The Undecideds chapt. 3

Chapter 3

                Rachel froze as she walked in the door, suddenly remembering where she was.  This class wasn’t as talkative. There were three or four groups of girls gathered in different areas of the classroom whispering quietly amongst themselves.  A lot of students were at their desks thumbing through the class’s text.  Few even glanced her way as she tentatively found a seat.  Her stomach gave a little flutter as she looked at the black book sitting on her desktop.  “Demonology” it read in bright red letters.  Rachel felt sick to her stomach.  She didn’t even want to look at the cursed thing.  She looked, instead, at the other students.  Most had flaming red hair with electric blue eyes.  Something about them reminded Rachel of her brother. Though, he had sandy blonde hair with blue eyes.  It was something about the intensity in their eyes that made her think of her prodigal older brother.

                She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then sat with her fingers folded neatly on her desk, looking straight ahead, and waiting for the teacher to arrive.  No one sat next to her, so there was no hope of making a friend in this class.  Rachel was quite certain that she didn’t want any friends in this class, anyway.

The door flew open and a tall man dressed all in black with a black cape came rushing in.  He had flaming red hair, electric blue eyes, and a miserable white face.  The man was followed by the most horrible spirit beast Rachel had ever seen.  Most of the angel beasts in her gated community were beautiful creatures.  A few were imposing, but still looked awe-inspiring.  This beast, however, only made her feel fear.  It was a biped, but the legs were those of a bull or goat with hooves for feet.  The body was that of a muscular man, and it held a vicious looking battle axe in each gnarled hand.  The head was that off a bull with long curled horns.  

When the man stopped behind the podium at the front of the class, the minotaur spirit beast buckled the twin axes to its belt and stood with its massive arms folded behind the man in black.  The man in black briefly glanced around the room, and then he picked up a paper from his desk and glared at it.

“Beruga Lemonsworth,” he bellowed.

A young man from the back of the class answered, “present.”

The man looked up, “Carol and Brian’s boy?”  The young man nodded his head.  “I’m pleased to teaching such a renowned Demon Clan family member. I expect much of you.”   The boy beamed with pride as the teacher continued to call roll.

“And Rachel Sie,” the teacher’s expression turned bitter.  “Sie, as in Saul and Claudia Sai?”

Rachel swallowed hard, “Ye… yes, sir.”  She didn’t want to look him in the eye, but she sat straight up just the same, with her neck straight and her eyes locked on the chalkboard behind the teacher.

“Your parents have been no end of trouble for my clan, young lady,” the teacher said with a sneer.  “It will be interesting to see what I can teach you this year.”  He smiled to himself and continued to call roll. 

Rachel was glad that he didn’t say more, but she was worried at what he planned to teach her.  She felt a need to explain that she did have a demon spirit beast brother.  She didn’t know why, but she felt the need to justify her heritage to this man.  She wasn’t even sure her brother had a demon spirit beast, but as she looked at the hoofed creature standing behind her teacher all she could picture her brother with was a similar horrible monster. 

The man in black was writing his name on the board: Mr. Sharp.  Afterward, he began lecturing about how they would learn more in his class than in any other in the school, and how the ill-gotten reputation of the Demon Clan was not accurate.  The bell rang, but nobody dared move until Mr. Sharp excused them.  Mr. Sharp finished his rant, and then excused the class.  Rachel stuffed her book into her backpack and bolted out the door before the teacher could catch her.  Her little ball of fur frantically bounced after her, tripping another student in the process.  The student cried out, but Rachel didn’t even turn around to apologize.  Be curtious, she remembered, but she was already halfway down the hall by then.  She just had to warn David about Mr. Sharp.

                David wasn’t in the classroom.  In fact, it was empty.  Mr. Sharp had held them after class longer than Rachel had thought.  She slumped against the wall, wondering if she would ever make it through the year alive.  Chants of, “Fight, Fight, Fight,” brought her out of her sulking thoughts.  Though she abhorred violence, Rachel picked herself up and rushed down the hall.  She might be able to help.  At least that was what she convinced herself as she rushed towards the circle of students.

She found it difficult to politely nudge her way through the crowd.  One of the students outright shoved her backward.  This definitely was not like her elementary school.  Elle had given Robby Bridges a black eye once, but that was an almost unheard of occurrence.  The whole incident actually caused a month long scandal in her little gated community. 

And Elle still managed to get a Pegasus spirit beast, Rachel thought to herself.

These kids acted like this rude behavior was common-place.  Perhaps Rachel didn’t need to worry so much about what her thoughts or her minor infractions of the Angel Guild’s “Be Attributes” would do to her spirit beast’s evolution. 

She picked herself up and harshly shoved her way through the crowd.  At last she reached the inner circle. She stood on tiptoe, behind some taller kids, and gasped, horrified.  A small boy was fighting a second year student.  Getting beaten up would a better way of putting it.  The boy was on the floor, on his back.  His face dotted with big, lurid, red spots where he’d been punched.  His nose was bleeding.  A muscular boy was on top of him, punching him wildly.  The crowd was chanting their approval, but Rachel’s heart sank watching the massacre.  She was used the angelic nature of the Angel Clan.  This was so… horrible.  She needed to stop this now, right now.

                She leapt to action, shoving through the front circle of students around the two boys.  Without even thinking, Rachel shoved the older boy off the small boy.  The older boy was so caught off guard that he fell easily to the ground, and slid across the slick school floor into the feet of the gathered crowd.

“What are you doing,” he exclaimed.  When he looked up to see a girl standing over the smaller boy he smirked. “Pretty girl wants to join the fight, eh?”

Rachel felt like she had suddenly woke up to what was happening.  She felt sick.  She wanted to run, but her feet weren’t listening to her.  All she could do is stand there and glare at the older boy as he stood up and slowly strutted over to her with a cocky smile on his face.  A whimper escaped Rachel’s throat, though she did her best to hold it in.  The boys around the inner circle had heard and began to laugh and poke fun at her.  The older boy looked around at his buddies and smiled triumphantly at their jeers.  He was only two feet away from her, and before he turned his head back to her, Rachel felt her hand soaring through the air.

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                On the cold bench in front of the Principals office, Rachel gazed at her fists; tiny delicate fists, like the rest of her.  They looked quite fragile, actually.  They didn’t look like they could break a nose.  Even so, that boy was still in the nurses’ office, blabbering away, and bleeding all over the place.  Payback, Rachel thought.  Then she quickly repented.  Be forgiving, be kind, be loving, she thought, over and over.

She gazed at the boy on her right.  He had his hands folded, looking down.  Longish bangs of brown hair covered his face.  Why did she help him?  Why was he in a fight with a second year student to begin with?  Was it possible that he had started the fight?  What was she thinking, leaping to action when it was a horrible sin to hit someone out of anger?  She hopped she’d have the answers before she had to talk to the principal… She really hopped she’d have the answers before she had to explain herself to her parents.

Rachel sniffed up the blood running from her nose.  Occasionally, it would bleed again.  There was already a dry, red line all the way to her lips, though, so why bother?  She didn’t remember getting hit, but somehow she had a bloody nose, too. 

“Why did you do it,” the boy asked suddenly.

“What,” She asked innocently.

“Protect me. Why?”

Rachel looked down.  She really didn’t have an answer.  It all happened so fast.  It was like instinct took over.  Why was he concerned, anyway?  Rachel was the one who had sinned.  Rachel was the one who had hurt the other boy.  Her spirit beast would be the one who would be affected by her rash behavior.  The boy was just laying there getting hit when Rachel arrived. He didn’t look to be fighting back.  He was the one who acted angelic.

“You didn’t need to jump in,” the boy yelled.  “Who said I needed any help at all!”

“And who said I was helping you,” Rachel retorted, before she could get a hold of her emotions.

The boy looked up, shocked.  Rachel could finally see his dark brown eyes.  Despite all the red marks which were quickly turning into bruises, he was rather cute.  His face was red with embarrassment.  Suddenly, Rachel realized why he was so mad… she had made him look bad in front of the other boys.

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly as she looked down at her petite fingers again.

A tear scrolled down her face, just before the door to the Principal’s office opened.

                

Shadowline Drift

     Shadow Line Drift by Alexes Razevich is SciFi/Quantum Fiction novel.  This is one of my favorite SciFi sub-genres.  Most Quantum Fiction novels are dealing with time/space, like in The Time Keeper, but alternate dimensions are so much funner.  A lot of people confuse this with Fantasy because there is usually some sort of fantastical aspect to these types of novels, but the difference lies in the fact that the world is still based in reality; that's what makes this genre so fun - it's just a couple degrees off reality, and still lies within the realm of scientific possibility.  The problem most authors have is that they take far too many liberties, and turn SciFi into fantasy.  Mrs. Razevich has a perfect balance.  As a result, Shadow Line Drift was a pleasure to read.

