Keurig k-mini leaking water from bottom
A community for approaching and understanding Colorado's changing climate
2021.10.12 20:41 HazyRay A community for approaching and understanding Colorado's changing climate
News/reports, studies, discussion and resources on climate change and its impacts within Colorado.
2016.07.01 00:02 Mega-Starpuncher Team Blueberry!
loseit's Summer Challenge - Team Blueberry: Let's get JUICED!
2023.06.01 04:48 FilmoreFollies Opening passage from a book I've been working on, would love your opinions!
I'm about thirty pages into this but wanted to share the opening passage to gauge opinions on tone and style!
–––––
I was honked at nine times on the drive from Verona to Venice.
The beat-up old Beetle I borrowed from the Parkers putters along like a cartoon junker. She was a powder blue distant memory of a car, born in the Sixties, but she was cute enough and served a purpose.
It was warmer than I’d hoped it’d be, but, with the windows down, there was enough of a breeze to provide some relief. Even still, I was sweating. I was also, truth be told, a few glasses of wine into my day, which, in conjunction with warm weather and the lopsided, silly, sputtering of an old car, can trigger a headache.
By 11:00 AM, I’d managed to park on Tronchetto Island at the Venice Passenger Terminal. Right when I opened the car door and stepped out the headache began to subside. I grabbed what little luggage I brought and took the vaporetto to Piazza San Marco.
On my trip into the heart of Venice, I sketched the faces of the various passengers aboard the vaporetto, the tourists and residents of the city of islands. There were some interesting faces and shapes, and so many couples with arms and hands touching that I was able to sketch a scene of a crowd resembling the knotted roots of a tree.
Il Palazzo was my destination. A budget hotel with a view of the Rialto Bridge.
My phone was dead when we disembarked from the vaporetto and so I bugged someone for directions to the hotel every block. My poor command of Italian meant I was asking things like, “è l’albergo Il Palazzo dove?” No one knew where it was.
As I searched for the hotel, streets opened up before me. Charming trattorias, intimate and rustic, little shops selling wines I’ll never sip, spices and jams, olive oils and vinegars I’ll never cook with. Each corner broke forth, luring me deeper into the city. Still, I was agitated and no amount of charm could temper me.
After meandering around Venice for the better part of an hour, I eventually found the place. I was sticky, leaning into melodrama, feeling oppressed by the infamous Venetian humidity. Summer in Venice, a sultry delight if you have the means.
The hotel was rundown with a shabby façade, a disconcerting sight given the state I was in. It gave me the impression of a building longing to collapse, if not under the weight of embarrassment regarding its appearance then simply to save anyone the misfortune of having to sleep inside. Nevertheless, I was assured a room with a view of the Rialto Bridge.
“Mi scusi,” I said to the concierge upon entering. He was short and thin, his shoulders slouched inward, his demeanor confused. “Checking in.”
“In?”
“Yes, checking in.”
“Checking in, si,” he said and then he began scuttling around behind the front desk, shuffling many papers, looking under binders, but not doing much of anything.
“I was told I would have a view of the Rialto Bridge,” I said. “Is it a good view?”
“Who knows?” He said, still scuttling.
“No, I was told that. I was told, and that’s why I picked this hotel, for the view.”
“Who knows?”
“I thought I knew, but clearly . . .”
“Clearly,” he said, producing a key from a drawer.
“I wish I knew how well you understood me so I could decide how upset I should be.”
At that moment, an elderly coupled descended the stairs and entered the lobby. They seemed to have four arms each, carrying two pieces of luggage in every available hand and yet they appeared unbothered.
“There are no views of the Rialto,” the old woman said.
“What?” I asked.
“There are no views of the Rialto Bridge, not here,” she said. “It’s an advertising scam.”
“A scam.”
“It’s a bait and switch. Bait, Rialto, switch, a dirty courtyard view and a very loud family on the other side who yell.”
“They yell?”
“All night,” she said. “We’re checking out, Marco.”
“Si, Signora Preston,” the concierge said, spinning in place and remaining befuddled.
“You seem familiar with the place,” I said.
“Oh, we always stay at the Il Palazzo,” the old woman said, producing another arm in order to light a cigarette.
“Even with the yelling?”
“What?” Her husband barked.
“She asked why we stay here,” she shouted back through a fog of smoke. “We wear hearing aids, we can always turn them off. We’re checking out, Marco.”
“Si, Signora Preston,” Marco said, staring blankly at the three of us.
“And checking in, for me, checking in for Fern Guess,” I said.
“Si, yes,” Marco said handing me the key. “Camera tre.”
“Enjoy your stay,” the old woman said. “Marco, out, checking out. We are checking out!”
“Thank you,” I said as I gathered my luggage and shuffled up the stairs, unsure who I was thanking and for what reason.
The room was abysmal: the bed visibly sagged in the middle, nearly touching the floor, the shower was exposed in the corner, no curtain, no complimentary toiletries, and I could faintly make out the sound of dripping water, as if from a leak, and yet, upon searching the room, I found no leak. What’s more, it seemed the moment I shut my door I could hear the family yelling, their frustration resounding throughout the courtyard before settling in my room. The headache had returned.
I’m often accused of histrionics but, in truth, the deceptively named Il Palazzo is as tragic and repellent a place as any miserable accommodation one might imagine. For the rest of my life, I’ll associate the words “il” and “palazzo” with images of a sickly palace – the ill palazzo. That I managed to make my way in and out of the room without acquiring a rash was little more than serendipity. With places like Il Palazzo, it’s all a game of exposure. The longer you’re there, the higher the likelihood you’ll walk away with a tick or fleas or bedbugs. Even more likely, given the sordid conditions, you’re likely to acquire an admirer twice your age and short on English words that, when strung together, don’t form come-ons. Fortunately, business is so bad for Il Palazzo that I was left only to worry about the diseases and insects, not even sex pests were dumb enough to book a room at Marco’s hotel. What all this says about me is obvious and need not be stated.
A bit wounded, I snuck down the stairs with my sketchbook and tried to avoid making eye contact with Marco.
submitted by FilmoreFollies to romanceauthors [link] [comments]
–––––
I was honked at nine times on the drive from Verona to Venice.
The beat-up old Beetle I borrowed from the Parkers putters along like a cartoon junker. She was a powder blue distant memory of a car, born in the Sixties, but she was cute enough and served a purpose.
It was warmer than I’d hoped it’d be, but, with the windows down, there was enough of a breeze to provide some relief. Even still, I was sweating. I was also, truth be told, a few glasses of wine into my day, which, in conjunction with warm weather and the lopsided, silly, sputtering of an old car, can trigger a headache.
By 11:00 AM, I’d managed to park on Tronchetto Island at the Venice Passenger Terminal. Right when I opened the car door and stepped out the headache began to subside. I grabbed what little luggage I brought and took the vaporetto to Piazza San Marco.
On my trip into the heart of Venice, I sketched the faces of the various passengers aboard the vaporetto, the tourists and residents of the city of islands. There were some interesting faces and shapes, and so many couples with arms and hands touching that I was able to sketch a scene of a crowd resembling the knotted roots of a tree.
Il Palazzo was my destination. A budget hotel with a view of the Rialto Bridge.
My phone was dead when we disembarked from the vaporetto and so I bugged someone for directions to the hotel every block. My poor command of Italian meant I was asking things like, “è l’albergo Il Palazzo dove?” No one knew where it was.
As I searched for the hotel, streets opened up before me. Charming trattorias, intimate and rustic, little shops selling wines I’ll never sip, spices and jams, olive oils and vinegars I’ll never cook with. Each corner broke forth, luring me deeper into the city. Still, I was agitated and no amount of charm could temper me.
After meandering around Venice for the better part of an hour, I eventually found the place. I was sticky, leaning into melodrama, feeling oppressed by the infamous Venetian humidity. Summer in Venice, a sultry delight if you have the means.
The hotel was rundown with a shabby façade, a disconcerting sight given the state I was in. It gave me the impression of a building longing to collapse, if not under the weight of embarrassment regarding its appearance then simply to save anyone the misfortune of having to sleep inside. Nevertheless, I was assured a room with a view of the Rialto Bridge.
“Mi scusi,” I said to the concierge upon entering. He was short and thin, his shoulders slouched inward, his demeanor confused. “Checking in.”
“In?”
“Yes, checking in.”
“Checking in, si,” he said and then he began scuttling around behind the front desk, shuffling many papers, looking under binders, but not doing much of anything.
“I was told I would have a view of the Rialto Bridge,” I said. “Is it a good view?”
“Who knows?” He said, still scuttling.
“No, I was told that. I was told, and that’s why I picked this hotel, for the view.”
“Who knows?”
“I thought I knew, but clearly . . .”
“Clearly,” he said, producing a key from a drawer.
“I wish I knew how well you understood me so I could decide how upset I should be.”
At that moment, an elderly coupled descended the stairs and entered the lobby. They seemed to have four arms each, carrying two pieces of luggage in every available hand and yet they appeared unbothered.
“There are no views of the Rialto,” the old woman said.
“What?” I asked.
“There are no views of the Rialto Bridge, not here,” she said. “It’s an advertising scam.”
“A scam.”
“It’s a bait and switch. Bait, Rialto, switch, a dirty courtyard view and a very loud family on the other side who yell.”
“They yell?”
“All night,” she said. “We’re checking out, Marco.”
“Si, Signora Preston,” the concierge said, spinning in place and remaining befuddled.
“You seem familiar with the place,” I said.
“Oh, we always stay at the Il Palazzo,” the old woman said, producing another arm in order to light a cigarette.
“Even with the yelling?”
“What?” Her husband barked.
“She asked why we stay here,” she shouted back through a fog of smoke. “We wear hearing aids, we can always turn them off. We’re checking out, Marco.”
“Si, Signora Preston,” Marco said, staring blankly at the three of us.
“And checking in, for me, checking in for Fern Guess,” I said.
“Si, yes,” Marco said handing me the key. “Camera tre.”
“Enjoy your stay,” the old woman said. “Marco, out, checking out. We are checking out!”
“Thank you,” I said as I gathered my luggage and shuffled up the stairs, unsure who I was thanking and for what reason.
The room was abysmal: the bed visibly sagged in the middle, nearly touching the floor, the shower was exposed in the corner, no curtain, no complimentary toiletries, and I could faintly make out the sound of dripping water, as if from a leak, and yet, upon searching the room, I found no leak. What’s more, it seemed the moment I shut my door I could hear the family yelling, their frustration resounding throughout the courtyard before settling in my room. The headache had returned.
I’m often accused of histrionics but, in truth, the deceptively named Il Palazzo is as tragic and repellent a place as any miserable accommodation one might imagine. For the rest of my life, I’ll associate the words “il” and “palazzo” with images of a sickly palace – the ill palazzo. That I managed to make my way in and out of the room without acquiring a rash was little more than serendipity. With places like Il Palazzo, it’s all a game of exposure. The longer you’re there, the higher the likelihood you’ll walk away with a tick or fleas or bedbugs. Even more likely, given the sordid conditions, you’re likely to acquire an admirer twice your age and short on English words that, when strung together, don’t form come-ons. Fortunately, business is so bad for Il Palazzo that I was left only to worry about the diseases and insects, not even sex pests were dumb enough to book a room at Marco’s hotel. What all this says about me is obvious and need not be stated.
A bit wounded, I snuck down the stairs with my sketchbook and tried to avoid making eye contact with Marco.
2023.06.01 04:45 IsiahE4112 My Star Wars Story
I made a character and this sotry for star wars (i made this story for my English finals, i had a month to make it and got an A on it), the characters name is Saya Eban and is a character I have been thinking of for over a decade now (im not in my 2nd decade so since i was super young). Saya at this time is 13-14 years old and was given inspiration by almost all the other jedi and also star killer. He is human and with reliance on the force he can live up to 1000 years with hi peak being between 35, 40 ish to around 800 years of age. In terms of prime power level and potential, in my canon he is 3rd most powerful character just underneath luke and anikan Skywalkers, but could contend with them at some points. Little background: he was a prodigy in school before he became a padawan, he always had an intrest in a character named Ahsoka Tano but never became more than friends because of the Jedi teachings. He was a fast learning youngling and became a padawan earlier than most other younglings, becaming a padawan at the age of 11 - 12. He was in the first battle of Genesis but his troop transport ship was blasted out of the air, landing behind enemy lines leaving him the sole surviver, and scarring him, making him want to never see uneeded bloodshed ever again. He met Count Dooku before he had met Obi-Wan and Anikan on geonosis, he locked blades with him once... once, before he was thrown aside like a house fly, not worth his time, he was out until the retreat of the battle was initiated. This gave him night terrors and nightmares, after this day he could never sleep more than an hour, if that, before he woke up feeling the dark side creeping in. So he had learned to use sleep meditation. Sleep meditation allowed him to accelerate his trainings and connect greater to the force, he had unlocked 1/3 of his life now, the force helping his cells heal his body while he sat and meditated.
This story is of how he lived through one of the bloodiest battles and worst losses of the Republic, the battle of Sarrish, and of how he had obtained his later main star ship, a Kom'rk Mark 1 class star fightetransport, aka the Puro (i made this story before I have watched the 3rd season of the Mandalorian, as of right now i still haven't so Idk if thats in season 3 or not).
There is about 11,340 words in the story, and I don't 100% know of what I should make him look like so have your imaginations run wild.
Ok here we go:
Tales of Saya Eban's Puro
Chapter 1
"Well I guess you're not completely wrong, but your going to give her a brain injury at this rate! Could you not go a bit easier on her?"
"She'll never learn if I go easy on her." Master Skywalker said with little arrogance in his voice.
"W- well, here, l-let me wake her then." I stuttered as I walked up to Rex holding Ahsoka like he's a pillow.
"Rex, do you mind if I-"
"Not at all General, here." Rex said as I sat next to him holding Ahsoka's top half of her body.
"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes Nicksters." She groaned with fading pain.
"What are you doing here?" She leisurely grumbled as she started to lie propped up by her desirable, fluorescent orange arms made of flexible muscle.
"I was walking by, and saw a 'damsel in distress', I HAD to come and 'save the day'." I joked, smirking the whole time, annoying her little bit more.
"You know I have been dying to use my force heal on you since I had learned it. I bet you don't even feel bad at all right now hm?" I said leaning in
Ahsoka starts to stand as to get a feel for her own body.
"You're right, I feel better than I did before, not bad for someone named Nicks." Ahsoka said smirking right back at me.
