooled like a pair of dive bombers to full compression then evened out to a thin whine that promised instant death to anyone foolish enough to venture into the driver's line of sight. The entire car seemed to tremble with the will to devour everything in its path or die trying.***