     I spent a couple of years in Brazil, so it was fun to have the Brazilian culture mixed in to this novel.  I spent my time in Sao Paulo, the third largest city in the world, so it was nothing like the Amazon (where the story took place), but I had a lot of interactions with people from the Amazon, and especially Manaus, so I've heard the stories.  This all just added another level of enjoyment to the novel.  I haven't asked the author, nor is it in her profile, but I would swear she'd spent some time down there.  Either that, or she really did her research.  A lot of authors underestimate the importance of these consistencies, but it adds a level of depth which draws the reader in all the more.  I loved it.

     Okay, on to the synopsis.

     Jake, our protagonist, is a representative of World United sent to a tiny tribe in the Amazon to negotiate a trade agreement for a newly-found protein supplement, benesha, which would practically end world hunger.  When animals eat benesha their protein content goes through the roof.  Scientist tested the supplements on rats, and then fed the rats to dogs.  The dogs weren't hungry again for a week.  It's a miracle supplement.  Jake is called in because he is an excellent negotiator, but probably more importantly, he's a little person.  The tribe he goes to see is made up of mostly little people not more than 4 feet tall.

     Mawgis, the tribal leader, is a strange fellow.  The tribe has a habit of testing the wits of outsiders in a never-ending game of one upmanship.  Jake feels that the whole negotiation is a test of his wits, and the test continues throughout the novel.  In the end, Jake's size does have a lot to do with the success of the negotiation.  Mawgis wants to know Jake's story.  The tribal leader has a sixth sense, seems to know Jake's thoughts, and knows that Jake's diminutive size has nothing to do with genetics.  The old tribal leader is right.  Jake never wanted to grow up for fear of losing his mother's love, so he wished with all his might to stay small... his wish came true.  Doctor's couldn't explain it.  Jake couldn't even explain it, but it happened.

     I just loved Mrs. Razevich attention to detail with Jake's size.  I deal with a disability.  It isn't as easily seen like Jake's size, but it is omnipresent in my life.  Most people with any disability will tell you, in their honest moments, that it is always an issue in life.  They can learn to deal with it, and rise above it, but it is always present in their lives and affects almost everything they do.  I just reamed an author over this issue.  His protagonist had a bum leg, and the injury was very inconsistent throughout the novel.  It ruined the story for me.  Mrs. Razevich was incredibly sensitive of the issue.  Dwarfism is considered a disability simply because it severely limits the persons ability to carry out what most people would consider normal tasks.  Jake is often focused on his height/size, even though he doesn't let the outside world know.  The inner dialog is so realistic.  It was one of the most honest portrayals of inner turmoil I've read about the insecurities a person feels over their limitations.  The effect this stigma had on the way Jake interacts with the world (and later in the book when another wish is granted) made the character real.

     At any rate, Mawgis has his own terrible agenda.  Mawgis abandons Jake in the rain forest after telling him his horrible plans.  Jake, alone, lost, and scared has to find his way out of the forest, and to a phone, to alert the World United organization of the danger disguised as a miracle.  

     Just as Jake thinks he's made it out, he finds he's trapped in another one of Mawgis's webs.

     This story was so great.  I found myself dreaming about it in between reads.  That happens so seldom for me.  I love a good book, but an author who can create a real character, a fascinating plot, and a smooth read is an even more precious and rare gem.  I look forward to reading more of Mrs. Razevich's work.

    I openly recommend this book to any reader.  There's a little language, so young audiences beware, but other than that, it was awesome.  I give it 

The Forger

     The Forger with Josh Hutcherson and Hayden Panettiere. Rated PG-13 (though I don't know why it's not PG.  There's not much language, no sexual content, and no violence, except for a fight.  The only thing I can think of which would give it a PG-13 rating is that it deals with a teenager committing a major crime; forgery.)

     The Forger is about a young homeless boy, Joshua, who just happens to be a painting prodigy.  He breaks into houses to get food, clothes, and an occasional night's sleep if the homeowner is not there.  He has a compulsion to paint.  One of the opening scenes is him painting the ceiling of the hotel room his mother abandoned him in.

     Joshua breaks into the home of a renowned artist, Everly, to get some food.  While exploring the home, he sees an unfinished picture of a turbulent sea.  He can't help but finish the painting.  After he's finished, he figures the homeowner will not be home for a while and decides to take a nap.  Everly returns home and catches Joshua.  Instead of being mad, he's intrigued by Joshua's work, and convinces the police to give him temporary custody of the boy.

     Everly turns out to be an art forger, and the painting Joshua finishes is a forgery which is convincing enough to sell for a hefty profit.  Everly enlists Joshua's talents to continue his business venture of selling forgeries.  Joshua learns all of the different techniques of painting, along with the ins and outs of producing believable forgeries.

     While living with Everly, Joshua meets another artist, Anne-Marie, whom he can relate to, and often goes to visit the older lady.  It turns out that Anne-Marie has a sordid past with Everly which is a sore subject to her.

     Joshua has a love interest, Amber, but it is an almost fill-in story, just to give the movie some sort of a romantic aspect.  It was weakly played out.

     We all know Mr. Hutcherson from The Hunger Games, but whenever I see him in anything, I think of his earlier, goofy days, like from Zathura or Bridge to Terabithia.  He seems to be the same character in all of his movies, to me.  I know, a lot of people are going to hate me for saying that, but his range is fairly limited.

     When I saw that Mrs. Panettiere was in this, I was excited.  I fell in love with her in the T.V. series Heroes, but haven't really seen any of her other films.  I was really disappointed in her role in this film.  It was non-existent, and the romance was so forced, it made the movie a little uncomfortable.

     The story-line could have been great, but I feel that the whole movie fell flat.  I don't know if it was the acting or script, but I found myself feeling very bored after the initial plot setup. 

     I'd only recommend this movie if you're fairly bored, and warn you not to have very high expectations going into it.

     In all, I'd give it

What I got for Christmas

Ate way too much, lol.

Real Goal Setting

     I hope everyone had a merry Christmas (or insert your celebration of choice here).  Now that the New Year is coming I thought I'd look up some good ways to set realistic goals.  New Year's goals don't have to be a joke.  It's a great time to reflect and find a new path in life - a fresh beginning for the fresh year.  So here are a few pointers.

The 6 Characteristics of Effective Goals Challenging: Your goals should be realistic and suited to your present capabilities. You can’t go from habitual couch potato to world-class athlete overnight, or recover the “look” you had in your 20's if you’re pushing 60 right now. Small, progressive steps toward reasonable, long-term goals are crucial to success. But your goals should also push you to extend yourself beyond where you already are.Otherwise you will get bored and quit the game. Example: It's great to work on drinking those eight cups of water everyday, but people do not lose weight from water drinking alone. Get thee off thy butt and go do something that makes you sweat. Then you'll need the water and it won't be so hard to drink.   Attainable: Don't take the challenging characteristic (above) too far. Make sure you can actually achieve what you're setting out to do. Otherwise, you will get frustrated and quit the game. Example: Sixty minutes of aerobic exercise may be better than 30 minutes, but two hours may not be—especially if you're so worn out afterward that you have to stop exercising completely for a while. You can always build up the time and intensity of your workouts as your fitness level improves over time.   Specific: Trying to "do your best" or "do better" is like trying to eat the hole in a donut. There's nothing there to chew on or digest. You need to define some very specific, concrete, and measurable action-steps that tell you what your goal looks like in real-life terms. Include how you will measure your results so you can tell whether you are getting anywhere. Example: If you want to get a handle on emotional eating and you've decided that keeping a journal may help, set aside scheduled time to do your writing each day; set up some specific changes in your behavior that you want this work to produce (like not eating after your last scheduled snack); and create a time interval and/or method to figure out whether your journaling is helping you reach that goal or not.   Time-limited: Goals need to come with deadlines, due dates, and payoff schedules. Otherwise, they'll fade into the background with your daily hubbub, and you'll quit playing the game. If your long-term goal is going to take a while to reach, create some intermediate- and short-term goals. These will make your larger goal seem less daunting and keep you focused on what you can do here and now to help yourself get there. Example: If your overall goal is to have the weight off in one year, make sure you set up some intermediate weight goals to serve as check points along the way. Otherwise, those small things you need to do every day, and the small successes you achieve, can seem so insignificant compared to how much further you still have to go that you may lose interest.   Positive: Goals should always be framed in positive terms. Humans are not designed to white-knuckle their way through life, always trying to not do things or to avoid certain thoughts, feelings, actions or circumstances. We are much better at approaching what we DO want than avoiding what we don't want. Example: If you want to reduce the amount of “junk” food you eat, frame that goal in positive words likeincreasing the amount of calories you eat from healthy foods, and identifying which healthy foods you want to eat more. Instead of trying to eliminate chocolate treats, for example, plan a low-fat yogurt with fruit for your sweet snack. If you do this for a few weeks, your brain will disconnect the habitual association between treat and chocolate and make a new one with the yogurt and fruit. And you’ll be just as happy with this new treat!   Flexible: Good strategies and goals are always flexible, because nothing in this world stays the same for very long, and staying alive and on course means being able to adapt to changing circumstances. Example: You are always going to run into circumstances that make it difficult to stick to your diet or exercise plan—special occasions, unexpected schedule conflicts, even just a really hard day where you need a break from the routine for your mental health. Your goals should include some contingency plans for dealing with these problems so that you don’t fall into that all-or-nothing thinking that lets one difficult situation become an excuse for ditching your whole plan. And remember, meeting your goals is 90% attitude. No one is perfect, and you’re going to have days where you just don’t do what you set out to. Make sure you build up some good stress management habits and tools to help you deal with those days without losing sight of your long-term goals, or losing your motivation.