"Oh come on, that was one time, that was even before we became patiwans!" I said with little dramatics in my vocal verberations.
"Ok Master, I'm ready to try again." Ahsoka said to Master Skywalker
"Not now Ahsoka, we have a mission from the Jedi council we have to attend to while Obi-Wan is on his own mission." Anikan said to Ahsoka, elongating his 'not' like he usually does
"I'm actually about to go give help to Obi-Wan right now… WHICH I NEED TO GET PREPARED FOR NOW!! Karabast, got to go! See yah Ahsoka, Master, Rex." And like a ship entering hyperspace, I was gone.
Chapter 2
"Well, it looked like you needed help. You know I need to be the one to save everyone. I'll move into position to fortify our defenses to push the Sepies back and for us to make a plan. What is your fleet's condition?"
"We have 2 Venetors heavily damaged and the rest either have mild to no damage. And we have lost half our fighters as of now." Urgently said by Kenobi.
"Ok, I'm sending men and supplies to you right now, let me take the front so I can take the damage if they send another attack." I calmly said to Kenobi.
"Men battle positions and set all power to front cannons and shields. Venators get into pincer position and get ready for an attack. Fighters get ready to launch." I commanded to all my Cruisers
"Master, if you could, could you add in your undamaged Venetors? " I wandered and directed with much mastery, I even made Obi-Wan himself visually impressed considering my inexperienced mind in life, and especially war. I even managed to make him smile.
"Getting in position now." Obi-Wan stated, still smiling.
"Understood, While you get everything fixed, I'll see if I can weaken their defenses, it seems as if they're in attack positions so we gotta be ready for anything." I said in deep thought.
"Ok, 10 to 13, I like those odds, makes it even, more so for the Sepies." I grinned.
"Now Saya, remember this is still a battle, don't be too cocky, you're starting to remind me of Anakin." Obi-Wan said with conviction.
"Yes Master, sorry about that." I answered to Obi-Wan, pulling back a little.
"Ok- but Saya! Blast, maybe he's too much like Anikan." Obi-Wan said defeatedly.
As I get into the hangar I yell "Alright Wolfpack, let's get goin!" Then I hop into my modified Jedi A-wing.
We rush out from the center roof door along the Cruiser with my squadron aka The Wolfpack, with me leading my 23 fighters into battle and many more friendly's following from the hangars.
"Ok Wolfpack, let's make a break for them Cruisers, get as many of them gone as possible. 411 you ready?" I asked R2-411. R2-411 bleeps with readiness.
"Ok, time to blow them out of the sky, remember, stay in formation" I commanded.
"Yes sir!" The Clones bellowed.
"Obi-Wan, how's the 2 heavily damaged Cruisers? We've been out for a long while. They should be good by now right?" I questioned Master Kenobi.
"They're about to come back into the fight, but one of our Cruisers is at a quarter shield, few good hits or bombing runs and it's gone, what's your plan Saya?" Obi-Wan said, perplexed.
"Just give me an opening to the left Separatist control center, that's all I need to get on that ship." I stated with confidence.
"I'll try my best, but don't be stupid Saya, we can't afford to lose you."
"Yeah yeah I know, just get me an opening please Master!" I begged.
"Yeah, yeah master, I'm good, I'm fine. Woo…!" I said with a sigh of relief.
Chapter 3
Cody starts with "All right, listen up! Maintain squad formations, 'A' squad, You're on me-" ZZZZZEEEROW- BOOOM!
"Where hit!" I yell "Everyone! Hold on!"
Before we hit the ground I leap out of the gunship with a backwards somersault, force pulling all the troops out of the burning fireball heading for the ground, grabbing all of the men, including the 2 pilots at the front, breaking through the windows. I land like rain from the sky, catching the troops I just pulled out with my powers and have them roughly land on the fluffy rocks next to our now downed gunship, no casualties yet. I rush over to take cover under our gunship on its left side behind enemy lines. I sit and meditate as they come up with a plan.
"What's the status lieutenant?" Cody asked
"5 injured thanks to General Saya, but that's not that bad news… Does that Rock look familiar?" The lieutenant asked.
"Yea, the mountain, right where we're not supposed to be." Said Cody
"General Kenobi ordered us not to try taking this section from the ground." The lieutenant regenerated back again with what was already established.
"That's what he said…but what would the general do if he were here?" Cody rhetorically asked.
"Saya sir, what do you think?" A trooper asked me somewhat desperately.
"I think Cody should take this one, I've got your back Cody." I answered with my legs crossed, eyes closed, slightly levitating over the rocks.
"Eight-Eight-Six-Seven through Eight-Eight-Six-Nine and Saya, fix your grapples and come with me. Everybody, prepare for covering fire." Cody ordered.
I get up, eyes still shut, ready to block anything coming our way.
"NOW!" Cody yells, sprinting across what is our no-man's-land
I open my eyes, ignite my Sabers, Green in left, yellow in right, and dash towards the now incoming blaster fire. I sense it, left side, block, right side, deflect, one for Cody, deflected. We get to some stalagmites at the bottom of the mountain, sustaining heavy fire, I pose as a distraction for all the fire, deflecting as many blots as I can back at the metal men. One troop trips and falls, pow, bolt straight through the head. Cody and the men shoot the grappling hooks up towards the top of the mountain and start climbing. I jump from my spot reigniting my sabers, driving them through the mountain side, helping me grab hold with my feet. And when I look up, I see a grapple fall behind me. I tried to grab the rope but I was too late. When I managed to obtain it, he had already hit the ground. Another tragedy, one that never had to happen, life being wasted away. I look up, a droid stairs emotionlessly down into my emotion filled eyes. A blue bolt shoots past me, impacting the droid's head, sending the body backwards.
Cody and the other clone rises from the cliff side as I leap up from the side, landing in front of the clones and immediately start deflecting with my 2 sabers having nothing pass. Cody takes this opportunity to run around my defense and attacks the droids head on, bashing one droid with the butt of his rifle and swinging his rifle at another, destroying both of them. The droid manning the anti aircraft gun turns and aims at Cody. Instinctively I jump in front of the cannon as it fires, I deflect the large bolt away with my right yellow saber, knocking my body to the right, making me stumble. But with the motion throwing me to the right, I use the momentum to throw my green saber with my left hand, impaling the droid in the metal chest. Cody then hops onto the turret, points the gun at the droids firing at our men, and lets loose, destroying all in its reticle.
"Thanks General, I owe you one, ill getcha next time." Cody said slowly getting off the turret.
"You're alright my friend, just pay it forward, let's go see how Obi-Wan did." I slightly worried, staring off to the north.
'RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE'
I ran towards the lieutenant that I had survived the crash with, he was running for a troop transport.
"Get to the ships, return to the Venators! Get Kenobi and relay what has happened!" Urgency blowing through my voice.
"Saya, is that you?" Kenobi asked.
"Yes, we got surprised on the ground, seems the same happened here." I rushingly said.
"Yes, they came out of nowh-" Kenobi is cut off by a blaring siren from my cockpit.
"Wait, my ship is damaged, it's starting up my hyperdrive, 411 can you fix it?" I said dipping left and right while trying to stop the hyperdrive activation.
With a few bleeps of fear, I understand what's happening.
"When I was thrown from the capital ship explosive wave, I must have been hit near the hyperdrive, and explosions from my escape, along with the maneuvers I have been pulling, it may have caused damage that is registering a hyperdrive activation. Master Obi-Wan, I don't know, I-I don't know what to do!" I claimed with fear in my eyes.
"Can you deactivate the hyperdrive at all 411?" Kenobi asked
411 bleeps with a sad toon.
"Blast, Saya, does it say where you're going?"
"N- No, my council just says ERROR." I stated, now with much fear in my voice.
Chapter 5
My hyperdrive warning kicked on, showing that there is a massive gravity force in my path. The console flashed with big red dangerous letters "Exiting Hyperdrive" on the screen.
"YES! FINALLY!" I yelled with excitement.
"Come ooooon. Pull pull pullllll…. Ahhhhhhhhh!!!-" VERRROW BOOOOSH!!! The crash landing sounded like a bomb flying through the air, then landing on its target. I try to get from my seat just to find my strap and window will not open. Using my saber I cut off my seat strap and broke the window from the hinges and leaped out, taking 411 from the craft, swiftly landing on a tall mountainous rock. The craft seemed to have pushed through the land 50 meters from the initial impact spot. The area I was in seemed to be very rocky terrain with many rocky canyons and huge rocks that are almost mountainous. The sun was close to setting down for the night but was still a good hour away from sleeping.
"Well sorry for busting your rusty bolts you rowdy rancor, better to try than to just give up mister sassy pants. Maybe I should wipe your memory for a change, see how you like it."
"Now shush, don't want them to find us spying on them, won't look too good." I demand. "Now here, in case we get caught, I don't want them to know I'm a Jedi, so here, take my sabers, I'm not gonna need them anyways." I said shoving my lightsabers into 411's storage compartment and looking towards the crash again.
submitted by IsiahE4112 to StarWarsCantina [link] [comments]
This story is of how he lived through one of the bloodiest battles and worst losses of the Republic, the battle of Sarrish, and of how he had obtained his later main star ship, a Kom'rk Mark 1 class star fightetransport, aka the Puro (i made this story before I have watched the 3rd season of the Mandalorian, as of right now i still haven't so Idk if thats in season 3 or not).
There is about 11,340 words in the story, and I don't 100% know of what I should make him look like so have your imaginations run wild.
Ok here we go:
Tales of Saya Eban's Puro
Chapter 1
The battle of Sarrish was one of the worst battles of the Clone Wars, it was a great devastating loss to the Republic and the Jedi, and I was in the middle of it all. Before the battle I was doing some touch-ups on my A-wing Fighter. I had managed to get my hands on a hyperdrive that would fit in my small fighter, although being able to enter hyperspace without an external hyperdrive wing is very convenient, fast, and easy, it does slow my fighter and hinder some mobility, but not an uncontrollable amount of loss. Little did I know it'd save my life later that week. After I had finished my work, gotten it restocked for my next battle, I was called to the Jedi command center for a briefing by Master Yoda, saying it was an urgent mission and I was needed now, with his backwards way of speaking annoying me slightly. In a flash, I had gathered my battle ready loadout and headed off to the command center. When I entered the command center with the center planning table showing starships from both Confederate and Republic sides, One chasing another. I look and see Masters Yoda and Windu and a holoprojected Obi-Wan Kenobi surrounding the Table, with deeply serious thoughts in their eyes, fingers on their concentrating chins. When I swiftly strolled in, I was greeted with Master Windu's cheerful, but serious voice: "Ah, Padawan Eban, good you're here, come quick, we must act with persistence if we want to gain an upper hand in this war." "Master Windu, good to see you, you too Master Yoda, Master Kenobi, what's the situation?" Master Obi-Wan states, "We are currently chasing Separatist forces to the planet Sarrish and we will need some back up, could you bring your part of the 104th battalion right away, we have heavy casualties and they're going to have reinforcements when they reach the planet." "Is there not anyone closer than me, it may take a few days for me to get there, yall mabe finished by the time I get there!" I said with hope in my eyes. "I'm afraid that you're the only one that is available with the most minimal time of arrival, you'll have to be quick though, it will be anytime now they will reach the planet and have reinforcements. we need this win, it will be a great victory for the Republic if we are able to capture the planet." Stated Obi-Wan with certainty. "All other generals are on missions right as we speak, you are the only one that can provide back up at this current time." Master Windu added "Closer to Knight after this mission you will be, great padawan you are, your great swift improvements, Master Plo is pleased with, believe in you I do." Master Yoda said with a jolly old-man voice. "Now go, there's not much time to waste, gather your men and go help Obi-Wan!" Rushedly said by Master Windu. "With determination in my voice, I yell "Yes Masters, right away!" And like a flash, I was gone. As I'm running off, I catch a glimpse of a green swoosh and the sound of a bolt deflection. I stumble to a stop and put my legs in reverse to give curiosity the wheel. When I peer in, I see Master Skywalker and Ahsoka, along with roughly 8 clone troopers all in a circle around Ahsoka and her one blade ignited. Master Skywalker had her eyes welded to her as he walked around the trooper. I could see Captain Rex standing and watching as well, although he seems to be the only one who spotted me poking in my head. He motioned his finger to his lips as to tell me to shush and not interfere, so I watched with anticipation. And after a lifetime stillness ending in a second after Master Skywalker yelled "START!" And stun doughnuts fire from the blasters of the troopers, sending a volley of blue twords Ahsoka from all directions. With great flexibility I pair with, she jumps into the air, spinning like skates on a skate rink in mid air deflecting all incoming plasmic projectiles landing with swift grace ready for more, And more came, she stands in the center blade moving almost faster than what my eyes could keep up with, until that one bolt punches her right in the back, knocking her to the ground, diminishing the blade back into the hilt. I spring into the room, speaking with worry in my voice when I squeak out "Ahsoka! Master Skywalker, what was that!?""She was just training deflecting blaster fire, she's going to be outmatched a lot in this war, and clones are better than droids to practice with." Anakin said with pride that she was able to last little over a minute, thats improvement.
"Well I guess you're not completely wrong, but your going to give her a brain injury at this rate! Could you not go a bit easier on her?"
"She'll never learn if I go easy on her." Master Skywalker said with little arrogance in his voice.
"W- well, here, l-let me wake her then." I stuttered as I walked up to Rex holding Ahsoka like he's a pillow.
"Rex, do you mind if I-"
"Not at all General, here." Rex said as I sat next to him holding Ahsoka's top half of her body.
As he caringly sets Ahsoka's rhythmically beating top half in my lap, head facing the heavens, I softly lay my hand over her forehead, close my eyes, and concentrate. A few suspenseful seconds later, I take my hand off and observe Ahsoka's hand softly glide to her now curling forehead, eyes fluttering open.With a smile I voiced"Wakey Wakey warrior princess, have a good nap?" Smirking the whole time.
"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes Nicksters." She groaned with fading pain.
"What are you doing here?" She leisurely grumbled as she started to lie propped up by her desirable, fluorescent orange arms made of flexible muscle.
"I was walking by, and saw a 'damsel in distress', I HAD to come and 'save the day'." I joked, smirking the whole time, annoying her little bit more.
"You know I have been dying to use my force heal on you since I had learned it. I bet you don't even feel bad at all right now hm?" I said leaning in
Ahsoka starts to stand as to get a feel for her own body.
