Ten Were Found Part 1

At long last, I have finall finnished the short story. I am pleased with how it turned out, though it could have used a bit more polishing. A course or two in Composition and Rhetoric with a side of Writting Skills 101 couldn't hurt.
I'm going to release this short story in three parts at least a day apart from eachother. So keep checking back here to get the whole story. And now, without further ado...


Ten Were Found
By: Ernest Patrick Rhone’ v

The people ran about the city in a type of willy-nilly fashion. No one was really getting anywhere, not that there was any escape. The only noise one could really hear were that of screams and crying. Other noises, such as men and women cursing God and pleading to Him, peppered the deafening mayhem.
It will probably always be the most confounding series of events that trapped the people in the coastal city. Earlier that day, a strong earthquake ripped through that city and that city alone. No other city around it felt the even a slight aftershock. Yet, the city’s routes in and out on all sides were completely severed by massive cracks, though no other damage was reported. A short time after the earthquake a wall of water could be seen out at sea. It was a tidal wave clearly headed for the city.
Neighboring cities tried to help. But their efforts were in vain as their equipment failed and all other attempts inexplicably failed. Elected officials within tried to organize evacuations. But as helicopters were mysteriously destroyed with large rocks, and the ground shook violently the moment anyone stepped near the city limits, all hope seemed lost and the citizens began to get desperate.
Now the wall of water is ever so visible and the projected encounter was predicted to be within one hour.
One man in particular, a soldier just returning from Germany, looks about the city with the same fear and a realization that random action will do nothing to help him. He had been thought to think in any situation and to him this was no different. He looked out to see at the great wall of water. “Help me, Lord.” He whispered to himself. At that moment, he noticed an older gentleman, standing on the beach near the breaking tide, watching the approaching tidal wave.
The demeanor of this man was not that of someone panicking for deliverance from impending doom. He just stood there, as if he were waiting for something. “He’s probably in shock.” He said to himself.
The young man ran down to the older gentleman. “Hey, mister! You okay?” The man stood there, watching. “Yes.” The man answered. “I’m fine.”
“Well we gotta get outa here! Can’t you see we’re gonna die if we don’t do something?”
“I am doing something. I’m praying. Besides, there’s no escaping judgment.”
“What do you mean?” The older gentleman’s statement distracted the soldier from the mayhem around him for just a few moments as he inquired to understand his words.
“I mean to say young man that God is in the preparation stages of judgment upon this wonderful and wicked city.
A young girl came to the man’s side with a cup of coffee. The soldier figured her to be just barely eighteen years of age, if that old. “Here, daddy, I was able to find a gas station just down the road. There was no attendant there so I made the coffee and left the money on the counter in front of the register.”
“Thank you, dear.” The man sipped his coffee as he drifted back into the thoughtful stare. His daughter also looked out to sea.
“Goodness, where are my manners.” The man shook his head. “Young soldier, this is my daughter, Jessi, and my name is Nathan Andrews.”
He was a little thrown off by the apparent lack of urgency in his voice as the man introduced himself and his daughter. “Oh, uh, I’m Jason. Jason Oldam.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Said Nathan
“I have to say, you seem very calm.” Said Jason. “Aren’t you afraid to die?”
“Death holds no threat to me. To a Christian, death is just a doorway to eternity. It’s the final step before eternal fellowship with Jesus. Besides that, I chose to stay here.”
“What do you mean, you chose to stay?”
“One moment, please.” Nathan turned to Jessi. “Where’s Jacob?”
“He’s out trying to find the rest of your congregation to tell them what’s actually happening. When I saw him last, he said he found a couple and that they’d join us here.”
“Excellent.”
“You are really starting to confuse me. You intend to have service just before destruction?”
“Now, now, young man, it’s not what you think. Let me start from the beginning.”
“May as well. Since there’s no escape I find that I have a little time to spare.”

******************************
I love the copy and paste function. Drop by again to get the second part.

I used Adobe Photoshop 7 to amplify the already present glow in the steam. I turned up the white balance on my camera to give the steam a soft glow. And, of course, I used Adobe Photoshop 7 to create my own personal watermark.

This is an artistic conception of one of the main characters of my first short story that I plan to have published within the next 6 months. I apologize for not having the other short story finished as promised, but I can't figure out the best way to end it. Thus, for now it's on hold. Never fear I still have plenty drawings, photos, and poems (all of which are mediocre) to hold you over 'til then.

More photos and art to hold you over 'til the completion of the short story. the drawing is that of my daughter. She'll be seven on the 29th of this month.
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Liar, Liar

I apologize for promising a short story that hasn't been posted yet. Rest assured, I'm working on it.