A quick short story

     I'm going to try something new here.  I'm going to write a very short story about Christmas.  This is made up on the spot, not edited, and written in the blog post tool for this blog; so no help from editing programs.  I hope it turns out okay.

Enjoy.

The Christmas Wish

     Christmas had come again.  The stores had rushed its coming all the sooner this year.  It seemed that every year the Christmas music started playing earlier on the radio.  The toys, candies, decorations, and wrapping papers flooded the shelves of every store earlier.  The Black Friday sales started earlier.  The town's decorations went up earlier.  Even the weather seemed to want to hurry the holiday along.  Everyone wanted the Christmas season to begin. Everyone except Todd Hacken.

     Todd use to love Christmas.  He was always the first to awake on Christmas morning as a boy.  He grew up in a family of eight.  His mother and father would pile Todd, his two brothers, and three sisters all into his oldest sisters room on Christmas eve.  The sleepover was a rare treat in-and-of itself, but the siblings were all the more giddy with the anticipation of the wonders Christmas day had to offer.  Todd remembered staying awake with his brothers and sisters as long as they could, trying to hear Santa or his reindeer.  He remembered holding his eyes open with his hands so that he wouldn't fall asleep.  Of course, sleep always came, and in a blink it would be Christmas morning.  His parents would make them wait until seven A.M. to wake them up.  Most Christmases Todd was up at five.  When the time finally arrived to wake mom and dad up, Todd and all of his siblings would pour out into the hallway.  They'd fling open their parents door, and jump excitedly onto their bed.  He could scarcely remember a single gift he'd gotten on any Christmas morning, but he remembered the feeling of excitement.

     As much fun as Christmas morning was, Todd actually loved Christmas Eve even more.  Christmas Eve morning, Todd's mom would wake up early and begin baking goodies for the neighbors.  She'd let Todd and his siblings help, but the baking took most of the day, and the youngsters often tired or bored of the work.  Todd's mom never did, though.  She'd cook all morning and late into the afternoon.  When the goodies were all done, Todd and his siblings would help plate and wrap them, and then deliver them to all the neighbors.  Todd always liked that best.  It was fun to give something you'd helped make to someone you liked.

     Christmas Eve was magical.  In the neighborhood where Todd grew up, the neighbors would block off the street, put up fifty-gallon drums with logs burning inside to keep the neighbors warm, everyone would bring a plate of goodies or hot chocolate, and then the whole neighborhood would sing Christmas carols late into the night.  There was even a Jewish family that would come and teach some of their songs to the group.  It was a magical, fun-filled night.

     When the Caroling was over, Todd and his family would return home, most nearly frozen, and warm themselves by the fire.  They always performed he manger scene while Todd's dad read aloud from the scriptures the account of the first Christmas.  Todd always felt silly playing Joseph, or a wiseman, or shepherd, but his mom would insist, and Todd obliged, even into adulthood after he'd had kids of his own.  After the manger re-enactment, Todd's parents would let them watch a Christmas show, usually a claymation movie about Santa or Rudolf, and then it was off to bed for the kids.

     Todd loved those childhood memories.  He'd tried to keep up the traditions with his own family when he married.  His wife, Jill, had her own traditions, and the neighborhoods they lived in during their early years of marriage didn't seem to have an interest in getting together for caroling Christmas Eve, but Todd and Jill always baked goodies for the neighbors.  When they had their three children, and when the children were old enough, they would put on their own little production of the manger scene.  To Todd, it never seemed as good as the Christmases from his youth, but he supposed that the holiday lost some of its magic as you became an adult.

     The magic had all stopped last Christmas.

     Christmas Eve day had started the same as always.  Todd woke up early and began baking goodies.  The kids woke one by one, and finally Jill woke.  Everyone took turns helping Todd in the kitchen until the goodies were done.  It was snowing fiercely outside, and the heat from the oven made the house warm and snug.  When the goodies were all done, Todd, Jill, and the kids bundled up in their snow clothes and delivered the plates.  Todd told Jill he was worried about driving in the snow, but she insisted on keeping up her family tradition to go to her grandparents house to exchange gifts with her cousins.  Todd didn't want to argue.  Now he wished he did.

     The drive to Jill's grandparents house was slow and scary.  The roads were slick, and visibility was poor.  About half-way there, a snow plow hit a patch of black ice.  The driver over corrected and the plow slid into Todd's lane.  Todd hit the brakes, but the wheels became ice skates, and the two vehicles collided.  Todd wasn't going fast, and neither was the plow, but the vehicle was so large that it crushed the passenger's side of the car completely.  Todd lost his wife and two of his children that night.  His youngest daughter, Samantha, lived, but she had sustained permanent damage to her right arm and leg.  Todd, to his never ending remorse, walked away from the accident with little more than scratches and bruises.  His world had ended that day.

     It was a year later, the pain of loss was all the sharper with the holiday approaching.  Samantha was only ten, but she asked that they not celebrate Christmas that year.  At first Todd had insisted that they needed to celebrate the holiday for Samantha's sake, but when he saw the heartache burning so profoundly in her young eyes as they pulled out the decorations, he conceded.  He knew how she felt.  He didn't want to celebrate on the anniversary of the worst day of his life, either.  Samantha had thrown her arms around his neck when he said they didn't need to celebrate the holiday this year, and the two sobbed for almost an hour.  When they were done, Todd put the decorations away, and took his young daughter out for ice cream to take her mind off of the hurt.

     He didn't know if he should get her presents for Christmas.  Jill had always insisted on hitting all of the Black Friday sales.  They would set up the Christmas tree and all the decorations as soon as Thanksgiving dinner was cleaned up.  Once the decorations were up they would leave the oldest in charge and hit all of the stores until early the next day.

      Jill always made Christmas work, no matter how tight the budget was.  Those Black Friday sales had saved more than one Christmas.  There was only one Christmas, right after they had their first child, when they couldn't make ends meet.  Todd had just lost his job due to the poor economy, and there simply wasn't enough money.  They didn't know what to do.  Family and friends pulled together, and Christmas happened as if by some sort of miracle.  From that Christmas on, Jill had made it a point to have Christmas saved for by July, and shopping done by the end of November.  She also insisted on helping at least one family every year, even if that meant giving up some of their own Christmas to do it.

     Christmas shopping was Jill's thing.  Todd didn't even know how to start.

     Samantha's breakdown had happened on Thanksgiving night when Todd tried to pull out the Christmas decorations.  He didn't go shopping that night.  He'd missed the sales.  He hadn't budgeted since July, either, like Jill always did.  They had plenty of money from the life insurance claim, along with the generous sum the plowing company had paid to avoid a law suit, but spending the money always made Todd feel queasy.

     Five days before Christmas, Todd finally asked Samantha if she wanted presents this year.  She said that she'd rather use her presents to help a family in need, so Todd took her to shopping for a family in need.  Samantha still had to use a crutch to walk, even though a year had passed since the accident.  The doctors said that she needed to push herself harder, but Todd never made her.  The shopping trip took a lot out of the ten-year old, and she went to bed early that night.  The next day the two wrapped the presents and delivered them to the woman in charge of the Secret Santa program in their neighborhood.  Samantha never showed a hint of happiness through the experience.  She was always the most giving of Todd's children, and it broke his heart to see her so broken inside.  Todd didn't know if they could ever recover from such a loss as they had experienced.

     Now it was Christmas Eve morning.  Todd lay in bed wondering what he would do.  Should he get up and start making goodies for the neighbors?  Would it bring back too many bad memories for Samantha?  Should he pretend it was not Christmas Eve at all?  He just didn't know how to handle the situation.  If it was just him, he'd forget the holiday altogether, but Christmas was for kids.  Todd didn't want Samantha to lose any more of her childhood.

     Eventually, he decided it wasn't his decision to make.  He got up and went into Samantha's room.

     "Sam," he called through the doorway.  The room was mostly dark.  Pale light crept in around the drawn blinds.  It was still early morning.

     "Sam, do you want to make goodies, or should we just have a jammies day today?"