"You're right, I feel better than I did before, not bad for someone named Nicks." Ahsoka said smirking right back at me.
"Oh come on, that was one time, that was even before we became patiwans!" I said with little dramatics in my vocal verberations.
"Ok Master, I'm ready to try again." Ahsoka said to Master Skywalker
"Not now Ahsoka, we have a mission from the Jedi council we have to attend to while Obi-Wan is on his own mission." Anikan said to Ahsoka, elongating his 'not' like he usually does
"I'm actually about to go give help to Obi-Wan right now… WHICH I NEED TO GET PREPARED FOR NOW!! Karabast, got to go! See yah Ahsoka, Master, Rex." And like a ship entering hyperspace, I was gone.
Chapter 2
After 2 boring days traveling in hyperspace, me and my 5 Veneter class Cruisers are nearing our destination, this would make 12 Cruisers for the Republic side. A new commander CT'-4112 or Zerek, debriefs on the battle situation. As I had sensed, Obi-Wan was outmatched seeing as backup was on planet Sarrish for the fleeing Separatist ships, now it's 11 Munificent class Cruisers and 2 command stations blockading the planet. Kenobi was starting to be pushed back, relying on our Cruisers longer ranged cannons to hope the Sepies didn't get too close. Our Cruisers have longer ranged main canons and toms of fighter room, while the Sepies Cruisers have more fire power at closer ranges with more fighters than our Vendor class Cruisers, at closer ranges, the Sepies would completely destroy a Venetor class Cruiser, but we have strategies and will power."Glad to see a friendly face Saya." Kenobi said exhaustingly.
"Well, it looked like you needed help. You know I need to be the one to save everyone. I'll move into position to fortify our defenses to push the Sepies back and for us to make a plan. What is your fleet's condition?"
"We have 2 Venetors heavily damaged and the rest either have mild to no damage. And we have lost half our fighters as of now." Urgently said by Kenobi.
"Ok, I'm sending men and supplies to you right now, let me take the front so I can take the damage if they send another attack." I calmly said to Kenobi.
"Men battle positions and set all power to front cannons and shields. Venators get into pincer position and get ready for an attack. Fighters get ready to launch." I commanded to all my Cruisers
"Master, if you could, could you add in your undamaged Venetors? " I wandered and directed with much mastery, I even made Obi-Wan himself visually impressed considering my inexperienced mind in life, and especially war. I even managed to make him smile.
"Getting in position now." Obi-Wan stated, still smiling.
"Understood, While you get everything fixed, I'll see if I can weaken their defenses, it seems as if they're in attack positions so we gotta be ready for anything." I said in deep thought.
"Ok, 10 to 13, I like those odds, makes it even, more so for the Sepies." I grinned.
"Now Saya, remember this is still a battle, don't be too cocky, you're starting to remind me of Anakin." Obi-Wan said with conviction.
"Yes Master, sorry about that." I answered to Obi-Wan, pulling back a little.
Just then, many starfighters come from the enemy Cruisers, hundreds of them lightning fast, closing distance fast."All right men, time for some fun. Obi-Wan, if you want to take command of my control center, I'll lead this fight." I said before Obi-Wan could respond.
"Ok- but Saya! Blast, maybe he's too much like Anikan." Obi-Wan said defeatedly.
As I get into the hangar I yell "Alright Wolfpack, let's get goin!" Then I hop into my modified Jedi A-wing.
We rush out from the center roof door along the Cruiser with my squadron aka The Wolfpack, with me leading my 23 fighters into battle and many more friendly's following from the hangars.
"Ok Wolfpack, let's make a break for them Cruisers, get as many of them gone as possible. 411 you ready?" I asked R2-411. R2-411 bleeps with readiness.
"Ok, time to blow them out of the sky, remember, stay in formation" I commanded.
"Yes sir!" The Clones bellowed.
Then we hit the swarm with a mighty thundering sound of lasers flying through the emptiness of space seeing one after one of enemy fighter droids dropping all over the place. Me and my Wolfpack fly through all the 2 winged Vulture droids that look like each wing was sideways and has 2 prongs each side for wings. They were way more quick and maneuverable than us, but we had a duty to win, and we won't lose today. It's like a firework show, but you're dodging all the fireworks, and they're aiming right at you. While we are defending the Venator Cruisers, they're mostly firing at the Sepies Cruisers, slowly dwindling their energy shields down."Boys, I have a plan, but I'll need yall to get back to the Cruisers." I urged
"Obi-Wan, how's the 2 heavily damaged Cruisers? We've been out for a long while. They should be good by now right?" I questioned Master Kenobi.
"They're about to come back into the fight, but one of our Cruisers is at a quarter shield, few good hits or bombing runs and it's gone, what's your plan Saya?" Obi-Wan said, perplexed.
"Just give me an opening to the left Separatist control center, that's all I need to get on that ship." I stated with confidence.
"I'll try my best, but don't be stupid Saya, we can't afford to lose you."
"Yeah yeah I know, just get me an opening please Master!" I begged.
After the words fleeted from my mouth, all the Cruisers fired a hole through the droid fleet with friendly fighters also making way for me to get through. I blast the afterburners straight through the enemy swarm that's been lesson by the commotion, just barely being hidden by smoke from a just destroyed fighter straight into the leftmost control ship hanger landing with an explosive entry. And immediately I jump out, igniting both, my straight emerald green saber in my left, and my yellow saber with a curved hilt similar to the Count's hilt himself in my right. I'll face him again one day, it's inevitable, like me. I land and immediately cut a group of B1 battle droids heads off with my yellow saber facing out, giving me more reach, but as I start to take fire from the army that quickly form from my landing, I swiftly doge left to right almost able to doge the sight of a human eye. Left, pop goes the heads of 3, right, pop goes 5, jump through the air on an almost straight path through the thick of the army, spinning with a light show if one were to be an onlooker at this chaotic organization of flying red plasmic bolts going to a mix of yellow and green, then proceeding to fly straight back at the shooter with twice the velocity. I land on my feet with a thunderous "BOOM" with what seems like an explosion that incinerates half of the whole hanger with an electric yellow glow seeming like yellow lighting exploded from the epicenter of the explosion. When the smoke cleared, it seemed that everything within a 5 meter radius was completely incinerated, and everything within 40 meter radius was heavily damaged, and any technology within eye shot was either scrape or short-circuiting, but all B1 battle droids and super battle droids were out.I sighed with relief with little heavy breathing when I looked around me, but with no time to rest, 6 Vulture droid fighters came through the hanger's magnetic shield door, transforming to walk on its pronged wings like they were legs. They scanned me and started raining a flurry of red down onto me, but with my lightning fast reflexes, I raised my sabers to block the incoming hellfire from all six fighter's. Then came the flurry being deflected in any direction possible, and I could just barely see the 6 droids started to surround me by going behind my back, but I ain't done yet. As I'm blocking, jumping, spinning, twisting on a micrometer, I stomp with a mighty force, launching through the air, slowly spinning straight for a Vulture that has became the prey. Bolts whizzing by me, inches, centimeters near my skin, singeing my arm hairs to their roots. I land on top of the droid with a thunderous boom crunching where my foot had landed, driving my sabers straight through the brain of the story high droid, with a counterclockwise rotation around my back, dragging my sabers across the metal of the droid, I leap off the droid landing with the feathers and fly forward with a flashing dash slicing through 2 other droids legs, leaving gravity do its magical job. 3 down, 3 to go, but with little time left. I launch forward running on hairs dipping and dodging blots, I leap up slicing through one leg of a droid and pushing off of its gravity taken hull, coming down on another droid's leg, cutting with ease. I land like a leaf in the autumn skies, and launch with a swift leap, flying my yellow saber straight down the middle of the 6th and final droid with no time to spare.
I land with caution, ready to fend off another foe, but none came at that second, so I took the opportunity and ran with it straight to where the main reactors should lie. I swiftly sprint with force leaps through the air to get to the reactor, the ship is 270th of a circle with a ball where the command center is, the middle is the only connected between the back of the ball and the inner back of the circle, that's where the reactor is, im at the left most side, may take me a minute to reach it, but I can get there without being seen. My plan was to quickly fix and rewrite a Vulture droid's code to go with my command, not going to be the best work but it will work, hopefully. I had to act fast because I knew there were going to be hundreds more droids to come to see the commotion, I'd say within the minute. The codes used on the droids are not the best, because of mass production, so It was an easy fix, I just needed it to fly a small bit. It comes back to life with a putt to its movement, I directed it to start flying while I'm on its back, putting the whole time with smoke, just what I needed. I start to move forward as fast as possible. As we get around the hundreds of battle droids below, I'm starting to speed up, and as I see the reactor room, I could hear B1's yell " HEY! STOP! YOUR GOING TO FAST" in their robotic voice. Before I hit the Shield covering the reactor room, I jump off to the left where the blast door is for the room. With the distraction of the droid smashing into the shield, I use this time to slowly cut through the blast doors with both sabers starting at the bottom of the door, going up and around to form a circle I can fit through. I was through within a Minute, unnoticed, or so I was led to believe. When I get into the reactor room, I throw explosives all over the reactors, with a detonation in T minus 1 minute. I fly out of the room, calling for 411 to bring my ship as fast as possible, 55. Running across the hanger, I'm spotted by the hundreds of battle droids, which immediately start firing right as they see me 50. The explosion of the fighter droid caused a chain to nearby explosive barrels, exploding more Vulture droids causing tons of smoke and fires to spread around the hangar area, 45. As I'm running, my yellow saber is blocking multiple bolts flying at me while I'm jumping, spinning, performing acrobatic movements while being shot by hundreds of droids, from B1's, to super's, to droideka's, all firing at me, adding to the smoke, 35. Running with young blood in my veins, I perform 1, 2, 3 long jumps and leap onto the side of a slanted destroyed Vulture droid, 30. I jump up, reaching for the cloudy sky just as 411 swoops in predictively shoving my hand into the side of the sharp A-wing hull, 25. I grab the side of the hull and pull myself up into the cockpit, grabbing the controls, 20. I spin to the exit with roughly 67° of the hanger I need to shoot out of, I fire the afterburners using the circumference of the circle and my fighters movment to my advantage, 15. Pushing forward, I am drifting an A-wing around the hangar of a Separatist capital ship skimming the walls centimeters away from an explosive fiery death, 10. I barely screamed out of the hanger, to be able to see a view of the capital ship flying stright for the other Sepie capital ship, 5. Im still firing the afterburners to try and attempt to get a safe distance away from the soon to be collision sight, 4. I let 411 take the control's, 3. I turn my head to look back, 2. I see the collision of the 2 270° hangers, 1. I watch as i get the view of a star being formed right infront of my eyes, and seeing many Sepie Cruisers being absolutely engulfed by the flames, and a blast wave decimating the Vulture droids… blast wave…. BLAST WAVE! Just then I'm thrown far, along with the debri. I manged to gain control of the craft and start performing advanced monuvers to avoid being hit by debrie that will demolishe me and my tiny fighter."Saya, can you hear me? Saya?" Master Obi-Wan Kenobi pleaded.
"Yeah, yeah master, I'm good, I'm fine. Woo…!" I said with a sigh of relief.
Chapter 3
The explosion had decimated the Separatist forces leaving 4 Cruisers sustaining heavy or mild damages, but with an opening, Obi-Wan and I travel to the ground along with Captain Cody to go for a large ground assault. Master Obi-Wan's plan was to drop in and gather our troops and split them between Obi-Wan and commander Cody. We were west, they were east. The Separatists had the high ground seeing as they had a cliff to their advantage. Flying in on gunships, we were taking heavy fire from their anti aircraft cannons. Commander Cody and I are debriefing the squad on the way to the rally point, seeing gunships after gunship falling to the rocky ground in a fiery explosive ball of red hot metal, and screams, with no plants in sight, just rocks, gunships, and red streaks flying by. Explosions booming right next to us with our doors right open. We have been ordered and ordering troops to stay far away from the mountain top gun fortifying the mountain top of the cliff, leaving that gun for the gunships and the best of the clone troopers, or ARC (Advanced Recon Commandos) troopers to deal with that later, seeing as a ground assault is too dangerous for us. As some of the clones have said, it's not an easy mission, but hops are high."30 seconds until landing." A clone trooper yelled to me and Cody.
Cody starts with "All right, listen up! Maintain squad formations, 'A' squad, You're on me-" ZZZZZEEEROW- BOOOM!
"Where hit!" I yell "Everyone! Hold on!"
Before we hit the ground I leap out of the gunship with a backwards somersault, force pulling all the troops out of the burning fireball heading for the ground, grabbing all of the men, including the 2 pilots at the front, breaking through the windows. I land like rain from the sky, catching the troops I just pulled out with my powers and have them roughly land on the fluffy rocks next to our now downed gunship, no casualties yet. I rush over to take cover under our gunship on its left side behind enemy lines. I sit and meditate as they come up with a plan.
"What's the status lieutenant?" Cody asked
"5 injured thanks to General Saya, but that's not that bad news… Does that Rock look familiar?" The lieutenant asked.
"Yea, the mountain, right where we're not supposed to be." Said Cody
"General Kenobi ordered us not to try taking this section from the ground." The lieutenant regenerated back again with what was already established.
"That's what he said…but what would the general do if he were here?" Cody rhetorically asked.
"Saya sir, what do you think?" A trooper asked me somewhat desperately.
"I think Cody should take this one, I've got your back Cody." I answered with my legs crossed, eyes closed, slightly levitating over the rocks.
"Eight-Eight-Six-Seven through Eight-Eight-Six-Nine and Saya, fix your grapples and come with me. Everybody, prepare for covering fire." Cody ordered.
I get up, eyes still shut, ready to block anything coming our way.
"NOW!" Cody yells, sprinting across what is our no-man's-land
I open my eyes, ignite my Sabers, Green in left, yellow in right, and dash towards the now incoming blaster fire. I sense it, left side, block, right side, deflect, one for Cody, deflected. We get to some stalagmites at the bottom of the mountain, sustaining heavy fire, I pose as a distraction for all the fire, deflecting as many blots as I can back at the metal men. One troop trips and falls, pow, bolt straight through the head. Cody and the men shoot the grappling hooks up towards the top of the mountain and start climbing. I jump from my spot reigniting my sabers, driving them through the mountain side, helping me grab hold with my feet. And when I look up, I see a grapple fall behind me. I tried to grab the rope but I was too late. When I managed to obtain it, he had already hit the ground. Another tragedy, one that never had to happen, life being wasted away. I look up, a droid stairs emotionlessly down into my emotion filled eyes. A blue bolt shoots past me, impacting the droid's head, sending the body backwards.