On the edge of enlightenment.
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I Converted To Republican-ism

There is a wonderful radio show called A Prairie Home Companion that's aired live every Saturday at 3pm and rebroadcast the following Sunday at 7pm on public radio and is hosted by Garrison Keillor, a Home Grown Democrat.

This past broadcast, in his intro song, he sang the words: "I woke up Wednesday morning, and the sun refused to shine." It sounded as though the whole audience applauded that line. The audience sounded as though it were mostly democrat. Then he proceeded to poke fun at Christians which I admit to taking some offense, though it was innocent fun.
"Get to the point, jabber-jaw." My point is, while the sun may have refused to shine for Mr. Keillor, the Democrats who voted democrat, and the Republicans who voted democrat, the sun had shown brighter for me than I'd ever remembered. What's more, when Kerry finally conceded to The President, the birds began to sing.

Well, be on the look out for some more photos, art work, and a short story that should be posted no later than the end of the week.

Keep it real, ya'll!

Beyond the horizon
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Here I am, puttin' in a couple of hours at work on my day off.
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Mediocre poem: This Isn't My Closet

I tried and to get to you another short story, but I'm on page three and still writting. It may not make it to my blog. So, I've put together a mediocre poem for you all. It's a poem about secrets that I knkow about my ex that she still won't fess up to. Not that it's terribly important now, but they were secrets known to me while we were sill married. But don't misunderstand me. I wasn't the model husband. My biggest downfall is that I was worse than an infidel. I didn't provide for my family. Guess that means I didn't really love my wife and kids. However, I've learned from my errors and am proud to say that I do indeed love my children.

Now that I'm done running at the mouth (fingers, anyway), on with the poem. Be on the look out for photographs and drawings by your's truly. Please excuse any spelling errors.


This isn’t my closet,
But I know all about it.
It belongs to someone else,
But I have possession of it.
And I don’t really want it.

That’s mine.
The one at the end of the hall there.
I’ve been working on it.
Tryin’ to clean it out.
But this one…

The owner doesn’t even claim responsibility.
“It’s not mine.” She always says,
Though her skeletons are clearly labeled.
So I’m forced to remember.
And she pretends to forget.

All I care enough to do
Is clean mine and keep it clean.
Maybe she’ll clean out hers someday.
Hopefully, anyway.
It’s her responsibility after all.

I suppose I wouldn’t be so aggravated,
If I’d just keep the door closed. ®

Nov. 3, 2004 (Completed @ work)

Prayer Warrior

When struck against one another, our swords rang throughout the barren wasteland that was our battlefield. Constantly, the demon named Complaisance swung at me with great determination to overcome me and cause me to submit as his terrible blade, large, disfigured, jagged, and irresponsibly sharp, moaned as it sliced through the air. Consistently, it was met with the unwavering defense of my Master’s mighty double edged broad sword which he so affectionately called His Word.
The two swords met with a great force. The ringing sound of metal on metal carried for miles. The earth shook and shockwaves were created, leveling what little was still standing when we first meet on this battle field.
Complaisance was visibly annoyed and frustrated at my tactics. I did nothing more than defend myself with my sword and shield, giving him no opportunity to strike me. I could have parried his attacks and followed through with a counterattack, but I’ve learned to wait upon the guidance of my Master.
“You posed a far greater challenge last we met, though I defeated you rather easily then.” He continued his attack. “Am I to assume that you’ve learned nothing more than cowering behind your sword and shield since our last encounter?” The clash of metal on metal barely allowed me to hear his taunts.
“I’ve learned, demon, to wait on my Master.”
“Rubbish!” He delivered anther blow that I successfully deflected with my shield. The vibration through the shield was so strong; I feared it would jar my arm from my body. “Battles have never been decided by defense alone. Only men of action decide battles. And since it’s obvious you are not a man of action, I will be the one to decide this battle yet again as I always have in times past.”