     There was still no answer.  Samantha lay still in her bed.  Todd didn't know what to do.  He wanted to let her just sleep if that was how she wanted to handle today, but something was gnawing at his gut. Call it father's intuition, but he knew he just had to check on her.  Quietly he tip-toed over to his daughter's bed to see if she was awake.  When he got close, he could tell that something was wrong.  Sam wasn't moving at all.  He pulled the blankets away from her face and saw that her lips were blue, and her face what ashen.

     "No!"

     He shook Sam a few times, and then hastily picked her up.  She was still warm, but her skin felt clammy.  He rushed her to his own room and dumped her limp body onto his bed.  He grabbed his cell phone from his night stand and dialed 911.

----------

     After five hours of waiting in the Emergency room waiting area, the doctor came out to speak with Todd.  Todd, sitting with his head in his hands, jumped up the minute the doors opened.  He rushed to the doctor, almost before he could get through the doors.

     "How is she?  What happened?  Is she going to be okay?"

     The doctor held his hand up, as if to hold back Todd's barrage of questions.  "Mr. Hacken... Mr. Hacken, please." 

     Todd stopped his questions and took a step back.  "Is my little girl going to be okay?"

     The doctor had a grim look on his face.  "Mr. Hacken, is there any reason your daughter would want to hurt herself?"

     "Hurt herself?  Why would..."  It all suddenly fell into place.  Samantha had been more than simply down.  She had been depressed.  Her eyes were dead.  The pain was too much for her.  "Oh, no," Todd said, as tears began to fill his eyes.

     "We had to pump her stomach, but we didn't get as much as we would have liked.  Most of the pain medication had already been absorbed into her body.  The best we can do now is try to flush the medication out.  We've got her on a respirator, but she is in a light coma.  Even if she does wake up, she'll likely have liver damage, maybe even kidney failure."

     The doctor was lecturing, as if Todd had done something wrong.  Todd wanted to yell at the man, but he didn't have it in him at that moment.  Instead, he told him about the accident, and how Samantha had lost her mother and siblings.  He told the doctor how hard the season was on her this year. How she didn't want to celebrate Christmas.  How she didn't want presents.  He didn't know it was this bad, though.

     "Can I see her now?"

     "She unresponsive, but she's past the critical phase," the doctor replied.  His tone had softened a bit.  "They are moving her to her own room.  You can meet her there."

     Todd shook the doctor's hand, and went to the room the nurse told him his daughter was being moved to.  She hadn't arrived yet, but in short order, a gurney bearing his innocent little girl came rolling down the hall.  Todd could hardly see Samantha's face.  There were tubes coming out of her nose and mouth.  She was hooked to IV bags.  She looked too small to be laying in a hospital bed with that much equipment hooked to her.

     After the nurses got her settled, they checked little Sammie's vitals again, and then left Todd to be alone with his unconscious daughter.  Todd broke down into tears as he watched, helpless.  His little girl lay unconscious in the hospital bed.  If it weren't for the machines, she wouldn't even be alive at this point.  

     The day wore on, and there was no change in Samantha.  Family came and left.  A few neighbors stopped by.  Todd's Bishop stopped by with a few of the men from his church, and they gave Samantha a blessing.  Todd thanked them, but didn't have much else to say.  The men tried to reassure him that things would be okay.  Todd could only nod.  He didn't believe in miracles anymore.  He'd prayed himself sick over the bodies of his wife and children, and they had been taken from him just the same.

     The men all left, but just before the Bishop walked out the door, he stopped and turned to Todd.  "Todd, I don't know what God's plan is for you.  I couldn't even begin to imagine the pain you've suffered this last year.  I look up to you so much for your strength."  He got a pensive look and added, "You must be a powerful warrior in God's army for him to have to go to such great lengths to test your strength."  The Bishop placed his hand warmly on Todd's shoulder.  "I just want you to know that I'm here to help you if you need me.  Anything.  Don't hesitate to ask."  

     Todd nodded, not even able to bring himself to even look the man in the eye.

     The Bishop turned to leave again, but stopped once more, and turned back.  "Todd, Jesus died and suffered for our sins, but he also suffered for our pain.  I don't know what you're going through, but he does.  If it gets to be too much for you, let him take some of the load.  He can handle it."

     Todd nodded again, and the Bishop left.

     The night wore on, and still no change in Samantha.  Todd felt numb.  He was beyond feeling simple grief.  It was as if he were dead inside.  How could he lose another child?  How could he go on alone.  He'd done everything he was supposed to do.  He always went to church.  He never went through a rebellious phase.  He never drank.  He never smoked.  He never even cursed.  He'd done everything God had ever asked him to do.  He married the love of his life.  He loved and cared for her.  He had done his best to love and raise his three children.  Why was all of this happening to him?

     "Why, God?  Why?"

     Todd began to cry again.  He sunk down off of the chair, and onto his knees.  His tears turned into racking sobs.  He took little Sammie's hand in both of his.  "Why God?  Haven't I suffered enough?  I'm not Job.  I'm not strong enough lose everyone I love.  I don't even know how to live without Jill, and Molly, and Tim.  How can you take my daughter now?  How can you take my last little girl from me?"

     Todd gave way to his tears.  He sobbed on his knees holding his little girl's hand until he fell asleep.

----------

     When Todd opened his eyes he was not on his knees.  He was laying in a soft bed.  It was light everywhere.  There seemed to be no source for the light, instead it seemed to radiate out from everything around him.  Todd sat up, abruptly, and looked around for Samantha.  She wasn't there.  He looked around again, nothing was there.  The bed he'd been laying on wasn't there.  It was all just light.  The light didn't hurt his eyes, but it was brighter than anything he'd ever seen.

     "Sam," he yelled.

     "Sam's okay, Todd."

     Todd almost jumped out of his shoes when he heard the voice.  There was nobody by him.  The voice was warm and inviting.  It sounded like the man was standing right by Todd's left shoulder, but there was nobody there, only light.

     "How do you know she's okay?  Did she wake up?  Is the IV working?"

     "She's resting, Todd."

     Todd looked around again.  Nobody was there.  He took a step in the direction of the voice.  "Where did you take her.  I need to be by her in case she wakes up.  She needs me."

     "She needs you Todd, and you need her."

     "Where is she?"

     Todd felt a warm hand on his shoulder.  He turned to see who it belonged to, but all he could see was light.  "She is well Todd.  It is you who I am worried about."

     "Me?  Why me?  I'm fine.  Nothing is wrong with me.  She's sick.  She needs my help."

     "She does need your help Todd.  You are her father.  I sent her to you because I knew she would need your help.  She needs guidance only you can give her.  She needs the love only you can give her.  She is your daughter, as much as she is Mine.  She needs you like any child needs their father.  And you need your Father right now."

     "Dad?"

     "Yes, son."

     "But you just left with mom.  Why is it so bright?  Why can't I see you?"

     "Todd, what have you learned about the family, in church?"

     Todd looked around in the brightness all around him.  The voice didn't sound like his father's voice.  "What do you mean, what have I learned?"

     "I mean, do you believe you will be with your family again after you die?"

     "Of course.  You've always taught me that.  Even before I started primary you've told me about how the family can be together forever."

     "And do you truly believe that?"

     Todd stopped looking around.  He suddenly knew this wasn't his father, James Hacken, this was his eternal Father, his Heavenly Father.  He was suddenly overcome with a feeling of unworthiness.  He was embarrassed that he didn't know immediately.  He started worrying about all of the sins he'd committed in his life.

     "Am I dead," Todd asked, after a long time wallowing in self-doubt.

     The voice laughed.  "No, Todd, you're not dead.  You needed me, so here I am."

     Todd began to cry again.  "Why?  Why would you take time to come to me?  I'm not important.  I'm not a prophet."

     "You are my son.  You are important to me."

     "But why?  I've never done anything special in my entire life."

     "Everything in your life is special to me.  Do you have a favorite child?"

     "No,"

     "Neither do I.  Would you ignore one of your children if they truly needed your help?"

     Todd knew he wouldn't.  If he could have his other two children back, he'd never yell at them again.  He'd never let a T.V. show get in the way again.  He'd take off work to go and see their plays, watch their games, and performances.  He'd do everything he could to be with them as much as possible. 

     

     "No," he finally said, though he didn't think the single word could truly convey how much he meant it.

     "Neither would I."

     "But I've asked for your help before and you ignored me," Todd said.  As the last words left his tongue he wished he could pull them back in.  He didn't want to say such things to his Heavenly Father.

     "I've never ignored you, Todd.  When Tim was riding his bike, and you let go of the seat so that he could ride on his own, were you ignoring him?"

     Todd felt his cheeks flush.  "No, I was trying to help him learn."

     "And when he fell in the bushes and needed stitches, did you let him give up and never try to ride the bike again?"

     "No," Todd said.  He remembered how bad he'd felt that Tim had fallen into the bushes.  Tim was so mad at Todd.  He blamed him for letting go of the bike.  He thought it was Todd's fault that he had to get stitches, and he swore he'd never try to ride his bike again.  The next Saturday, however, Tim was back on his bike, and when Todd let go this time, Tim rode all the way to the end of the circle.  He came running back, threw his arms around Todd, and said, "thank you".