Cody and the other clone rises from the cliff side as I leap up from the side, landing in front of the clones and immediately start deflecting with my 2 sabers having nothing pass. Cody takes this opportunity to run around my defense and attacks the droids head on, bashing one droid with the butt of his rifle and swinging his rifle at another, destroying both of them. The droid manning the anti aircraft gun turns and aims at Cody. Instinctively I jump in front of the cannon as it fires, I deflect the large bolt away with my right yellow saber, knocking my body to the right, making me stumble. But with the motion throwing me to the right, I use the momentum to throw my green saber with my left hand, impaling the droid in the metal chest. Cody then hops onto the turret, points the gun at the droids firing at our men, and lets loose, destroying all in its reticle.
"Thanks General, I owe you one, ill getcha next time." Cody said slowly getting off the turret.
"You're alright my friend, just pay it forward, let's go see how Obi-Wan did." I slightly worried, staring off to the north.
We group up at the randevu, where we have set base camp on the planet in a small raven a bit away from where we captured the cliff with some makeshift scouting towers dotted around our position. Obi-Wan had more resistance than what he had anticipated, he was a little banged up, but he was fine in the end. This was a huge victory seeing as we have been able to set base on a planet that allows us to get resources through this hyperspace route and onto parts of the army past this point. Before, General Grievous snipped our route to where we couldn't get resources to our army on the other side from Coruscant.Chapter 4
12 hours later, we have rested and have managed to build up a good base incase of a surprise attack. We are still fighting a few fronts of Separatist holdouts with a fortress a few klicks west, or about 4 miles west.I sit in my tent meditating, reflecting back on the weeks events, and what Ahsoka was doing back at the temple, training hard. I recite what I did with an almost overwhelming amount of blaster fire attempting to fly into me, how I was just mostly averting the blots away from me and not in a direction that would benefit me most.
'RUMBLE RUMBLE RUMBLE'
The ground started to shake out of nowhere, breaking my peace. I rush out of my tent, only to be met with a face full of B2 battle droid. I jump back over my tent flipping onto my feet as I see my tent being lit into flames from heavy bolt fire flying at me. Igniting both my sabers, I deflect the incoming fire away from me up into the sky as much as I physically could. I took a glance around, it was becoming more sunlit as we fought. It was a slaughter, clones dying left and right, Kenobi was on the Command ship getting patched, so it was just me, and the clones down here, being manicured. With a swift right step, I change lightsaber form, combining my form 3, (defensive form blocking anything coming way, and either making, or waiting for an opening to strike) with a combination of form 2 (saber to saber form, putting least amount or saber movement and preferring precise efficient movements) and form 4 (saber from using the force to enhance physical abilities, and heavily utilizing fast acrobatic movements to move around and disorient the opponents, using wide sweeping saber movements to block and hit targets) I use the power if the many bolts to propel my body onto my right leg, crouching down and taking a huge lead in to the air. Looking around like it is moving in stop motion, I see thousands of droids around, completely outnumbering my men. Glancing down where I had jumped from, there seems to be a super battle droid rising from the ground, looking as if it has been there for at least a few days. Time seems to start like normal again, immediately I have to block bolts coming for my body, twisting, turning, deflecting every. single. bolt. right to another droid. I can't have any more unneeded deaths in my hands. I land with an impactful explosion of yellow lighting, rendering half of the electronics on the field obsolete. Shots fire over the wall, exploding near me."Everyone, Retreat!" I yelled into the comms.
I ran towards the lieutenant that I had survived the crash with, he was running for a troop transport.
"Get to the ships, return to the Venators! Get Kenobi and relay what has happened!" Urgency blowing through my voice.
I push him into the ship as it takes off. As it's doing so, I force push it away from the field as to be in less danger of being shot down. But rockets fly through the air, I reach through the force and grab onto the hurdling death traps, I grab 1, 2, crash them into one another, 3, grab, 4, grab, 5, miss. ERRROW… BOOOM! With a hopeless explosion, the ship bursts into an explosive ball of fire, right in front of my eyes, out of my grasp. Shots fly past my head from behind me, I ignite my sunlit yellow saber to block incoming bolts. No men, only metal remains, and it wants me dead. I dash for my ship on the other side of the airstrip, luckily barely touched from this horrible surprise party that invited everyone I very much dislike. Hopping into my A-wing, I lift-off dogging left, right, up, down, roll left, roll right, barely being passed by on all sides by cannon fire. When I reach the point past the clouds, there's a whole war above. Separatist forces have surprised Kenobi with an overwhelming number of ships, putting our war torn 12 Venators against 16 Munificent class Cruisers. We were greatly out matched. But the time I was in space we had lost 3 Vectors compared to there 1 lost. Droids noticed me coming from the planet and started to verge onto my position."Obi-Wan! You there? Can you hear me?" I yelled, pulling evasive maneuvers.
"Saya, is that you?" Kenobi asked.
"Yes, we got surprised on the ground, seems the same happened here." I rushingly said.
"Yes, they came out of nowh-" Kenobi is cut off by a blaring siren from my cockpit.
"Wait, my ship is damaged, it's starting up my hyperdrive, 411 can you fix it?" I said dipping left and right while trying to stop the hyperdrive activation.
With a few bleeps of fear, I understand what's happening.
"When I was thrown from the capital ship explosive wave, I must have been hit near the hyperdrive, and explosions from my escape, along with the maneuvers I have been pulling, it may have caused damage that is registering a hyperdrive activation. Master Obi-Wan, I don't know, I-I don't know what to do!" I claimed with fear in my eyes.
"Can you deactivate the hyperdrive at all 411?" Kenobi asked
411 bleeps with a sad toon.
"Blast, Saya, does it say where you're going?"
"N- No, my council just says ERROR." I stated, now with much fear in my voice.
I managed to steer my craft into the position of the hyperspace lane."Tell Ahsoka good bye if I don't-" I get cut off when the the hyperdrive powered up woth a vvvvvvvvvvvVVVVERRRRRRR PEEOW, and just like that, me, my A-wing, and R2-411, are gone.
Chapter 5
It's been days since the battle, mabe 2 or 3 days. Luckily I always keep many ration bars in my fighter to last me a good few days, along with my extra water and my ability to go into a deep meditative state, conserving food and water. Keeping me company is my meditation and 411. We have almost hit some unknown objects, could have been planets, asteroids, other ships, but we seem to be staying in hyperspace lanes luckily, or I would have been dead a long time ago. My class 2 hyperdrive could have taken me all over the galaxy by now, I could be heading towards Coruscant right now for all I know.BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
My hyperdrive warning kicked on, showing that there is a massive gravity force in my path. The console flashed with big red dangerous letters "Exiting Hyperdrive" on the screen.
"YES! FINALLY!" I yelled with excitement.
I watch through the glass to see a barren looking planet, and a similar looking moon, a moon I was heading to. I was moving fast, as I entered the moon's atmosphere, Im grabbing the controls, barely anything. My craft is red hot from the rate at which I'm coming in on. I'm grabbing the stick, pulling back as much as I can, as to try and save myself and 411 from a fiery death. I scraped by a big rocky mountain dealing more damage to my A-wing."HOLD ON 411!"
"Come ooooon. Pull pull pullllll…. Ahhhhhhhhh!!!-" VERRROW BOOOOSH!!! The crash landing sounded like a bomb flying through the air, then landing on its target. I try to get from my seat just to find my strap and window will not open. Using my saber I cut off my seat strap and broke the window from the hinges and leaped out, taking 411 from the craft, swiftly landing on a tall mountainous rock. The craft seemed to have pushed through the land 50 meters from the initial impact spot. The area I was in seemed to be very rocky terrain with many rocky canyons and huge rocks that are almost mountainous. The sun was close to setting down for the night but was still a good hour away from sleeping.
With the force by my side, I felt a very uneasy sensation telling me to stay out of sight. I duck down on the tall skinny rock taking 411 down with me. 411 confusingly bleeps when I do so. "Hey, I have a feeling right now, just keep quiet real quick, there's somebody coming. Trust me." Me and 411 peer over the edge looming over my crashed ship just as a group of 6 men in full armor covering their whole body fly in with jetpacks strapped to their backs, blasters in hand. As they land, they search around my wreckage, presumably looking for survivors. One seems to be ordering the others around, pointing at one to look in one direction, another a different direction, and scanning around for the unexpected visitor. I look down at my Wrist link, my distress signal wasn't sent, I guess that was damaged from entering the planet at such high speed with no deflector shields surrounding the ship like a protective blanket."Blast, 411, what's your S.O.S signal situation, did it go through?" 411 beeps with a little drama like I should know it didn't go through.
"Well sorry for busting your rusty bolts you rowdy rancor, better to try than to just give up mister sassy pants. Maybe I should wipe your memory for a change, see how you like it."
"Now shush, don't want them to find us spying on them, won't look too good." I demand. "Now here, in case we get caught, I don't want them to know I'm a Jedi, so here, take my sabers, I'm not gonna need them anyways." I said shoving my lightsabers into 411's storage compartment and looking towards the crash again.
Just then the suit of armor that had been commanding his squad bursts up into my view right on my face out of hyperspace blue."Ah, found ya trespassers, you 2 are coming with me." Demanded the Mandalorian with a snickering sound in his voice as the others rise from the portal of the abyss from down below.
It was a good thing my ropes where in the tent back on Sarrish, or this may have been an even worse situation, Mangalorians like them hate Jedi with a passion, and it's a good thing I always have a broken blaster in 411 for any cases where I need to blend in with a crowd or pose as a normal civilian; although, the ability to become a civilian at any point is great, I've had little need to do so much. I'm quite popular with the people for being one who tries to connect with the population as a fellow citizen. So I rarely stay in the temple for too long. I love being with the people and learning skills without the force, like being a mechanic, electrician, public speaker, security guard, an all around great person to talk with about anything. I'm quite known on all levels of Coruscant for being one of the most friendly Jedi to be around. Right now though, I need to focus on not being caught, at least That's what my gut is telling me. After they searched my character for any weapons and found the broken blaster that 411 had put in my holster where my lightsaber usually is, they were satisfied and pushed us into one of their big Kom'rk Mark 1 class Mandalorian starfightetransport ship.(Look in comments for 6th)
2023.06.01 04:43 terpmike28 Not enough hot water from shower but plenty from other sources
 | So recently bought a 60’s split level that is really showing it’s age. The hot water heater (gas) is over 16 years old and is on the roadmap for getting replaced but other priorities have had to come first (no leaks from the tank and it sits in a corner of the house not under any direct seating lol). Last two months or so we’ve noticed that the hot water either 1. doesn’t get hot enough in general or 2. Loses heat faster than what it used to. We’ve also noticed that unless you almost crank the faucets you get a minor drip. Could the heat issue be a problem with the valve behind the wall not opening or closing all the way or maybe gunk in the line? If it’s not the valve would replacing the faucets fix the drip or would that be the valve needing to be replaced? Thanks Reno community! submitted by terpmike28 to homerenovations [link] [comments] |
2023.06.01 04:31 gunner940 Mold or Mildew?
Just noticed this patch of something growing in my laundry room ceiling. There seems to be a water ring around it, and I’m not sure if it’s mold or mildew. My only guess would be a wateroof leak from recent storms. I’m a new homeowner and don’t even know where to start or who to call. What should I do first?
https://imgur.com/a/TSH6ygt
submitted by gunner940 to HomeImprovement [link] [comments]
https://imgur.com/a/TSH6ygt
2023.06.01 04:15 Quackadilla [Discussion] Bonus Book - Nona the Ninth, Day 2 through Chapter 11
Welcome to the second discussion for Tamsyn Muir's Nona the Ninth.
This section covers all of Day 2 through Day 3 Chapter 11.
***
Day 2 Chapter 7
Nona is awakened by something hitting her face. Camilla wants her to recount her dreams, where someone is holding Nona's hands and she is holding theirs, but both pairs of hands are hers.
Nona gets ready for the day and puts on a shirt that has a hamburger with legs on it. They discuss the escalating hostilities between the common folk. People are killing each other and bodies are pilling up in the street.
Palamedes takes control of the body shared with Camilla. Pyrrha is concerned with the risks it poses to their shared brain. Camilla drops Nona off at school.
When entering the classroom, Nona finds Honesty nursing a black eye. Turns out she ran into a streetlight. Honesty was working a job and after realizing she was being followed, ran away and into a light.
Chapter 8
Nona attempts to get shoes on Noodle - a dog with six feet. While doing so she mentions that she would rather be attempting the weird bone things that Camilla / Palamedes try to get her to do. She walks outside and talks into her hand to someone called "Crown".
John 15:23
John recounts the first days after something important happened. After three days people began to believe what he claims to have happened to him. His eyes have changed. They say he looks like Edward from Twilight with the body of a high school history teacher.
The bodies everywhere were not decomposing. They tried heating them, but their temperatures weren't changing. Their corpses were perfect. John feels a connection with their bodies - he feels their presence and that he was touching them without touching them.
John is recounting this information to Harrow.
Chapter 9
Hot Sauce asks Nona what she said at the end of Chapter 8. Nona felt silly talking to herself and didn't say much. Hot Sauce says the Watcher took off after she spoke into the radio. Nona practices with swords despite her lack of interest.
Nona recounts when she went swimming. She wanted to lay at the bottom and drowse, but didn't want to die. Camilla is suddenly surrounded by what appears to Nona as police. Nona lunges forward in an effort to help Camilla, only to hear words muffled by water and to be shot. She hears the name Unjust Hope. When Nona reemerges from the water, she finds Camilla surrounded by bodies on the ground.
They return to Pyrrha, where Camilla is tended to. Pyrrha tells Camilla never to try Synthesis again.
Chapter 10
Pyrrha and Camilla / Palamedes discuss the on going violence. People are rioting against police and protesting the acceptance of zombie money.
Nona eavesdrops on Pyrrha and Palamedes. They discuss Pyrrha burning people and Camilla / Palamedes overextending their necromantic powers. Pyrrha points out that they are only a fraction of a Lyctor.
Nona heads out to a secret room where she sees the blue orb in the sky through a window. She knows that it is causing all of the chaos, but she likes to look at it. She loves it and is the only one who can hear it sing. She calls it Varun.