It was true; he did decide the last battle. He stood before me that shameful day with the same hideous sword he currently wields. His hair, long, straight, and jet black, hung from his head and draped over his shoulders as if it were soaked in crude oil. His trench coat seemed a bit oversized and terribly tattered. Underneath that he wore a ash grey colored suit and dress shoes with a high shine.
I was very proud, thinking I knew what was necessary to defeat him, though I hardly practiced with my weapon before hand, and what little practice I did do was half hearted. I gave it my all, ignoring my Master’s guidance which faded from my hearing the more I determined in my heart to defeat Complaisance on my own terms. He toyed with me at first, attacking my pride with his words. The more he talked, he angrier I became until my fighting skills were completely nullified and I swung my sword wildly at him.
Finally, he was upon me, face to face, and he allowed my sword to strike him. My sword didn’t even penetrate his coat. I stood in utter shock and fear of what I’d witnessed. I looked upon my sword, still resting on his right shoulder, and found that it was terribly rusted and unbelievably dull. Tears welled in my eyes as he looked at me with the most arrogant smile ever seen on… anyone or anything.
Suddenly, without warning, he leapt back several feet, held out his sword before him so that it pointed directly at my heart. He winked at me, and then rushed forward with blinding speed, piercing my heart and draining all strength from me. “Tag,” he said to me in a whisper, “you’re it.” And with that, he vanished.
My only hope of survival was to admit my wrong doing to the Master and ask his forgiveness. Being gracious and merciful, my Master forgave me and brought me back to fighting condition. However, it was a long road. I felt a burning sensation in my body at the mere touch of my Master’s sword. Though I stilled remembered the techniques I’d learned before my defeat, I found it very difficult to practice them. But from that battle I learned to be obedient, and not to become comfortable with my abilities but to continue to train and continue to improve. Then the day came to do battle with another demon. His name was Doubt. The fight was short lived, but very challenging for me none the less. The victory caused the burning in my body from wielding the sword to lessen in severity.
The rebuilding of my fighting spirit finally brought me back to where I’d left off. It was time to grow again. But before doing so, I had to face Complaisance again. “You will continue to do so until you defeat him or surrender to him. And by surrendering to him or any foe, you forsake me.” Needless to say, that was the last thing I wanted. I felt what it was like to be without him after defeat and I didn’t want that ever to become permanent.

Hours seemed to pass as I endured his onslaught, and to be honest, I was quite anxious to strike back. But fearing defeat and separation from the Master, I refrained. Complaisance became so enraged none of his words provoked me to react that he just stopped his assault.
“You are a waste of my time.” He hung his head with a disappointed look. He wasn’t out of breath, where as I felt as though I would hyperventilate. My defending against his remarkable speed and strength really exercised my endurance. He raised his sword and brought it to rest on his shoulder. “There are others I could be destroying. Others who will put up a fight.” He grinned at me. “But just because you kept me from striking you, doesn’t mean you’ve won.” And with that he turned around and walked away. A few seconds later he vanished.
“I don’t get it.” I said to myself. “All I did was defend myself and I really don’t feel as tough I’d accomplished anything.” Then I heard the voice of the Master in my head that was just as clear as it would have been if he’d been standing right beside me saying, “Wait for it.”
I obeyed, standing still with my weapon, which no longer caused a burning sensation in my body, firmly in my hand. My heart began to pound and the adrenaline shot throughout my head. I was steady and still very anxious. Then I’d heard what I hoped to hear: “Now.”
I didn’t need to be told where to strike. Immediately I spun around with my sword leading the way in a horizontal offensive strike.
The first thing I heard was a metallic ‘clank’, then the sound of weight dropping to the dusty ground. Seconds later the defeated demon Complaisance appeared before me on his knees, holding his stomach, and supporting himself on half of his sword, the other half lay before him. A black sludge gushed from a large wound in his stomach. The look on his face wasn’t fear or shame when he looked up at me, but pure hatred. “This isn’t over…” he said, and without a word, he vanished again.
“Well done.” My Master said to me. “You stood fast in the face of evil and remained obedient to me. I am very proud of you.” Instantly, my body was quickened. My energy level went back up, I felt refreshed, and the aches in my muscles were taken away. I felt even stronger than before I’d begun the battle.

I got up from the altar with a renewed spirit. The congregation was on its feet, clapping and singing praises to God. Many others were still knelt down at the altar seeking the face of God. The presence of the Lord was thick in the air as people gave their lives to Christ. As I walked back to my seat with a renewed dedication to Christ and His vision, I concluded my prayer with these simple words:
“Thank You, Jesus.”


This is the type of tid-bit you'll see on this blog. This particular short story I recently entered into the Writter's Digest Short Short Story Competition. Now, I suppose introductions are in order. So, without further procrastination:

Ernest Patrick Rhone' v
03-17-1974
Black
Born, raised, and currently residing in sunny Southern California. Residence in Highland.
Recently spent 4 years in the US Army @ Hunter Army Arifield, Savannah GA
Computer Operator
Aspiring to become a Christian published author.
Republican, voted Bush (tee hee)
Love to draw, love to write, love to take photos.
Love to be a father of four great children.
Hate being divorced, but love being severed from the ol' ball and chain.
No nationality preferences for prospective wives. From pasty white to crispy black and all shades in between.

Feel free to comment. I may even publish comments on my blog. 'Til next time.