     "You are learning to live, Todd, just like Tim was learning to ride his bike.  You have to fall sometimes.  Sometimes you have to get stitches.  Sometimes I have to let go so that you can learn to do things on your own.  That is why I sent you to earth, after all."

     "Okay, so what am I supposed to be learning from all of this?  What was I supposed to learn from losing my wife?  What was I supposed to learn from losing Tim? From losing Molly?"

     "That is why I asked you if you believe, Todd.  Do you believe that you will be with your family again after you die?"

     Todd started to cry.  "I don't know.  I thought I truly did, but now that they're gone, that's exactly what it feels like - they are just gone."  He cried a little harder.  "I'm so sorry.  I shouldn't be questioning, especially now, after being here with you, but it just feels like they are gone."

     Todd felt warm arms embrace him.  "You're still learning, Todd.  You don't have to know.  You only have to believe.  When Tim was learning to ride his bike, he didn't know how, but he believed you would teach him, and he tried.  The end result was that he learned to ride.  Did he fall along the way?  Yes.  Did he get hurt?  Yes.  Did he feel like you had let him down?  Yes.  Did it take more than one disappointment to gain the ability to ride? Yes.  Life is like that, Todd.  I know things you do not know, so I must allow certain things to happen to you so that you can learn.  Some things I do to test you.  Sometimes I have to let you go so you can ride on your own.  Sometimes you have to get hurt because you fail.  What is important is that you get up and try again.  Remember the things you've learned.  Families are forever.  Believe you will see your family again, and you will.  Will you doubt along the way?  Yes.  Will there be things or people who will try to make you believe otherwise?  Yes.  All that matters is the end result.  Keep believing, keep pushing forward, and the end result will be an eternal family."

     "But what about this world?  Am I supposed to be miserable and alone in this world so that I can be happy in the next?"

     "No, my son.  When you started working as an apprentice Veterinarian, do you remember what you always thought?"

     Todd had to think back a bit to remember, but eventually he did.  "I use to always think that when the apprenticeship was over that life would be better, and I'd be happier."

     "And is that what happened?"

     "No," Todd said sheepishly.  "I had to start a partnership with Bob Hershley, and I was even more miserable than before."

     "And what did you think while you were working in your first new business with Bob?"

     "I use to always think that things would be better when I could open my own practice, alone, without a partner."

     "And what happened when you opened your own practice?"

     "I was even more stressed because I didn't have anyone to help me with the ins and outs of running a business, and I had no time to be with my family, and I was even more miserable."

     "And when did you actually find happiness with your work?"

     Todd didn't know exactly when it had happened, but somewhere along the way things just seemed to be better.  He didn't have any more time.  He didn't have more people helping him.  His job didn't get any easier, he just learned to deal with it.  "I guess I started being happy when I stopped waiting for things to change.  I learned to be happy with the way things were."

     "That is right, son.  That is how life is.  So many people are waiting for something, or someone to come in and change everything they don't like, to make them happy.  But, as you've learned, only true happiness comes from within.  There is nothing I can do to make people happy.  Happiness is a state of mind, not a product of circumstance.  That is why I allow so many prayers to go unanswered.  If I gave my children everything they ever wanted, they wouldn't learn to be happy with anything.  Instead, they'd always be waiting for the next thing that would temporarily make them less dissatisfied."

     "But I'm not asking for stuff.  I want my daughter.  I can't lose her.  I'll try to have more faith in the eternal family.  I'll try to have more faith in you.  Please don't take her from me."

     The voice was quiet for a long while.  

     "Todd, how did you feel when you lost Jill and the kids?"

     "I felt terrible!  It was the worst week of my life.  They died one by one.  The doctors did everything they could to save them.  There were so many operations.  We prayed.  I gave blessings.  There was nothing I could do.  They all just died..."  Todd succumbed to his tears.

     "Todd, I lose children by the thousands every day.  What if I told you that I feel that same pain and anguish you felt when you lost your wife and children every time someone falls away from my gospel?  What if I were to tell you that I have to watch helpless as they use the very gift they fought so hard for, the freedom of choice, to choose wrong?  What if I were to tell you that it breaks my heart every time they make a mistake?  So few are honestly trying to do what I have told them to do.  So few will be able to come back to me.  What if I were to tell you that your suffering is a preparation for you to become like me?  You need to learn to lose because you will lose many of your own children when you are like me.  You cannot force them to be good because that would be like keeping the training wheels on Tim's bike forever.  They would never truly learn to ride."

     Todd felt a lump in his throat.  He didn't know how to respond to such a notion.  It had never crossed his mind before.

     "Todd, you are on the edge.  You are faced with a choice.  Do you hate me for your loss, and fall away from my gospel, taking your daughter with you and the countless posterity she will have, or do you learn to be happy with what you have, and have faith in what I've taught you from birth?  You asked me for help, and that is why I'm here.  You feel like you are losing your daughter.  I feel like I am losing you, Todd.  You begged me not to take her from you.  I'm begging you not to take yourself from me."

     Todd felt small and petty.   "What can I do," he asked.  "I try to go to church.  I read the scriptures.  We say prayers.  What more can I do?"

     That warm hand returned to his shoulder.  "Todd, these people say they are mine.  They honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me.  I told these exact words to Isaiah and again to Matthew, and they are still true.  I know your heart, Todd.  It is not enough to simply show up in church, say a prayer at night, and read the scriptures.  I've felt your heart pull away from me this last year."

     Todd felt the lump in his throat grow.  He knew he'd been just going through the motions over the last year.  He was guilty of falling away from The Lord in his heart.  "What can I do, Father?  I don't know how to fix my heart.  I'm not mad at you.  I'm not even mad.  I just feel dead inside."

     "Tomorrow, the world will celebrate the birth of My Son, Todd.  Do you know why I sent him to earth?"

     Todd nodded.  "To die for our sins."

     "To live for your lives.  Jesus can do more than pay for your sins.  He can heal your heart.  He can replace the pain with happiness, but it's just like with your job as a Veterinarian, you have to learn to find happiness with what you have instead of only seeing what you've lost.  Todd, celebrate His birth tomorrow.

     "Do you remember all of those Christmases you so adored growing up?  What made them special?"

     "I guess it was all of the fun times with my family - all of the traditions."

     "That is right, Todd.  It wasn't the goodies, or presents, or carols, it was the time spent together.  It was the love that you shared.  It was the feeling of family you felt with your parents, siblings, and neighbors.  That is the love Christ brought to the world.  Tomorrow, if you celebrate His life, you will feel that love again.  You will be able to share that feeling of love and family with your daughter.  With that love, her heart can begin to heal.  You can both renew your faith that you will see your family again."

     Todd began to cry again.  This time it was a feeling of peace and relief.

     "And Todd,  teach my daughter, Samantha, to ride.  Teach her the love that my son has paid so dearly for."

     "I will," Todd said.  "I promise."

     The room started to dim.

     "Father!"  Tom yelled in desperation.  "I love you!"

     "I love you too, Todd."

     The room continued to dim until Tom found himself kneeling next to a hospital bed with the pale morning light just beginning to break in through the partially closed blinds.  Todd blinked a few times as he looked around the room.  He felt a small squeeze on his right hand.

     Todd jumped to his feet.  "Sam!"

     His little girl was looking up at him from her hospital bed.  The tubes sticking out of her mouth prevented her from saying anything.

     Todd smiled as the tears ran down both of their cheeks.  "I have something important to tell you..."

     

Night Watch

     Night Watch by Linda Hall.  (Click her name to go to her amazon author's page, she's got an impressive number of books under her belt.)

     Okay, I have to start by telling you what happened when I read this book.  I get a few requests a day to review books - I'm booked until the middle of next year - so it can be confusing as to which book belongs to which author.  I wrote Mrs. Hall that I was going to be reading her book this last week, and almost immediately afterward another Linda requested that I review one of her books.  When I started reading Night Watch, I was thinking it was the book the other Linda asked me to read.  The other Linda is a young girl, barely 20, and the book she wanted me to review was her first novel.  So while I was reading Night Watch I kept thinking, "Man! This girl is incredible.  She writes way better than me; like a seasoned author."  When I finished the book, and was gathering the links to author's pages and whatnot, I saw the profile picture of Linda Hall and suddenly everything made sense.  She's an incredibly talented, and well-practiced, author.  Mrs. Hall's writing style is refined and sleek.  I enjoyed the rich content of the novel.