John 5:18
John and presumably Harrow lie looking at the stars. John recounts his first experiences with necromancy and his follower's reactions to it. He talks of the tests they did on his abilities and he refers to the corpses as his batteries.
They were worried about getting caught and disappeared, so they decide to broadcast his abilities and see if there is anyone else like him.
Day 3 Chapter 11
Nona recounts a dream where a girl with a painted face is floating under the water. In the dream they are embracing, but the body parts are mixing up.
Pyrrha asks Nona to be careful with her friend Hot Sauce. Pyrrha saw her burn cages the previous night and noticed the company she kept.
Nona wants to know what everyone thinks is sexy. Nona doesn't think red heads are sexy and Palamedes finds that to be important.
People with guns break down their door.
***
We'll see how the plot congeals in next's weeks discussion to be run by u/Unnecessary_Eagle!
submitted by Quackadilla to bookclub [link] [comments]
This section covers all of Day 2 through Day 3 Chapter 11.
***
Day 2 Chapter 7
Nona is awakened by something hitting her face. Camilla wants her to recount her dreams, where someone is holding Nona's hands and she is holding theirs, but both pairs of hands are hers.
Nona gets ready for the day and puts on a shirt that has a hamburger with legs on it. They discuss the escalating hostilities between the common folk. People are killing each other and bodies are pilling up in the street.
Palamedes takes control of the body shared with Camilla. Pyrrha is concerned with the risks it poses to their shared brain. Camilla drops Nona off at school.
When entering the classroom, Nona finds Honesty nursing a black eye. Turns out she ran into a streetlight. Honesty was working a job and after realizing she was being followed, ran away and into a light.
Chapter 8
Nona attempts to get shoes on Noodle - a dog with six feet. While doing so she mentions that she would rather be attempting the weird bone things that Camilla / Palamedes try to get her to do. She walks outside and talks into her hand to someone called "Crown".
John 15:23
John recounts the first days after something important happened. After three days people began to believe what he claims to have happened to him. His eyes have changed. They say he looks like Edward from Twilight with the body of a high school history teacher.
The bodies everywhere were not decomposing. They tried heating them, but their temperatures weren't changing. Their corpses were perfect. John feels a connection with their bodies - he feels their presence and that he was touching them without touching them.
John is recounting this information to Harrow.
Chapter 9
Hot Sauce asks Nona what she said at the end of Chapter 8. Nona felt silly talking to herself and didn't say much. Hot Sauce says the Watcher took off after she spoke into the radio. Nona practices with swords despite her lack of interest.
Nona recounts when she went swimming. She wanted to lay at the bottom and drowse, but didn't want to die. Camilla is suddenly surrounded by what appears to Nona as police. Nona lunges forward in an effort to help Camilla, only to hear words muffled by water and to be shot. She hears the name Unjust Hope. When Nona reemerges from the water, she finds Camilla surrounded by bodies on the ground.
They return to Pyrrha, where Camilla is tended to. Pyrrha tells Camilla never to try Synthesis again.
Chapter 10
Pyrrha and Camilla / Palamedes discuss the on going violence. People are rioting against police and protesting the acceptance of zombie money.
Nona eavesdrops on Pyrrha and Palamedes. They discuss Pyrrha burning people and Camilla / Palamedes overextending their necromantic powers. Pyrrha points out that they are only a fraction of a Lyctor.
Nona heads out to a secret room where she sees the blue orb in the sky through a window. She knows that it is causing all of the chaos, but she likes to look at it. She loves it and is the only one who can hear it sing. She calls it Varun.
John 5:18
John and presumably Harrow lie looking at the stars. John recounts his first experiences with necromancy and his follower's reactions to it. He talks of the tests they did on his abilities and he refers to the corpses as his batteries.
They were worried about getting caught and disappeared, so they decide to broadcast his abilities and see if there is anyone else like him.
Day 3 Chapter 11
Nona recounts a dream where a girl with a painted face is floating under the water. In the dream they are embracing, but the body parts are mixing up.
Pyrrha asks Nona to be careful with her friend Hot Sauce. Pyrrha saw her burn cages the previous night and noticed the company she kept.
Nona wants to know what everyone thinks is sexy. Nona doesn't think red heads are sexy and Palamedes finds that to be important.
People with guns break down their door.
***
We'll see how the plot congeals in next's weeks discussion to be run by u/Unnecessary_Eagle!
2023.06.01 04:14 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
 | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/vvxa5zxkfb3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |
2023.06.01 04:14 kaylamuff1n [Tenant US-CA] Seeking advice for roof leak and proration
Hello landlords!
I'm seeking advice about a situation happening at my unit.
On May 4th, a extremely bad roof leak happened in my bedroom and the water went all over my bed and damaged it for the most part. I contacted the people who do repairs and for a little over 2 weeks at least 4 people came and just to look at it, while it was getting worse and bigger. It started devolping mold as well. I also wasn't able to stay in my apartment due to this because i have lyme disease and i cant be around potential mold growth. So then on May 20th it got fixed and it took 2 days and my room was fully closed off and I emailed them about a hotel accomdation and never got a response.
The roofers confirmed there was mold growing in the ceiling.
and during this time im emailing my management about getting rent prorated because i wasn't living there and this was a toxic enviroment. I either get no response or I get ''we fixed the issue you should pay full rent.''
Then few days later after it got fixed, a manager from my building comes and talks to me with roofers saying this leak has actually been here prior since i moved in and it just got bad from this recent rain we had. and they said mold was growing already before. So now finding out this information, i emailed my management again saying all this and all they said was this:
--
We are aware of the roof leak at unit 303
We are not sure how did you came with the conclusion that the roof leak was there for long time and we are not sure who is (manager of buildings name)
To be 109% clear the 1st time we heard about any roof leak was May 4th and we immediately notify the HOA
There was no roof leaks prior to May 4
RPM management is not managing the HOA and can't touch the roof or do any repairs to the roof
Any complaints about the roof should go to the HOA directly
RPM handled only the interior repairs as soon as the roof was repaired by the HOA
We think our response was quick and professional and we are sorry if you don't feel this way
In regard to any proration the right way to request a proration is to pay full rent 1st
And requests a proration later
---
This sounded extremely passive aggressive. And i dont think i should pay them in full if im requesting a prorate for may? i dont believe thats how it works.
I'm lost on what to do because I dont believe they deserve the full rent. I'm willing to pay them for half the month when things were ''normal''
any advice helps, thank you.
submitted by kaylamuff1n to Landlord [link] [comments]
I'm seeking advice about a situation happening at my unit.
On May 4th, a extremely bad roof leak happened in my bedroom and the water went all over my bed and damaged it for the most part. I contacted the people who do repairs and for a little over 2 weeks at least 4 people came and just to look at it, while it was getting worse and bigger. It started devolping mold as well. I also wasn't able to stay in my apartment due to this because i have lyme disease and i cant be around potential mold growth. So then on May 20th it got fixed and it took 2 days and my room was fully closed off and I emailed them about a hotel accomdation and never got a response.
The roofers confirmed there was mold growing in the ceiling.
and during this time im emailing my management about getting rent prorated because i wasn't living there and this was a toxic enviroment. I either get no response or I get ''we fixed the issue you should pay full rent.''
Then few days later after it got fixed, a manager from my building comes and talks to me with roofers saying this leak has actually been here prior since i moved in and it just got bad from this recent rain we had. and they said mold was growing already before. So now finding out this information, i emailed my management again saying all this and all they said was this:
--
We are aware of the roof leak at unit 303
We are not sure how did you came with the conclusion that the roof leak was there for long time and we are not sure who is (manager of buildings name)
To be 109% clear the 1st time we heard about any roof leak was May 4th and we immediately notify the HOA
There was no roof leaks prior to May 4
RPM management is not managing the HOA and can't touch the roof or do any repairs to the roof
Any complaints about the roof should go to the HOA directly
RPM handled only the interior repairs as soon as the roof was repaired by the HOA
We think our response was quick and professional and we are sorry if you don't feel this way
In regard to any proration the right way to request a proration is to pay full rent 1st
And requests a proration later
---
This sounded extremely passive aggressive. And i dont think i should pay them in full if im requesting a prorate for may? i dont believe thats how it works.
I'm lost on what to do because I dont believe they deserve the full rent. I'm willing to pay them for half the month when things were ''normal''
any advice helps, thank you.
2023.06.01 04:13 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
Flying Sparks
Pre Order Now
https://i.redd.it/vub83em8fb3b1.gif
Chapter 2
“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
https://i.redd.it/9sde27n9fb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
2023.06.01 04:13 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
Flying Sparks Pre Order Now Chapter 2 “Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
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2023.06.01 04:04 Betty-Adams "Flying Sparks" A novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. 100K words of science fiction adventure.
 | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/7fvbpli8db3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. https://i.redd.it/t03pj0e9db3b1.gif “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |
2023.06.01 04:03 Form-Early Bialetti Moka Express Water Chamber - An Ingenious Design?
 | I have a Bialetti and an Imusa 1 cup moka pot. The Imusa is 1/3 the price of the Bialetti. submitted by Form-Early to mokapot [link] [comments] When I am brewing with the Imusa, I find that towards the end of the brewing process, the Imusa pot tends to violently spurt steam and water. I would have to lower the heat or remove the pot from the heat source before it reaches this stage, which is usually when the top chamber is half full. The bottom of the Imusa's water chamber is flat. With the Bialetti, there are two spurting events during the brewing process. The first event is quite mild and not very loud. After this, it will subside, more coffee will percolate, and then it will reach the final spurting event which produces the familiar gurgling noise. The bottom of the Bialetti's water chamber has two levels. I hypothesize that by having two levels in the water chamber, the Bialetti pot distributes the buildup of pressure between two events, rather than allowing it to reach extremely high pressures towards the end of the brew, like the Imusa. Overall, the Bialetti water chamber design simplifies the brewing process. The Imusa requires close attention to make sure it is removed from the heat at the correct time or else it will make a mess. With the Bialetti, I can leave it on medium heat and remove it once I hear gurgling noises. Much more convenient! Even though the Bialetti cost 3x as much, IMO it is definitely worth it. Do you think this was done by design? Do any other moka pots have this design in the water chamber? Have I been drinking too much coffee? View of the Bialetti Moka Express bottom water chamber. Notice the recessed areas. View of the Imusa water chamber. Despite the spiral texture, the bottom is relatively flat. |
2023.06.01 04:00 Analypiss Endurance, Speed, Skill, and Temporary Powers
Key and explanation of periods where Juggernaut was stronger or weaker than normal
- [50%] Briefly lost half of his power after Black Tom absorbed it
- [X] Was made weaker by Cyttorak after deciding not to do his bidding anymore
- [T] Was made weaker by Cyttorak after he was angered by Juggernaut temporarily becoming Captain Universe
- [Kuurth] Became possessed by one of the Serpent's Asgardian Worthy named Kuurth after picking up his hammer
- [Once and Future] Had his power completely removed by Cyttorak but regained it after taking the place of an alternate universe Cain Marko, though it began to fade
- [Unstoppable] Was given more power by Cyttorak than he had given anyone else
Endurance and Regeneration
- Barely slowed down by enough sleeping gas to stop a herd of elephants and a gas that causes loss of balance - Uncanny X-Men #12
- Doesn't get tired - Amazing Adventures #16
- Starts to age rapidly due to strange forces in a dimension Eternity cast him into, but is able to remain young as long as he feels hate - Doctor Strange #182, Amazing Adventures #16, Hulk #172
- Doesn't need air, food, or water - Amazing Spider-Man #230, 629
- Quickly regenerates after getting stabbed in the eye and cut several times by Shatterstar's swords - Spider-Man (1990) #16, X-Force (1991) #4
- Heals broken bones and regenerates damaged muscle in seconds after getting his powers restored - X-Men Unlimited (1993) #12
- Still able to move after D'Spayre absorbs most of his power and uses it to reduce him to a skeleton, and quickly regenerates after getting it restored - Juggernaut (1997) #1
- [X] Seems like he needed air after being weakened - Uncanny X-Men #412
- [X] Later walked from somewhere in the Yellow Sea to South Korea however - New Excalibur (2006) #13-14
- [T] Needs air - Thunderbolts #145
- [T] Still able to fight after King Hyperion breaks his knee - Thunderbolts #153
- Survives dragging his armor around Limbo for 30 days while depowered - Juggernaut (2020) #1
Speed
- Grabs Angel and shoves him into the path of Cyclops optic blast before he can redirect it - Uncanny X-Men #13
- Rushes at Beast and punches him without him being able to dodge - Uncanny X-Men #46
- Nearly as fast as Beast and ducks under a tree swung by him - Amazing Adventures #16
- Catches a girder slingshot at him by Spider-Man - Amazing Spider-Man #230
- Slaps Speedball out of the air - Thor #412
- Knocks Night Thrasher off of his skateboard by punching the ground - Thor #412
- Tags Spider-Man with a backhand after tearing off some webbing he sprayed in his eyes - X-Force (1991) #4
- Grabs Deadpool after he tries to dart underneath him - Deadpool (1994) #3
- Smashes through a wall to catch two people falling - The All New Exiles (1995) #2
- Punches through Iceman's ice faster than he can throw it at him - Professor Xavier and the X-Men (1995) #13
- Fights evenly with Conquest, who was fast enough to grab Quicksilver on the run - Juggernaut (1999) #1, Avengers (1998) #25
- Dodges energy blasts from two Sentinels using some kind of hovercraft - X-Men Forever (2001) #5
- [X] Catches up to Nocturne on the run - X-Men (1991) #161
- [Kuurth] Catches up to a speedster called Nonstop - Fear Itself: Youth In Revolt #3
- [Kuurth] Colossusnaut says he's faster than him even as he runs into Kuurth and accelerates to 600 miles per hour - Uncanny X-Men #543
- [Once and Future] Tags Nightcrawler and Rachel Summers with backhands and knocks the former into Northstar despite Rachel warning them he would attack with her telepathy - Amazing X-Men (2014) #17
Skill
- [X] Fights well against someone with the full power of the Juggernaut using his skill and experience - Uncanny X-Men #436
- [X] Catches Dazzler after she blinded him by listening for her position - New Excalibur (2006) #19
- [T] Lets a Hand ninja get in close so he can grab him - Thunderbolts #148-149
Temporary Powers
Telepathy
- Somehow absorbed Professor X's telepathy after he tried to drain his powers with a machine - Uncanny X-Men #32
- Reads the O5 X-Men's minds to anticipate their moves - Uncanny X-Men #32
- Knocks out Jean Grey with a mental bolt - Uncanny X-Men #32
- Talks to the Factor Three telepathically - Uncanny X-Men #32
- Never used telepathy after this
Mystic Abilities
- Gained mystic abilities while trapped in the Crimson Cosmos - Uncanny X-Men #33, Doctor Strange #182
- Casts mystic spells that shrink Nightmare to his size and makes him collide into him when Nightmare was large enough to hold the Earth in his hands - Doctor Strange #182
- Creates an energy lasso around Nightmare with a spell, though he's able to break out of it - Doctor Strange #182
- Him and Nightmare cast spells that shatter a chunk of rock and destroy bonds of cosmic force that held Eternity - Doctor Strange #180, 182
- Can sense and follow Beast's aura - Amazing Adventures #16
- Gave up his mystic abilities in exchange for having his youth restored - Hulk #172
Trion
- Became more powerful than ever after getting possessed by an evil spirit - X-Men (1991) #88
- Grows to giant size - X-Men (1991) #88, Uncanny X-Men #369
- Punches through the fabric of spacetime - X-Men (1991) #88
- Punches through the barriers between dimensional planes - X-Men (1991) #88
- Resists the pull of a giant extradimensional creature - Uncanny X-Men #369
Captain Universe
- Became Captain Universe after being chosen by the Enigma Force - Amazing Spider-Man #629
- Traps Spider-Man in a force sphere and repairs fractures to the tectonic plates under Manhattan to prevent a catastrophic earthquake - Amazing Spider-Man #629
Kuurth
- Can fly - Thunderbolts #160-161
- Calls down lightning - Thunderbolts #158
- Colossus says his lightning could incinerate armies - Uncanny X-Men #543
- Possesses a man by touching him with his hammer - Uncanny X-Men #540
- Creates an energy platform to walk over a chasm - Uncanny X-Men #542
- Teleports back after Pixie teleports him to the bottom of sea, low Earth orbit, and the heart of the sun - Uncanny X-Men #542
2023.06.01 04:00 Analypiss Strength - Force Field and Advancing
Key and explanation of periods where Juggernaut was stronger or weaker than normal
- [50%] Briefly lost half of his power after Black Tom absorbed it
- [X] Was made weaker by Cyttorak after deciding not to do his bidding anymore
- [T] Was made weaker by Cyttorak after he was angered by Juggernaut temporarily becoming Captain Universe
- [Kuurth] Became possessed by one of the Serpent's Asgardian Worthy named Kuurth after picking up his hammer
- [Once and Future] Had his power completely removed by Cyttorak but regained it after taking the place of an alternate universe Cain Marko, though it began to fade
- [Unstoppable] Was given more power by Cyttorak than he had given anyone else
Force Field
- Needs his helmet to use his force field - Uncanny X-Men #32
- Transforms a metal gauntlet into a new helmet - Amazing Spider-Man #628
- Can summon his helmet and armor out of thin air - Venom: The Madness #1
- Somehow uses his force field without his helmet here - Thor #429
- Pushes Professor X's wheelchair back with a wave of force - Uncanny X-Men #13
- Shatters a block of ice he was encased in with a wave of energy and knocks chunks of it into Iceman hard enough to incapacitate him - Uncanny X-Men #13
- Stops a 10 ton rolling steel barrel with a current of energy and rolls it back through a wall and into Beast hard enough to knock him out - Uncanny X-Men #13
- Stops Jean Grey's telekinesis with his force field and knocks out Beast and Iceman by creating enough raw energy to send the former careening into the latter after Beast leapt at him - Uncanny X-Men #32
- Shoots globules of sheer energy, with a single one powerful enough to break a tree in half - Uncanny X-Men #46
Advancing
- Walks through a thick wall of ice and causes the X-Mansion to shake and start collapsing - Uncanny X-Men #12
- Walks through an electromagnetic force field - Uncanny X-Men #12
- Exerts enough pressure to buckle and shatter a metal wall that had 50 times the tensile strength of battleship steel - Uncanny X-Men #12
- Pushes aside Jean Grey's telekinesis as though it was a physical thing after she lifts him into the air - Uncanny X-Men #13
- Crawls through a solid wall of earth and erupts out of it - Uncanny X-Men #13
- [Limits] Loses his footing after some stairs he was climbing are turned to ice by Iceman - Uncanny X-Men #13
- Walks through a wall - Uncanny X-Men #46
- Charges into Nightmare and forces him back - Doctor Strange #182
- Charges through a solid steel parade float - Amazing Adventures #16
- Snaps a tree in half by charging into it while Beast is on top of him - Amazing Adventures #16
- Shatters a concrete power station by running through it - Amazing Adventures #16
- His powers let him swim in water even though he should be heavy enough to sink - Amazing Adventures #16
- [Limits] Sinks in water after Colossus knocks him into it unexpectedly - Spider-Woman (1978) #38
- Starts breaking through a metal wall designed to hold a hundred Hulks and eventually does so with Hulk's assistance - Hulk #172
- Shatters a tank by charging into it - Hulk #172
- Knocks Hulk over a hill and shatters it with a single charge - Hulk #172
- Runs through machinery - Uncanny X-Men #103
- Colossus, Storm, and Wolverine can't stop him from climbing some stairs - Uncanny X-Men #103
- Knocks Colossus, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, and Storm out of his way with a charge - Uncanny X-Men #103
- Climbs through the metal deck of a ship - Spider-Woman (1978) #38
- Walks through a building, with Spider-Man saying he's never seen Namor smash through a building as destructively as him upon viewing the aftermath, but before meeting Juggernaut - Amazing Spider-Man #229, 214
- Walks into a net of Spider-Man's webbing and stretches it to its limit until pieces of the buildings it's attached to rip off - Amazing Spider-Man #229
- Makes a large hole in the road by climbing out of the sewers - Amazing Spider-Man #229
- Walks through a building while Spider-Man was trying to pull him back - Amazing Spider-Man #229
- Walks through a police barricade and tips over an APC - Amazing Spider-Man #229
- [Limits] Sinks to bottom of a 40 foot foundation of wet cement - Amazing Spider-Man #230
- Walks through miles of bedrock and fractures the tectonic plates under Manhattan, which results in a catastrophic earthquake months later - Amazing Spider-Man #629, 628-629
- Jumps from a plane and lands hard enough to make a large crater in the ground - Marvel Team-Up #150
- [50%] Rams Black Tom into a bus hard enough to crumple it and make it explode - Marvel Team-Up #150
- [50%] Jumps from the top floor of a building and lands in the street hard enough to make a large crater - Marvel Team-Up #150
- [50%] Runs through a concrete wall - Marvel Team-Up #150
- Creates tremors that fracture a street with his footsteps - Thor #411
- Holds onto Thor's hammer as it’s returning to him and tackles him through five boxcars and into a building hard enough to shatter part of it and knock him out - Thor #411
- Rams Thor into a stone wall hard enough to shatter it - Thor #429
- Knocks down a uh... certain skyscraper by charging into it - Spider-Man (1990) #16
- Knocks Hercules and several other Avengers out of his way with a charge - Hulk #403
- Literally walks over Thunderstrike when he tries to push him back - Thunderstrike (1993) #2
- Warps and knocks down a metal door - Deadpool (1994) #1
- Runs through two thick sewer walls - The All New Exiles (1995) #3
- Jumps off a cliff and lands hard enough to knocks trees into the air and make a large crater - X-Men (1991) #53
- Creates a large hole in the hull of a ship - Professor Xavier and the X-Men (1995) #12
- Makes footprints in concrete - Professor Xavier and the X-Men (1995) #13
- Walks through a massive barrier of ice like it was made of tissue paper - Professor Xavier and the X-Men (1995) #13
- Charges through the walls and doors of the X-Mansion - Professor Xavier and the X-Men (1995) #13
- Charges into War Hulk and pushes him through hundreds of meters of rock, though Hulk is eventually able to stop his advance - Hulk #457
- Walks through a police car - Spider-Man (1990) #84
- Rams Post-Crisis Wonder Woman through a concrete wall - Unlimited Access #1
- Rams his fellow Exemplar Stonecutter through a stone staircase - Juggernaut (1999) #1
- Knocks down the Stranger by jumping into his head - X-Men Forever (2001) #6
- Jumps hundreds of meters off a giant tower - X-Men Forever (2001) #6
- [X] Lands on a concrete roof hard enough to shatter it - Uncanny X-Men #420
- [X] Him and Sasquatch collide into each other hard enough to create a large crater in the ground, with Juggernaut being the first to recover - Uncanny X-Men #422
- [X] Knocks out Sabretooth by landing on him after being pushed down an elevator shaft - Identity Disc #4
- [X] Charges straight through Earth 6141 Jean Grey's telekinesis - New Excalibur (2006) #3
- [X] Climbs through a pile of wreckage and causes the ground the shake and knock cars into the air - New Excalibur (2006) #6-7
- [X] Jumps from a plane and lands in the road hard enough to shatter it and disable several mechanical tendrils - New Excalibur (2006) #7
- [X] Runs through a concrete wall - New Excalibur (2006) #8
- [X] Walks through a pier, two huts, and numerous trees - New Excalibur (2006) #14
- [X] Jumps into a Shadow Captain Britain hard enough to crater the ground - New Excalibur (2006) #14
- Fights evenly with World War Hulk and pushes him back, undermining the foundation of the X-Mansion, though Hulk is able to knock him away by sidestepping him and adding to his momentum - World War Hulk: X-Men 3
- Rams Hulk through a log and knocks him on his back - Marvel 1985 #2
- [T] A Raft scientist says he has endless kinetic energy and is unstoppable once he begins charging - Thunderbolts #144
- [T] Runs through several trees - Thunderbolts #145
- [T] Charges into two Asgardian trolls hard enough to kill them and shatter a tree and part of a hill - Thunderbolts #145-146
- [T] Breaks through a section of the Raft two prisoners thought no one could get through - Thunderbolts #147
- [T] Pushes back Man-Thing - Avengers Academy #4
- [T] Charges downwards through 1.3 kilometers of bedrock - Thunderbolts #149
- [T] Cracks the shell of a giant lobster monster by running into it - Thunderbolts #152
- [T] Stops a building sized monster by charging into its foot, though it knocks him away with a strike from its tail - Thunderbolts #152
- [T] Rams King Hyperion into a boulder hard enough to embed him in it - Thunderbolts #153
- [T] Runs through a fortified stone wall Fear Itself: The Worthy #2
- [Kuurth] Runs through an upwards spiral Songbird created and lured him onto to cut down on his running area - Thunderbolts #160
- Songbird's sound constructs are stronger than concrete and steel - Avengers (1998) #34
- [Kuurth] Charges through a burst of kinetic energy from Speedball that shatters the road and knocks him out of his way - Fear Itself: The Home Front #3
- [Kuurth] Runs through a building - Fear Itself: The Home Front #3
- [Kuurth] Knocks train cars into air by charging through one - Fear Itself #3
- [Kuurth] Flies out of a deep pit through the ground - Fear Itself: Youth In Revolt #3
- [Kuurth] Flies into the road hard enough to make a large crater - Uncanny X-Men #540
- [Kuurth] The X-Men try at least 42 plans to stop him from walking towards San Francisco that all prove ineffective, including:
- Face shooting him with a unique energy annihilation beam
- Teleporting him to the bottom of the sea and the heart of the sun
- Siryn combining her sound energy with Dazzler's sound-to-light powers to generate an extreme intensity laser
- Gambit and Rockslide combining their explosion powers to create a detonation that nearly exhausted Cecilia Reyes from the effort of protecting civilians with her force shield
- Magneto throwing an aircraft carrier into him - Uncanny X-Men #542
- Charges through a force wall government scientists couldn't find a way to penetrate - Dark Avengers #181-182
- [Unstoppable] Jumps into a giant Living Monolith hard enough to topple him - Amazing X-Men (2014) #18
- [Unstoppable] Walks through a wall and scatters the O5 X-Men - X-Men: Blue (2017) #1
- [Unstoppable] Trips through a metal railing - X-Men: Blue (2017) #1
- Runs through Iceman's ice ramp and a metal fence - Iceman (2017) #5
- Pushes back Rogue and shatters the ground under them - Uncanny Avengers (2015) #29
- Runs through a brick wall - Despicable Deadpool #298
- Makes footprints in rock - Thor (2018) #1
- Charges through police cars and knocks them high into the air - Venom (2018) Annual #1
- Pushes back Venom and and causes him to tear up up the asphalt he was standing on - Venom (2018) Annual #1
- Dismembers Frost Giants by charging through them - Punisher Kill Krew #3
- Jumps through the ground above a basement and few meters into the air - Uncanny X-Men (2019) #18
- D-Cel, a mutant that can slow down kinetic motion to the point objects stop falling, can't stop Juggernaut from advancing towards her - Juggernaut (2020) #1
- Charges through a portal that teleports him high above an Asgardian dragon, and lands on him hard enough to set church bells ringing for miles and create a large crater - Savage Avengers (2019) #14
- Jumps through a giant Quicksand - Juggernaut (2020) #3
- Jumps from a helicopter and into a mountain hard enough to reach an underground bunker - Juggernaut (2020) #4
- Jumps through a metal roof - Juggernaut (2020) #5
- Fractures a street and knocks cars into the air by charging through it - Sinister War #4
- Charges through a concrete pillar - Sinister War #4
- Knocks down a concrete guard tower by charging through it - X-Men Unlimited Infinity Comic #13
- Walks through several trees - X-Men Unlimited Infinity Comic #19
- Runs across Krakoa and creates a wide trench in the ground - Legion Of X (2022) #3-4
2023.06.01 03:58 Betty-Adams "Flying Sparks" A novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. 100K words of science fiction adventure.
Flying Sparks
Pre Order Now
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Chapter 2
“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
https://i.redd.it/zafjty1qcb3b1.gif
“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
2023.06.01 03:56 Betty-Adams "Flying Sparks" A novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. 100K words of science fiction adventure.
 | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/kd8youy5cb3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. https://i.redd.it/o9pile07cb3b1.gif “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |
2023.06.01 03:55 Beanhedge "I work as a lifeguard. I love my job." LONGER VERSION
Hey, this is the longer version of the story "Lifeguarding" I'm posting it here because it got removed from NoSleep due to the main character being the villain (I think?). I am going to just post the shorter version to Short Scary Stories but I've got an hour before I can post there again and I feel that it looses some of the jokes.