     Quickly, before I get to the synopsis, I wanted to say that it is painfully obvious that Mrs. Hall loves writing.  You can tell by her well developed characters, rich plot, slow leads to a great climax, and an ending which leaves you satisfied, even though there is a heavy lead-in to a sequel.  A lot of times authors, even well published authors, lead a sequel with such a heavy-handed cliffhanger that you feel more frustrated than curious to buy the next book. (I'm even guilty of this.)  Mrs. Hall's work is well thought out.  Everything is smooth.  There is no rush to get from one point to the next.  She is a story teller telling a story she enjoys to tell.  Her characters are consistent and human.  Her plot has no holes.  Her pace is perfect (fast in the exciting parts, and slow where explanation is needed).  She writes well because she's well practiced, and she loves it.  I've been reading a lot of Indie work lately, and it was surprisingly refreshing to read something so well written that I wouldn't dare to criticize it.  It's frustrating to read a story which is supposed to be based in reality, but you just know that the character couldn't possibly do what was being portrayed.  Mrs. Hall obeys the laws of physics, and human capabilities and faults all while creating suspense.  It sounds easy, but so much of the work I've been reviewing has fallen oh so short in this task.  The characters act as people would act.  There aren't any random uncharacteristic acts thrown in just to make the plot make sense.  I guess that I've been reading so much amateur work lately that I've begun to associate Indie writers with amateur writers.  Mrs. Hall is not an amateur.  So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you for the break from criticizing, Mrs. Hall.

     Okay, on to the synopsis...

     Em Ridge, the protagonist, is a new sea captain.  Her first voyage, after receiving her captain's license, is to take a yacht from Maine to the Bahamas.  Two of her trusted sailing friends accompany her on the voyage, along with the yacht owner's daughter, Kricket Patterson, and a man named Rob who is trying to build a sailing resume.  

     The story starts as Em is awoken from a restless sleep to find that Kricket has gone missing.  In a yacht, that can mean only one thing... man overboard.  After a frantic search, and fret over her freshly minted license, Em calls in the Mayday.  Em had recently lost her husband in a kayaking incident.  The pain was too fresh.  She knew the pain Mr. Patterson was feeling at losing his daughter.  She knew that there would be no excuse, ultimately Em was responsible for everyone on the yacht, and she had lost a passenger.  Mr. Patterson demanded that Em find his daughter.  The crew searches the seas and finds a bloated body which is hardly recognizable.  

     Upon returning to shore with the body, Em learns that the woman she thought was Kricket was an impostor.  Someone with Kricket's passport was posing as her to ride on Em's boat... but why?  

     Right after Em is interrogated, the state medical examiner sees her, and asks if he can take her out to lunch to discuss some new findings he'd come across about her own husband's suspicious death.  The incident is beyond bizarre.  The young boys responsible for his death were being protected by the community and their church.  Everybody sung their good behavior.  In the end, the case was thrown out as a simple accident, and the names of the minors driving the boat which ran down Em's husband's kayak were withheld. 

     The new state medical examiner was dissatisfied over the investigation, and did some investigating of his own.  He couldn't find any of the boys involved.  The houses they were supposed to have lived in were occupied by other people.  One house was occupied by an old couple who had lived in the house for years and had never had a young man live with them.  Stranger still, the church which supported the boys didn't exist.  The boat involved in the accident had a fire and was destroyed a few months after the case was closed.  The whole incident wreaked of cover-up. Em, of course, was shocked.

     From here, the thick, twisting plot begins.  The two murders may be linked.  Everyone is a suspect.  Em has family-like neighbors with whom she always confides.  I suspected them.  The detective in charge of the case is suspicious.  The crew members in the opening voyage are suspicious.  I even thought that Mr. Patterson might be involved.  

     The most enjoyable part of the book, however, isn't the twists and turns, the constant wondering, second guessing, or suspenseful mystery, it's the character-based focus.  Em is real.  You can feel her frustration.  You sense her hurt and feelings of betrayal.  She is conflicted.  She morns the loss of her husband, and wants to case resolved.  She fights for her own life and wonders why she is even involved in all of this.  The depth of emotion is rich and real.  There is even a slight romantic side of the novel, but it's not the "soap opera" ridiculous romance.  Em is conflicted because she's still morning her husband, and yet she is still alive and still feels.  

     Mrs. Hall has a great gift for pulling the reader into the story.  The suspense and mystery does keep you hooked, but I was more drawn by the realism of the characters.  Em is messy, emotional, but strong.  Ben, the detective, is not the super cop most novels portray.  There are no stereotypical behaviors.  The friendship Em has with her neighbors is endearing.  The whole human-connection is what made this story for me.  I loved it.

     I give this novel

     

Bernie

     Bernie starring Jack Black, Mathew McConaughey, and Shirley MacLaine is loosely based on the true story of a small town mortician named Bernie Tiede who murdered a wealthy old woman.

     So, I went into this thinking Jack Black = funny.  That expectation ruined the movie for me.  It was not funny at all.  Maybe if you know that before hand you will enjoy it more, but I was totally disappointed. 

     Bernie is an almost obsessive compulsive man who takes great pride in his work as a mortician.  He's very personable, and gets along best with older people (probably because it is part of his job to comfort the closest of kin).  Black plays the part well, but it seems very unnatural for him, so the end result is an uncomfortable character.

     The movie starts with Bernie moving into a small town in Texas and taking over the old mortuary.  He almost instantly ingratiates himself into the community through several out-reach programs and acts of service.  He especially tries to get in with the old ladies in the town, and brings them meals, does service for, and befriends most of them.  There is one old lady, however, who will not allow him in.  Marjorie is the town scrooge.  Even after several attempts at cultivating a friendship, Bernie is unable to crack the wealthy old ladies stone-cold barrier.  This only prompts Bernie to try harder.  Eventually he wins her over, and she reluctantly lets him in.

     The two become than just friends, and she begins to take him on extravagant vacations and trips.  The friendship comes at a cost, though, and Marjorie begins to be possessive of Bernie.  Her cantankerous attitude resurfaces, and because of Bernie's giving nature he allows her to take more and more of his time.  He begins to be frustrated with their relationship because it is consuming almost all of his time.

     Eventually the pressure comes to a head, and in a fit of frustration Bernie shoots Marjorie to death.  He instantly feels guilty and cannot believe his own actions.  He hides her body in a freezer to preserve it because of his obsessive compulsive disorder, and goes about his life.  He decides to use her money for good for a change, and that is what draws the attention of her accountant.  Eventually the body is found, and the police arrest Bernie.

     The story turns strange when the district attorney, played by McConaughey, tries to gather evidence to prosecute.  The townspeople are up in arms against him because they do not believe Bernie could be guilty.  They disliked Marjorie so much that they believed she probably deserved it.  The whole thing causes the D.A. to request the case be moved out of the county so that Bernie will get a fair trial, but the circumstances are complete opposite than those of a case which is normally moved out of area because of biased jury members.  The people are on the side of the defendant instead of believing he is guilty before hearing the evidence.  I guess this was why the case drew enough attention to inspire a movie.

     I don't know how much of this movie is fact, and how much is the director taking liberties, but the whole thing was weird.  You can feel Bernie's frustration with Marjorie, and you can almost see why he killed her.  He made it seem almost as if it were a daydream.  But this daydream actually happened and had fatal consequences.  

     If you aren't looking for comedy you might like the movie.  I didn't particularly like it because Jack Black was a horrible fit for Bernie.  The role was uncomfortable, and it almost seemed like Black was struggling to keep the crazy inside through the whole film.  His goofy, tight-lipped smile ruined the character.  The other actors were great, and the story was pretty good.  Some comedians just can't do serious.

     In all, I would give the film

Out Sick

     Yes, there are some days I can't even think straight to keep up on my blog because I'm so sick.  Sorry all.

Dragon Souls, book 3, Chapter 2

     I've been working on book 3 of Dragon Souls.  I don't have a definite name for the book yet, so for now it's book 3.  I had to look back at his chapter to write the chapter I'm working on, and I realized that this would be a good one to share.  The first chapter is posted on the blog, too.  You can find the link to it on the Wednesday Writing tab above.  Here's chapter 2

Chapter 2

                Erroyle rushed to the gates.  Nervous dwarves stood at the ready with bows and pikes.  She snatched the bow from one of the closest dwarves before he could put up a fight.  He grabbed her wrist as she reached for his full quiver of arrows.  Fayern raised a hand to halt the foolish young dwarf.  He released her and nodded to the dwarven prince behind her.  Erroyle was glad for the acquiescence; she would have killed the dwarf had he not.  The poor dwarves had been through enough.  She didn’t want to fight them, but she would not allow anyone to get in the way of her and Cal.  She needed to be with him.  She needed to feel his love, his acceptance, his nonjudgmental gaze.  She had never felt that kind of love from anyone but her father.  Her own people ostracized her because of her Gaian gift.  Knowing the emotions of others was more of a curse than a gift, really.  Her purple eyes marked her as different, and her people feared her for it.  Only the boy had loved her without prejudice.  He did not fear her gift.  After ten thousand years she had finally found someone to love her as she was.  She was not going to let him be taken away.