Also, I know I said I plan to be posting less, and I do, I promise, I just really liked this idea.
Thank you for reading. :)
***
You learn lots of things working as a lifeguard.
CPR, BLS, EAP’s. They literally make you take a week-long course beforehand—if you’re like me and get your chemical certification with your basic life support so you can earn sixteen bucks an hour instead of thirteen.
My favorite part is what we call the Good Samaritan Law. Or as my instructors called it, the CYA law. (We have an acronym for everything.)
That one stands for “cover your ass”.
It means, in my state, anyway, that a first-responder, like a lifeguard, cannot be sued or jailed for actions taken to save a person's life in an emergency.
It comes in handy often. I guard a place called the Camrock Quarry. Not its real name, of course, but who cares. It’s a glorified swimming pool, except forty feet deep, and we have parents who think we’re a daycare. I regularly fish two to three kids out the deep end, only to drop them off, crying, to parents lazing in our chairs on their phones, angry that I won’t let their kids back in the water for a half-hour and they actually have to care for them.
They threaten to sue. Every. Goddamn. Day.
Other than that, it’s chill.
I spend one hour scanning an area. Then two beautiful, sharp, whistles blow. And it's a chair change. And I get to walk over to another area and watch there. We have breaks sometimes. That’s what adult-swim is.
Today, my coworker, Dede, roves toward me.
“That woman's child vomited watermelon in the toddler pool again.”
I pause. Blink.
“Is that all she feeds it?
Dede shrugs. I rub my face.
“I’ll turn on the pumps.”
I clean the “biomass”. Treat and recycle the water.
Feel the stares of “that woman” on my back.
“Why’s it taking so long?” She asks.
I tell her we have to rerun all the water through our filters.
“Well what am I supposed to do?”
I don’t want to argue.
“My manager bought us ice-cream last week. You could have some while you wait.”
Surprisingly, this works to calm her down. And five minutes later we’re standing in the building kitchen.
“You look like a drumstick man.” I say to the woman's kid, and make a show of him getting the last in the box. He's actually really sweet. He's got acid reflux and his mom doesn't like to pay for tums.
Then I dig back in the freezer.
“And would you like an ice-pop, ma’am?”
“I think I deserve one, at this point.”
“Yep.”
The boy eats his desert with feral energy. His mother is more hesitant. I watch her face pucker.
“These are sugar-free, aren’t they?” She asks.
I pretend to check the box. It's my revenge.
“Oh yeah, huh. Sorry.”
She drops it dramatically into our trash. Bitch. We’ll get bees.
Fifteen minutes later she’s pawned her child off to Dede, and I watch her swim in the deepest part of Camrock, what we call “The Pit”. It’s the actual full forty-foot deep part. We don’t allow children there.
You can’t see the bottom. It just goes black after a few feet.
Sometimes I wonder how many bodies have to be beneath that murk.
What else can you do when you spend twelve hours a day staring at water?
I watch that woman swim to the center of the pit.
Then she touches her head.
And she sinks.
Did you know we’re not supposed to call them victims? They’re “GID’s.” Guests in Distress. Because “It’s not their fault they’re in trouble.”
Nonsense.
But I do my job. Just because I hate someone doesn’t mean I want to get fired.
I blow my whistle long and dive in with my rescue tube. People evacuate. Scream. Get directed to call 9-1-1.
By the time I get her on my tube she’s not breathing. I grab her chin and force open her airway.
Someone slides a board into the water. We pull her out.
I begin CPR.
Her ribs crack, her chest caving as I push hard and fast atop her. It sounds like someone stepping on twigs.
Dede runs up with our crash bag.
“I’ve got the AED! I’ve got the AED!”
And she tries to pull the woman's shirt off while I’m still doing compressions.
“Christ!” I say. “Calm down.”
And then I help cut the woman's shirt off. Her boy is watching us. Crying. There's still ice-cream on his face.
We paste the pads on and wait.
“V-TAC. SHOCK ADVISED.” The machine says. “STAND CLEAR.”
The woman's whole body arcs.
“PULSE DETECTED.”
She doesn’t talk. It’s not like the movies, where someone sits up and speaks. Instead the woman rolls over, crying softly, and vomits. I roll her onto her left side. Dede vacuums out her mouth.
By then the ambulance has arrived.
The EMT’s put her on the stretcher. One of them taps my shoulder after she’s loaded in.
“Hey,” He says. “Congrats. You just saved a life.”
I smile.
Broken ribs. Possible brain damage. She’s going to be in the hospital for months, not to mention the damage of the medical debt.
I think of her boy.
Saved indeed.
All I needed was an ice-pop tray and the key to our chemical shed. And I'm legally protected.
Just thought I’d say.
Enjoy your Summer.
submitted by Beanhedge to u/Beanhedge [link] [comments]
Also, I know I said I plan to be posting less, and I do, I promise, I just really liked this idea.
Thank you for reading. :)
***
You learn lots of things working as a lifeguard.
CPR, BLS, EAP’s. They literally make you take a week-long course beforehand—if you’re like me and get your chemical certification with your basic life support so you can earn sixteen bucks an hour instead of thirteen.
My favorite part is what we call the Good Samaritan Law. Or as my instructors called it, the CYA law. (We have an acronym for everything.)
That one stands for “cover your ass”.
It means, in my state, anyway, that a first-responder, like a lifeguard, cannot be sued or jailed for actions taken to save a person's life in an emergency.
It comes in handy often. I guard a place called the Camrock Quarry. Not its real name, of course, but who cares. It’s a glorified swimming pool, except forty feet deep, and we have parents who think we’re a daycare. I regularly fish two to three kids out the deep end, only to drop them off, crying, to parents lazing in our chairs on their phones, angry that I won’t let their kids back in the water for a half-hour and they actually have to care for them.
They threaten to sue. Every. Goddamn. Day.
Other than that, it’s chill.
I spend one hour scanning an area. Then two beautiful, sharp, whistles blow. And it's a chair change. And I get to walk over to another area and watch there. We have breaks sometimes. That’s what adult-swim is.
Today, my coworker, Dede, roves toward me.
“That woman's child vomited watermelon in the toddler pool again.”
I pause. Blink.
“Is that all she feeds it?
Dede shrugs. I rub my face.
“I’ll turn on the pumps.”
I clean the “biomass”. Treat and recycle the water.
Feel the stares of “that woman” on my back.
“Why’s it taking so long?” She asks.
I tell her we have to rerun all the water through our filters.
“Well what am I supposed to do?”
I don’t want to argue.
“My manager bought us ice-cream last week. You could have some while you wait.”
Surprisingly, this works to calm her down. And five minutes later we’re standing in the building kitchen.
“You look like a drumstick man.” I say to the woman's kid, and make a show of him getting the last in the box. He's actually really sweet. He's got acid reflux and his mom doesn't like to pay for tums.
Then I dig back in the freezer.
“And would you like an ice-pop, ma’am?”
“I think I deserve one, at this point.”
“Yep.”
The boy eats his desert with feral energy. His mother is more hesitant. I watch her face pucker.
“These are sugar-free, aren’t they?” She asks.
I pretend to check the box. It's my revenge.
“Oh yeah, huh. Sorry.”
She drops it dramatically into our trash. Bitch. We’ll get bees.
Fifteen minutes later she’s pawned her child off to Dede, and I watch her swim in the deepest part of Camrock, what we call “The Pit”. It’s the actual full forty-foot deep part. We don’t allow children there.
You can’t see the bottom. It just goes black after a few feet.
Sometimes I wonder how many bodies have to be beneath that murk.
What else can you do when you spend twelve hours a day staring at water?
I watch that woman swim to the center of the pit.
Then she touches her head.
And she sinks.
Did you know we’re not supposed to call them victims? They’re “GID’s.” Guests in Distress. Because “It’s not their fault they’re in trouble.”
Nonsense.
But I do my job. Just because I hate someone doesn’t mean I want to get fired.
I blow my whistle long and dive in with my rescue tube. People evacuate. Scream. Get directed to call 9-1-1.
By the time I get her on my tube she’s not breathing. I grab her chin and force open her airway.
Someone slides a board into the water. We pull her out.
I begin CPR.
Her ribs crack, her chest caving as I push hard and fast atop her. It sounds like someone stepping on twigs.
Dede runs up with our crash bag.
“I’ve got the AED! I’ve got the AED!”
And she tries to pull the woman's shirt off while I’m still doing compressions.
“Christ!” I say. “Calm down.”
And then I help cut the woman's shirt off. Her boy is watching us. Crying. There's still ice-cream on his face.
We paste the pads on and wait.
“V-TAC. SHOCK ADVISED.” The machine says. “STAND CLEAR.”
The woman's whole body arcs.
“PULSE DETECTED.”
She doesn’t talk. It’s not like the movies, where someone sits up and speaks. Instead the woman rolls over, crying softly, and vomits. I roll her onto her left side. Dede vacuums out her mouth.
By then the ambulance has arrived.
The EMT’s put her on the stretcher. One of them taps my shoulder after she’s loaded in.
“Hey,” He says. “Congrats. You just saved a life.”
I smile.
Broken ribs. Possible brain damage. She’s going to be in the hospital for months, not to mention the damage of the medical debt.
I think of her boy.
Saved indeed.
All I needed was an ice-pop tray and the key to our chemical shed. And I'm legally protected.
Just thought I’d say.
Enjoy your Summer.
2023.06.01 03:50 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
 | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/929p907cbb3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. https://i.redd.it/2wbccz0dbb3b1.gif “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |
2023.06.01 03:50 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
| | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/q75ejmx6bb3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. https://i.redd.it/1w6jfrb8bb3b1.gif “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |
2023.06.01 03:49 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
[Flying Sparks
Pre Order Now](https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon)Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!” The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
2023.06.01 03:48 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
Flying Sparks
Pre Order Now
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Chapter 2
“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert.
“And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales.
“Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots.
“Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.”
“What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?”
Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type.
“Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.”
“I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown.
“Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!”
The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders.
“So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots.
“Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone.
“One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked.
“Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare.
“So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked.
“As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied.
“And?”
The biologist groaned and rubbed her face.
“As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.”
“Frass?”
“Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table.
“Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?”
“Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate.
“Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!”
“It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness.
“It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly.
“Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back.
“Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.”
The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body.
“Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.”
“Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake.
“Not me, him,” Ama said.
“Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said.
Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer.
“Emerald,” Ama said.
“Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded.
Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince.
“Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone.
“I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch.
Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time.
Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again.
“I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered.
“I could do it,” Drake offered.
“You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.”
Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder.
“Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.”
“Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.”
“Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up.
“Same as usual,” Ama confirmed.
Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes.
“I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze.
“Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room.
The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden.
“And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them.
Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat.
“Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?”
Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well.
“From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence.
She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her.
“Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-”
The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment.
“I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.”
Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face.
“Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?”
Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change.
“Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.”
Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure.
“Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.”
He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest.
Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet.
Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around.
Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life.
There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies.
Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it.
“Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?”
Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question.
Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules.
The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers.
However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow.
He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock.
He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday.
The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it.
The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root.
“Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.”
It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here.
He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable.
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“Flying Sparks”
Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home.
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon
#FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding
2023.06.01 03:48 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
 | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/iaeovwdnab3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. https://i.redd.it/2arwjmgoab3b1.gif “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |
2023.06.01 03:48 Betty-Adams Flying Sparks Volume 1 - A Novel of a boy, a dragon, and an alien. Avaliable for preorder on Indiegogo Now.
 | Flying SparksPre Order Nowhttps://i.redd.it/j34i5zooab3b1.gif Chapter 2“Hazardous? I’ll show that manipulative, misanthropic, anti-establishment cretin just what hazardous means if he thinks I’m going to fold on this!”The sound of vigorous guitar riffs made a fitting accompaniment to the angry tirade despite originating on opposite sides of the communal area. Ama was glaring at a laptop that sat on a stained oak desk shoved against the large table near the kitchen. She tapped a fingernail on the wood as she read through the alert. “And what violation of basic human dignity has her royal prudishness’s undies in a bunch?” Em demanded with an affected sneer without looking up from his guitar scales. “Oh you’ll agree with this one tree-hugger,” Drake muttered from where he sat oiling his work boots. “Yeah,” Donny piped up, “Finney is trying to kill a perfectly healthy fir.” “What!” Em demanded, carefully placing his battered old acoustic guitar down in its case and darting over to look at the computer screen. “You mean apark tree?” Despite her simmering frustration Ama allowed a small smile to flicker across her face as she continued to type. “Get out of your pajamas and I’ll tell you,” Drake ordered pointing towards the bathroom door with a stained rag. “School starts in forty-five minutes and you still have breakfast and chores. That goes for you too Pip-squirt.” “I hope you washed your hands before you touched our food,” Em said with a frown. “Boot grease makes a great source of fatty acids.” Drake retorted. “Now go!” The two smaller boys muttered in annoyance but stumbled off to follow orders. “So what is up?” the youth asked as he bent his head back over the smooth leather of his boots. “Mrs. Finney wants that tree down that’s blocking her perfect view of Crescent Lake.” Ama replied in a dry tone. “One that’s clearly on park property?” Drake asked. “Indeedy-do.” Ama replied giving the paper in front of her a glare. “So how’s she justifying it?” Drake asked. “As a safety hazard to her house.” Ama replied. “And?” The biologist groaned and rubbed her face. “As far as I can tell the trunk is perfectly healthy. There is an old trash can lid grown into the trunk and a little discolored sap is leaking out there.” “Frass?” “Watch your language!” Donny interjected as he darted up to the table. “Frass is not a bad word,” Drake stated. “Have you let the chickens out?” “Yes, what does frass mean?” Donny asked as he started piling stir-fry onto his plate. “Look it up.” Drake ordered him. “Emerald! Breakfast ends in ten minutes! Get your tukus down here!” “It’s bad health to rush meals,” Em snapped out as he came down a narrow stairway with deliberate slowness. “It’s even worse for your health to skip meals altogether,” Drake growled threateningly. “Shut it and give me some eggs.” Em snapped back. “Emerald Waters Undersun,” Drake hissed out through gritted teeth. “You are going to get your own eggs.” The boy threw himself into a chair and glared at Drake with challenge in every line of his body. “Emerald,” Ama said in a calm tone. “I think you should apologize to your cousin now.” “Sorry I disturbed you Ama,” he offered without breaking eye contact with Drake. “Not me, him,” Ama said. “Sorry you had to hear that Donny.” Em said. Ama heaved a sigh and closed her computer. “Emerald,” Ama said. “Do you want to eat or go hungry?” Drake demanded. Ama glanced at him with a familiar uneasy look in her eyes and Drake fought down a wince. “Now, Em.” she said in a patient tone. “I’ll go hungry,” Em snapped, jumping up and stalking over to the couch. Donny kept his eyes fixed on his plate. Ama heaved a sigh before turning back to her computer. Em wriggled on the couch for several minutes before skulking back to the table. Drake moved to intercept him but Ama stopped him with a look and he let Em serve himself. Drake cast irritated glances at the wall clock as the time crept more and more into school time. Ama closed her computer and stood, then sighed, sat and opened it again. “I need to pick out their report topics,” Ama muttered. “I could do it,” Drake offered. “You do quite enough,” Ama replied briskly, as she scanned the news. “Here you go. For Donny, malfunctions at the Lewis- McChord Air Force Base air show.” A frown creased her face. “Wow, this is pretty serious. It looks like the F-16 demonstration team nearly got killed.” Drake whistled and leaned over her shoulder. “Multiple system failures,” he read out loud. “I am pretty sure that isn’t supposed to happen.” “Nope,” Ama agreed. “Here is a topic on big game management for Em.” “Reports due by next week?” Drake asked as the old printer on the desk began to squeal and grumble as it powered up. “Same as usual,” Ama confirmed. Drake put the printouts on top of the homework pile and moved to wash up the breakfast dishes. “I need to get to work early today so you two be good for Drake,” she called out placing a quick kiss on top of the smaller boys’ heads and giving Drake’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Good luck with Mrs. Finney, and stay safe.” Drake called out as she went into her room. The table was cleaned off and wiped down and the clink of forks gave way to the steady scratch of pencils on paper. They broke for a recess after religion and then lunch after history and math, and by the time the Grandfather clock in the corner struck two the younger boys twitching with energy. Drake made certain the internet was disconnected at the router, and chased Donny and Em out into the garden. “And don’t come in until dark,” he ordered tossing two snack bags out after them. Donny as usual snatched his food and disappeared into the small orachard. Low grumbles about troglodytes and the Amish wandered out into the high corn following Em and Drake shook his head in exasperation wondering, not for the first time how the dark haired princeling came from the same gene pool as his little brother. The kitchen being mostly ordered Drake was turning to put the last random dirty sock in the hamper when a gnarled hand clutching a cane head appeared in the corner of his eye, causing his heart to make a valiant attempt to bolt out of his throat. “Abuelita!” he gasped forcing his hands down from the guard position. “Where did you come from?” Smoldering black eyes ran searchingly over the tall youth. An impossibly long mane of streaked silver and black hair was barely contained in a thick braid. A sharply pointed nose perched over a small wrinkled mouth. A vibrant red horse-hair serape hung over her shoulders concealing everything except her brown and gnarled hands which currently clutched the old tree branch she used as a cane. Drake had been more than a little comforted by the fact that both Em and Donny had admitted to having the thought ‘witch’ every time time they saw her as well. “From the hand of God by the bodies of my sainted mother and father,” she replied after a long, uncomfortable silence. She always spoke in a low husky voice that suggested years of smoking, though Drake had never smelled even stale smoke on her. “Right,” Drake blinked and grinned at the response; the one she always gave. “So you are here for their Spanish lesson? I have their grammar books ready and-” The narrow end of the tree branch rapped against the concrete of the floor causing Drake to jump. Abuelita glared at him, locking his gaze and holding him in place with it for a moment. “I am here for their lessons,” she finally stated, “and you are there for my payment.” Drake thought longingly of the repair and maintenance manuals in the cab of the truck and the new tool he was itching to try, but he forced a grin on his face. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “What can I get you today?” Abuelita pulled out a bag of woven grass from under her serape causing the indistinct patterns on the cloth to shift and change. “Take this,” she ordered him, “and collect me the cobalt blue berries that grow on a single stalk close to the ground. They must come from the mountain to the south east of here by the crystal brook.” Drake nodded, and took the little bag, he didn’t quite manage to infused his gestures with enthusiasm he supposed. The old woman, probably wouldn’t have noted it anyway. She turned and moved towards the garden door without waiting for any other reply. However she called out over her shoulder as he turned to find his own way out of the rambling structure. “Don’t dawdle little one. A storm brews in the distance.” He tried not to roll his eyes at that, the weather forecast was clear and eighties for the next week according to the morning fire report Ama had printed. The youth only nodded and slipped around the corner. He circled the barn and pulled a set of loose tan pants and tunic out of the cubby. The soft worn leather almost perfectly matched the forest floor for color as did the moccasins he pulled on after them. His morning running clothes were modern stuff that wicked the sweat away from him and let him speed through the forest. These were his free day clothes. The ones that let him disappear into the forest and wander. Abuelita, for all of her demands, would tend Em and Donny until he returned no matter how late that was, and with the Park’s yearly budget talks still under way it was highly unlikely Ama would be home until long after the sun had set. Despite still hearing the call of the half restored truck he felt something lossening in him already. The soft cotton and smooth leather rested easily against his skin and Drake slipped into the forest. Freedom; for the moment at least, blissful freedom. Pushing aside the guilt that accompanied the thought as well as any lingering worries about his charges the youth let his legs carry him through the trees. He shunned the man made paths, following the faint animal trails. This close to the barn they were as clear to him as if they were named city streets. Being animal trails, they invariably led him to water. Today he stopped at a trickling stream, took off his moccasins, and rolled up his pants legs. The youth turned and followed the thin flow of icy water upstream, letting it steal the heat from his body through his feet. Some distance upstream, the stream widened and pooled under a boulder. There Drake paused and pulled an old black compass out of his pocket. Behind him he knew every trail and tree. Ahead was a broad swath of National Wilderness he would have to cross, or possibly Bureau of Land Management or even state managed forests where he more rarely wandered. It was hard to tell where the boundaries were from the ground. The clearing he wanted for the berries was solidly in BLM land and he still had quite a ways to go to get there. The stand of timber that stood between him and his goal was dense with young tree and branches that frequently formed impenetrable hedges he had to track around and he checked his compass regularly as he climbed in elevation. Even so the youth found he had wandered too far off his route and had to correct when he spotted the boundary fence. However he was in no hurry and he reached the clearing long before the sun told him it was time to turn around. Sometime in the past some unknown force had carved a shallow trench across the side of one of the small mountains that that dotted the wilderness. It had puzzled Drake at first. The scour was at the wrong angle to be an old rock slide, and terminated in a near perfectly circular clearing at the lower end. Centuries old Douglas Firs abruptly gave way to a second ring only a few decades old. Those were in turn beginning to produce cones and a smattering of knee high saplings. The rest of the space was completely given over to wildflowers. No matter what season Drake visited it he found a riot of life. There had been an early spring and many herbs that normally would have waited a month or more were already in full bloom in the mountain meadow. A white wave of foamflower washed in from the deep forest surrounding the clearing, sending up knee high stalks covered in the delicate white blooms. Late trillium hid close to the roots of the great firs, many having shed their white corollas and begun to put forth their bulbous seed heads. Fuzzy white baneberry blossoms nodded gently in the breeze. A riot of yellow and purple spread across the ground as vetch and buttercups and a host of clovers competed for space in the open sun. Great stalks of lupine as high as his head thrust up their purple and blue proudly from thick clusters of palm shaped leaves. Pink shooting stars and violet harebells crouched under the protection of the larger plants. Indian paintbrush lit the scene with flames of red and orange. Where a spring seeped into the meadow elephant’s head flared neon pink and corydalis bushes put forth blushing blooms. Pale green wild orchids stood along the wet spot and the swarms of bees danced from them to the glacier lilies. Sometimes, as he bent over a tiny blossom and traced the intricate network of veins in the petals, drank in the scent, and felt the smooth surface of the leaves an otherworldly feeling would come over him. It was as if there was another world just out of range of his senses. If he could only really look, the thin illusion that was blocking him would slip away and reveal the real world underneath it. “Look Awiegwa,” his father would whisper, pointing at a deer mouse perched on a fallen log. “What does it see?” Awiegwa would screw up his face and squint. Trying to find the answer to the question. Awiegwa had often wondered how so many flowers had come to be in the relatively small area. He had identified dozens of species and there were more he had yet to determine. The clearing was always the first place to bloom and the last to go dormant. Many of the flowers seemed to utterly defy their usual blooming patterns. However, as time passed he had simply come to accept it. It was one of the small good things that brought back the memories of his father. If it didn’t quite follow the rules Ama had taught him, well an impossible clearing in the mountains wasn’t a place for rules. The particular bloom that Abuelita had requested had taken full advantage of the early sun and had already put forth a few cobalt blue berries; easily spotted at the edge of the clearing in the delicate sea of white flowers. However before he left the shade of the forest for the meadow the youth paused and closed his eyes. Bole wasn’t always here, but he was often enough that Awiegwa always checked for him. Carefully he reconstructed the clearing in his mind; marking every tree and boulder on the edge. Three years he had been coming here and each time it was easier to recreate the clearing. Breathing evenly he opened his eyes, letting the mental image merge with the actual. There was a brief moment of confusion as details like the play of light through branches and the trembling of small clusters of flowers fixed themselves but there was only one truly jarring note. Awiegwa didn’t let his eyes focus on the disparity; he never did anymore, but a warm smile spread across his features as he slipped silently into the meadow. He was here. As the youth moved in a low crouch, gathering the first fruits of the Queen’s Cup, he let his peripheral vision linger on a particular snag. There was nothing obviously interesting about it, other than the fact that it had not been there the last time Awiegwa was here. He had named the wanderer Bole, because it most often appeared as a thick tree trunk; sometimes living, sometimes dead. Occasionally it would be a boulder or simply a mound in the dirt. Often it wasn’t in the clearing at all. If the youth moved forward and tried to closely examine it he could never find anything to suggest it was something other than a tree or rock. He had thought about taking a sample occasionally, had taken his knife out to do just that more than once, but something always held him back. Bole was a part of this place. Dissecting him would be too much like attempting to dissect his sense of his father’s presence here. The youth had never told anyone about this place, not even Ama with who could get most things out of him easily enough. Down at the house, in town, when he was Drake; solid, reliable, first up in the morning, two grades ahead in school with a penchant for science Drake, a productive member of modern society with a promising future and his mother smiling at him. Here he could be Awiegwa. Here he could believe in the ancient medicines his father had dug out of dusty old tomes and brought to life from the forest litter. Every time Awiegwa left the clearing and headed back towards home reality would reassert itself. Bole would resolve back into a figment of his imagination, created from pride in a somewhat better than average memory and what the social workers had called an “intriguing imagination”. When he reached the house and become solidly Drake again flickers of embarrassment would begin eating at him for letting his senses trick him like that, but as long as the blooms nodded around him in this garden Bole could exist even on a Thursday. The little woven grass bag filled up with the berries fairly quickly and Awiegwa soon stretched out of his crouch and let his gaze wander contentedly over the clearing. As it always did, the warm space was working its special magic. Worries about Em getting out of his schoolwork, of not paying enough attention to the quiet Donny, of letting Ama see his petty resentments: it had all melted away from his muscles, thoughts of college costs and abandoning his duties dissolved into an acute sense of the now. The leaves rustled softly in a barely-there breeze, the heavy scent of some unidentified blossom filled his lungs, a dozen shades of green framed the rainbow of flowers, and over and above it all the creaking of the firs as the wind played over them. It was at times like these that he felth he could almost see into heaven; that something wonderful that existed just beyond his senses, and all he had to do was reach out and claim it. The youth took a deep breath and let himself fall backwards onto a handy rise in the forest floor. His path had taken him to the foot of the snag and he shifted slightly to align himself with the gnarled roots. One hand gripped a time smoothed root. “Ama trusted me enough to go out of state,” he murmured. “That’s the first time she’s done that. Usually she has Abulita stay with us to fend off the Harsh, but she said it’s long past legal now.” It was his imagination of course that made him think the root vibrated in his hand in response. Many a long hour he had spent in this clearing with the wanderer. He had poured out his frustrations and anguishes over life’s injustices, had shared his secrets as he grew, and had shouted his triumphs. Sometimes he felt closer to Bole than to any of his human friends. However, something that sounded like his mother’s voice warned him that there was something odd about this and that awareness was the main reason he had kept this place secret from Ama. Their mother hadn’t exactly liked stuff like that. She had never objected to his father’s digging up the old stories of her people. Making cross generational connections between elders, who more often than not lived isolated lives, and the next generation, was an admirable goal in of itself in her eyes; objectively a social good. Storytelling was only the natural course for these relationships to take, but subtle looks had warned even a very young Drake that it was best to cautious what he shared with his mother. At least of those things that couldn’t be placed on a microscope slide. So this was Awigewa’s place, and while his father’s spirit wanders the flowers with he had never felt his mother here. He let his focus drift up, and up. Dark blue Lupine nodded over his head framing the faint crisscross of jet contrails that threw a light haze over an otherwise cloudless sky. His clothed grew deliciously hot from the spring sun. The ground too had eagerly accepted the energy and now it conducted the heat into the muscles of his back. Bole’s wood beneath him was warmer even than the surrounding ground and an idle thought traced across Awiegwa’s awareness; something about it being odd for the light colored wood and relatively dry wood to retain more heat than the darker soil surrounding it. His mind was filled with the impression of a goal. He had been meaning to do, something. Something fun, yes, exploring, he’d meant to see if whatever had dug that den by the second boulder was cubing this year. He would just get up and do that in a minute. His back was so warm and comfortable. https://i.redd.it/ky91twlpab3b1.gif “Flying Sparks” Another foray into the lives of Drake McCarty, Ama Love, and the rest of their siblings as they discover that something alien is out in the forest around their home. https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/flying-sparks-a-novel-of-dragon-bear-and-boy/coming_soon #FlyingSparks #ScienceFiction #Scifi #Story #novel #book #DrakeMcCarty #AmaLove #Donny #Em #Bard #Bole #Aliens #Spaceships #Crystals #fireflies #NPS #NationalPark #Doctor #Sever #family #storm #writing #reading #drama #literature #author #BettyAdams #DyingEmbers #Dragons #ThingsThatGoBoomp #Indiegogo #CrowdFunding |