                Erroyle looked back at the dwarven prince and nodded her appreciation as she picked up the quiver of arrows.    The prince was probably only a few centuries old, but in his short life, he’d aged more than any dwarf his age.  Deep creases from wrinkles of worry and stress wore out the corners of his eyes, and around his nose and mouth.  He had no beard, which was beyond strange for a dwarf, but that wasn’t the only thing strange about the dwarf.  He was tall… tall for a dwarf, anyway.   About the average height of a man, but built twice as wide.  His brown hair was prematurely graying at his temples, and swooped back in a tangled mess just above his shoulders.  His grey eyes were tired.  This was a man who knew he was about to lose everything he loved.  Erroyle promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen.  She would save the dwarves on her way to save Cal.

A massive beam of the door splintered inward, affording them the first view of their pursuers.  Erroyle wasted no time.  She grabbed four arrows, placing one between each finger, and drew back the string.  In a whoosh they were away.  Through the freshly made hole, four dark creatures cried out as each arrow sunk deeply into their skulls.  Before they hit the ground Erroyle loosed eight more arrows.   In a span of seconds, the battering team was down, with the wicked battering ram lying heavily on their dead carcasses.   

                For the first time since the siege of the inner sanctum, quiet rang through the cavern.  Erroyle could almost see the wave of relief was over the dwarves’ faces.  She felt no joy.  She knew all too well it would only be a matter of moments before other dark creatures continued what their fallen comrades had started.  She grabbed another quiver from a nearby dwarf, hers having been partially used up, and ran to the opening.  She knocked two more arrows from the first quiver, stripping the feathered blades off the inner parts of the shafts and fired at two onrushing orcs.  They fell dead mid stride.  The others behind them paused, not wanting to join the growing heap of bodies.  Erroyle didn’t wait for them to advance, five more arrows zipped through the small crack in the massive door, and five more orcs went down.

                Finally, she was able to see what she was looking for; one of the orcs was shouting for others to press forward and pick up the battering ram.  He was their leader.  Before he could turn back to look at the ram, an arrow burst through his skull.  The orcs in front pressed backwards to get away from the new threat.  For a brief moment there was chaos in the ranks of the churning dark hoard.

                Erroyle looked back to the dwarven prince, pleading to him with a glance to let her out.  He shook his head sadly, and then nodding his consent.  A feeling of elation washed over her as she was finally given her chance to get back to her beloved Cal.  She fired twenty more arrows through the small hole just to ensure the chaos continued long enough for her to slip out among the orcs without them seeing her walk through what would appear to be solid rock.  Once through the magical wall Erroyle ran down the passage to her left to circle around the massive wooden gates.  The passage was riddled with dwarves, but her nimble gate carried her past them.  Sometimes using a wall, shoulder, or head to keep her forward momentum, she made it to the front before the orcs had regrouped. 

                Dropping the bow and quivers of arrows, she loosed the two massive swords from her back… Cal’s swords.  She would return them to his hands if it was the last thing she ever did in this world.  The massive blades were light as feathers in her hands because of the fallen dwarven king’s magic.  The blades were as tall as she was.  Each blade resembled a dragon’s maw agape with the blade protruding like a blast of fire from its mouth.  They were sharper than any weapon she had ever wielded, and laced with magic to penetrate even shields of dark magic.  They were fitting swords for a powerful warrior such as her, but they were his.  They belonged to her beloved.  They would be his once again.

                She kissed each blade, and then quickly darted out, through the magical opening, and into the sea of back filthy bodies.  Before she even touched the ground she had taken the head of three orcs.  As soon as she landed, she spun, extending the swords to their full length, and cutting down a dozen other dark clan soldiers. The area around her was cleared, and the invading hoard drew back, away from her.  They had fought her outside of the main gates, and once again in the main hall.  None of the Dark Clan soldiers were eager to repeat the encounter.  More chaos erupted as those around her tried to flee back behind the ranks of others, all the while they were trying to stay away from the crack in the gate which had mowed down a few dozen of their comrades in a matter of seconds.  The chaos brought a smile to the beautiful elven princess’s lips.  She would enjoy exacting revenge on these dark creatures.

                Before they could regroup Erroyle was moving, pressing them back farther.  She spun, lunged, kicked, flipped, spun again, and rolled.  Each movement cut down the enemy.  Not a move was wasted.  The magnificent weapons cut through anything they made contact with; be it metal or bone.  She pressed the enemy clearing thirty paces between them and the door they so desperately wanted to breach. 

                To her surprise, Erroyle heard the door creak loudly as it opened.  The dwarves came pouring out to meet their foe.  She felt a sense of pride for them.  She knew they were hurt, every last one of them, but they pressed anyway.  They would not be slaughtered in retreat, but rather fight the enemy head on.  Erroyle would ensure they lived to boast of their bravery.

                She ran at the cowering orcs and darkinder.  The short darkinder proved to be a bit troublesome as she had to strike up and down, but none of the enemy put up a fight.  A blur of bodies passed before her eyes.  The way the elves trained to fight, they never stood still.  Battle was an elegant dance.  Every limb was used in fluid motion to cut down their enemies.  Erroyle’s golden armor had sharp protrusions on the heels, toes, knees, elbows, and shoulders, so if she made contact with an enemy she would always draw blood.  She spun and flipped and kicked and rolled, pressing ever forward.  Hundreds fell before her.  She was covered in blood, none of it hers.  The grips on her magnificent swords would have been slick with the sticky substance if it weren’t for the magic.  Her hands held true to the grips, and she continued her onslaught. 

                Some orcs tried to attack, but were slashed down mid swing, or before they could even raise a sword.  The large trolls and ogres took more than one blow, but they too fell like reed before the fire.  Erroyle saw only red.  Her rage had blinded her to anything else.  She needed to get back to Cal.  Time passed, a wake of bodies lay behind her and yet she pressed on.  She vaguely heard the roar of battle behind her as the dwarves slaughtered any of the Dark Clan who managed to slip past her destructive assault.  Erroyle had only one goal in mind; to make it out the front gate.

                A large ogre was suddenly before her.  He was glowing in an eerie black light.  Just before she rolled out of the way of his massive club, she saw the source of the incandescent black glow… a dark elf.  For the first time she recognized that she was fighting living creatures.  This was a cousin.  She knew him from thousands of years earlier.  His name was Aorilalie.  He had played with her sister when they were younger, before the dark elves had abandon elven society and turned to evil.  Aorilalie had been one of the many suitors of her sister.  He had loved Erai once.  Erroyle felt conflict in her actions for the first time.  How could she kill someone she knew?

                A sharp pain jolted her out of her memories.  A blade had nicked her just below her protective armor breastplate.  A small trickle of blood oozed down her hip from the scratch on her side.  Rage replaced her conflict.  She turned and took the head of the orc who had cut her, and then turned back to the large ogre, just in time to roll out of the way of his massive club.  In the middle of her roll, she extended her blade, severing the ogre’s hand.  The club fell with a loud thunk to the floor.  Erroyle used her momentum to leap up to the ogre’s knee.  With one foot she jumped off the knee and onto its back.  Standing with one leg on each shoulder, she swung her sword behind her and down, taking the ogres head, all the while keeping an eye on Aorilalie.  His eyes widened in surprise that her weapons could penetrate his dark magic shields.  As the Ogre began to fall to the earth, she jumped off his back, flipping in the air, taking the heads of two more orcs along the way, and landing two feet in front of the shocked dark elf.  Without a moment’s pause, she slashed criss-crossed with each blade, like a massive pair of scissors, cutting the dark elf in two at the middle. 

                The dark elf fell forward, grabbing onto her shoulders for support as his bottom half fell helplessly to the ground.  The look of horror and pain filled his eyes as he looked desperately into hers.  A feeling of revulsion washed through her as the young elf, whom had once courted her sister, hung desperately to her as if he could somehow hold on to his now forfeited life.  He moved his mouth to speak, but as his insides fell out of the severed bottom half of him.  He found he was without air to make the words.  She saw him mouth the words, “I should have known better than to fight you.” But only a whisper escaped his lips, and then the fingers relaxed and he slunked lifelessly to the ground.

                Errolye looked down in shock at the bloodied dark mass at her feet.  Fresh blood oozed down her pristine golden elven armor… his blood.  She felt sick.  She looked back at the river of dead bodies in her wake.  Thousands lay lifeless on the ground…  at her hand.  She thought she might throw up.  She remembered Cal crying himself to sleep after his first battle.  How he had said he murdered the dark clan.  She remembered how distraught he was.  She had felt his pain and anguish through her Gaian gift.  She had felt his guilt at murdering so many.  She had felt his sorrow over their lives, his worry for their families left without mother, or father.  He had had his innocence shattered that day. 

                Erroyle looked back again at all of the bodies bathed in a sea of blood, and then again at the one at her feet, the one she knew from the time he was a baby.  She had killed so many, and yet she didn’t feel the anguish her beloved had felt that day.  Perhaps it was the millennia of war and death.  Perhaps she was not as sensitive as the young human.  Perhaps she was justified in her killing, but either way she just didn’t feel guilt.  She felt sick at having to slay a childhood friend, but no guilt.  He had chosen his path.  She would not have slain him if he weren’t trying to invade the free world.

                The enemy were all around her, frothing at the mouths wanting to get to the object of their hate, but held back by a fear of her wrath.  She sneered at them, backing them up a foot or two, and then she looked back into the main hall of the dwarven stronghold.  She was standing in the doorway of the main gate, now battered and splintered into pieces on the floor.  Across the hall, at the back wall, she saw the last of the dwarves, fighting their way into an escape tunnel.  The young dwaven prince, Fayern , was looking back at her, a sad worried look on his face.

--------------------

                The fighting lasted all day, all night, and late into the next day.  As Fayern limped dumbly out in the open fields of the dragon plains he couldn’t help but feel small and insignificant.  What he had seen had scarred his already injured psyche for life.  Few had survived; mostly women and small children.  Even the young boys had taken up arms in the end to defend their mothers and sisters, only to fall at their heels as they fled the swarming mass of dark clan.  All of Fayern’s men had fallen.  All except, to his never ending shame, him.

                He shook his head sadly.  Why?  Why had his father left him to this fate?  Why had Mother Gaia shunned her beloved earth-dwellers?  Why hadn’t Sky Father stopped the slaughter?  What had the dwarves done to deserve such a horrid fate?

                He looked around at the bloodied dwarven women marching along with him in their small, sad procession.  Some carried small children on their hips.  Some, not more than children themselves, carried motherless children on their backs.  Fayern’s good arm held a hastily crafted crutch, the other hung limply at his side dripping the occasional drop of blood from his nearly severed shoulder muscle.  Even now, away from the fighting, he was not much help to his people.  The soldiers kept most of the danger away from him during the battle, until the last fell, and then the women tried to protect him.  He had fought vigorously to stay at the enemy front, but his people insisted on throwing themselves between harm and their ruler, costing more unnecessary lives.  In the end, his retreat was the only way to get his people to retreat.  He had shed his own blood, but not before others laid down their lives before him.

                The safety of the few remaining dwarves was not because of Fayern’s efforts, nor was it by some divine intervention by their beloved Mother Gaia or Sky Father.  It was, in fact, because of the elven princess. 

                Princess Erroyle fought like a demon.  Just as the Dark Clan was breaking in through the great doors of the inner sanctum, the elven princess ambushed them from the side.  True to her word, none saw where she came from.  Most didn’t see her until her blade ran them through.  She wielded Fayern’s birthright, the swords of the royal family, to free his people; something Fayern could not do even if he had the weapons.  Perhaps that was why his father had left them to the boy.  Perhaps the old king knew that this would be their final stand, and if his line somehow survived, it would only be at the great cost of life from others.

                Fayern shook his head.  “Curse you Father,” he said, under his breath.  “Curse my royal line.”

                “Highness,” asked a young woman at his side.  He hadn’t even noticed her until that moment.

                “Oh nothing, lass,” he said, trying to smile.  The swelling in his face forced a tear out of his eye in the effort.

                “It not be dat bad, Highness,” the young woman said.  “We be alive, an’ dat be reason to be thankful.”

                “I suppose you’re right, lass,” Fayern said. 

The woman was of low ranking among the dwarves; perhaps a cook or house-lady, so even if Fayern, had lived among his own people, wouldn’t have cause to know her.  Living away from his people made the lack of familiarity even more forgivable.  His father knew all the dwarves by name.  Fayern had been sent away to live with the humans when he was but a boy three hundred years ago.  He did not have the accent of his people, and certainly not the accent of the young woman, but he did have a slight gruffness of dwarf mixed in with his well-practiced human tongue.  The result was that Fayern did not fit in in either world.

                “Highness, do ya think she’ll be alright,” the woman asked.

                “I’m sorry,” Fayern held out his hand as if to ask her name.

                “Vaylehia, Highness.  Er juss Vayle, if it be pleasin’ yer majesty.”

                “Vayle then.  Vayle, I’ve never seen a living creature move the way that elf moves.  She must have killed a thousand orcs and half again as many trolls and ogres.  I don’t think the Dark Clan could stand against her if they gathered all their forces to do so.”

                “It’s so romantic, if’n ya think about it; her goin off to save her man like dat,” Vayle said as her jolly cheeks flushed red.

                The girl (for that was how Fayern saw her now, as a silly girl) was obviously trying to take his mind off the horrific thoughts of the slaughter of his people.  There was nothing romantic about what had happened in the dwarven city.  Especially what had happened at the end, as the last of the dwarves made it to the exit tunnel.

                Fayern shuddered at what had almost happened to his people at the end.  He tried to smile again, squeezing another tear out of his swollen eye.  “She’ll get her boy back.  I’ve no doubt.  That woman could do anything she wanted.  I could scarcely believe what she managed in the city, but having seen it, I’ve no doubt that she’ll get her boy back.”

                Vayle looked down at the ground.  “An’ what about da last bit?”  She looked up suddenly into Fayern’s eyes.  “You don’t suppose dat Mother Gaia sent dem do you?”

                Fayern Shuddered again.  “I couldn’t possibly know,” he said, a haunted look settling in his blank gaze, as he relived the horrific event.  “I’m just glad we weren’t in the city when they came through the wall.”

                Vayle wiped away a tear of her own; hers was not from a swollen eye, though.  “I know dey be da enemy, but dat be about da most horrific way of dyin’ I can imagine.”

                Fayern nodded sadly.  “No less than they deserved, though; always nipping at our heels, not letting decent folk live in freedom.  They’re animals, young Vayle.  You mustn’t let yourself be moved to compassion for them.  They’d have killed every last one of us if the princess hadn’t fought us out of our corner.  They’re evil, wicked, nasty. They want nothing but death and destruction, chaos and suffering.  I think I shall be happy knowing they aren’t spending a night of drunken celebration in our ancestral home.”

                Vayle seemed uncomfortable thinking it good that the Dark Clan had been burned the way they had.  She walked quietly in the waning light of day.  Marching… To where?  Fayern hadn’t had time to think yet.  He simply walked north, away from the battle.  Away from their ancestral home.  Away from the wicked Dark Clan who had invaded.  Away from the smell of their burning flesh.

                Fayern shuddered again at the thought of what had almost happened to the few survivors of his people.  He vividly recalled the lava creatures breaking through the thin walls of the hollowed out volcanic mountain.  Creatures which had fallen to myth and legend until that moment were suddenly real.  With them came the lava, of course, super-heated because of their mere presence.  It flowed unabated into the vast cavern.  Fayern had to run up the old lava shoot his people were using as an escape tunnel to avoid being burnt himself.  He only had enough time to look across the cavern at the elven princess fighting back the enemy at the main gates.  She saw the lava coming, and though he had reassured Vayle of her well being just moments before, he couldn’t see how she could have gotten out of the way fast enough to avoid the molten rock. 

                Hoping to lighten the mood, Fayern forced another smile, which pressed out another tear, which he gingerly wiped away from his rapidly swelling cheek as he spoke, “So Vayle, which family are you from?  What did you do in the old city?”

                The young dwarven woman brightened up again, and her cheery cheeks blossomed red.  “Oh I be juss a nobody, Highness.  I worked in da bakery by da ol’ smitty.”

                “Well, a baker could be the means to survival for our people, young Vayle.  You aren’t a nobody anymore.  You are a very important dwarf.”

                Vayle blushed profusely.  “I begin yer pardon, majesty, but it be you dat be important.  We be needin’ a leader now more dan ever.”  She looked around and the hundred or so dwarves.  “And we be needin’ men more dan anything.”

                Fayern looked around and the battered dwarves.  He could only see about ten males, most too young to father children.  Hopefully there were more he couldn’t see, but somehow he doubted it.  “That may be true, but right now we need to make it through the next couple of days.  Most of these people will die of infection if we don’t get them cleaned and stitched up.”

                The world started spinning for Fayern as the wound in his shoulder continued to bleed freely.  He needed to be stitched up or he’d be dead right along with them.  He had to push forward, though.  The farther away from the scene of the bloody battle they got, the better he’d feel.  Nausea washed over him as he thought of the destruction of his people.  Were there enough left to restart the race of dwarf?

                “Majesty?”  The young girl was pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.  “My lands, yer cold as night, an’ sweating sometin’ fierce!”  She pulled back his tunic to see the gaping gash in his shoulder.  “You’ll bleed ta death if’n we don’t get dat sewed.”

                Fayern tried to push her away, but in the effort he lost his balance and fell to the ground.  His groggy head heard only muffled noises as the young girl tried to rouse him.

                “Curse you, Father,” he managed, just as the world went black.