Valhalla

A jolting pain went up his thigh but still he didn't move. A cramp from sitting so still for so long. The man lay on his stomach cover in the fur he made his clothes from and had long but gray blonde hair and beard. The bushes he lay under gave him a spectacular view of the valley below and the elaborate and strikingly fantastic stone mansion on the opposite side, all of which was lit up by the sun only a little bit above the horizon.
A twig snapped further down the hillside, fifty feet by the vikings reckoning. He slowly and deliberately pulled back the string on his bow arrow already in place. The source of the noise didn't show itself until a few minutes later. A tall man with a clean shave, buzzed short hair and a green uniform filled to the brim with his achievements, holding a rifle with basic iron sights scanning the hill up and down looking for threats. 
The mans uniform was a work of art in itself. Ribbons seemed to take up his entire right side matched only by the medals below them. Aggulets covered his shoulders and a single blue medal hung from his neck, a yellow stripe running down each side of his trousers and similar stripes on his arm showing the rank of sergeant. The name on the left side said Murphy.
When the sergeant came into thirty feet, the Viking released his arrow and in one motion rose to his feet drawing his battle-axe. The arrow hit Murphy in the chest and exploded in a flurry of metal and ribbon knocking him off his feet. The Norse man screamed savagely as he charged. Murphy quickly rose to his feet and fired his last three rounds left from the day of fighting into the viking and it did little to slow him down. The monstrosity of fur and muscle raised the axe and swung to which Murphy attempted to block using his rifle but the arrow protruding from his chest slowed him down and he didn't get all of his strength behind it.
The brute force of the blow knocked Murphy onto his back and the viking raised his weapon for another blow. The sergeant rolled quickly snapping the arrow and causing tremendous pain but again the sergeant just pushed through. The axe bury's itself in the dirt slowing the vikings attempt to raise it again. 
From this distance it becomes apparent to the two men just how much bigger the viking is. Murphy pulls a knife from his boot and rolls forward and behind the larger man. Feeling this the viking reaches behind him just as the blade is placed to his throat and flips Murphy over his shoulders onto the dirt, and ripping the knife from his hands. The viking brought the knife up then plunged it into Murphy repeatedly and in a flurry of movement. When the sun dropped below the horizon he finally threw the knife aside and began limping towards the mansion on the opposite hill.
When he finally arrived he swung open the doors beholding the magnificent site before him. In the main hall sat the warriors of all nations. Spartans, Zulu, US and UK Marines, Samariua, Amazonians, Romans, Vikings, Mongols and all others who rose to meet him. Finally Murphy came forward from the crowd and began to clap and the others followed. As the clapping continued Murphy came to the man and the hugged and sat down together and talked and laughed with the rest, waiting for the sun to rise again and the fighting to begin again.


Updated version of Valhalla in honor of Lieutenant Audie Murphy, Medal of Honor holder and most decorated soldier in the United States of America's History. 

The Muddiest Gray

  Three deep breathes, then its time. In. What if. Out. They know. In. What. Out. I am. In. Doing. The man held his breath, thinking of everything that might go wrong over the next hour. Of every bullet that the guards fired could hit him, every bullet of his that could hit the guard, of the lives he could ruin or of his sons life. Yes his son. He needs this. There is no other way. Out. Relax.
  The man jumped out of his pick up. He had short cropped brown hair and a three piece business suit and shined shoes that reflected as mirrors would. He appeared to be a business man just walking into the bank. As he came through the front door of the Greer Bank he stuck his hand in jacket, and rubbed the handle of his nine millimeter hand gun, less familiar than it had been in previous days. He turned left coming the door and pulled something out of his pocket placing it by his ear. He talked into his cellphone loudly and angrily while standing beside a small potted tree.
  The guard glanced at the fancy man then walked toward the counter leaving his back exposed. The fancy man dropped the phone into his pocket and one motion pulled out his nine millimeter Ruger and face mask bringing both up to bear in less than half a second. The fancy man fired two rounds into the guard facing slightly askew of him before he ever had a chance, then fired another two as the guard with his back to him tried to spin around. In one more movement he fired a single round into the camera covering the floor. The line at the teller were now all kneeling and crying in fear.
  "Ladies and Gentleman please remain calm. I will not hurt you and will be gone in" glances at his watch "exactly two minutes. I apologize for your trouble." In the time it took him to say that he had made his way to the counter and had the teller filling his bag with money. When she gave it to him he winked through his mask then spun around and bolted out the door. In all this had taken less than three minutes and judging by the weight of the bag he was making off with two thousand five hundred dollars in twenties and fifties.
  Sirens blared in the background as his truck rounded the corner. The fancy man sighed a sigh of relief. His son would get the treatment. It would be ok.

Hero or Villain?

Where God Resides

                I suddenly became aware of the rocking of the dock. It was annoying to me. It was as if I wouldn't be able to continue the wonderful dream. I couldn't remember the dream. All I knew is that I loved every second of it. Suddenly I realized how warm I was. The sun was beating down on my chest and eyelids. How inconsiderate I thought, laughing to myself. I sat up and looked around. The sun was directly overhead and the sailboat was still tied to the left port. The sky was a deep blue with nary a cloud, but that could change at a moment’s notice. I looked at the dock itself and saw my cousin, Grayson, still fast asleep, long red hair obscuring his freckled face.

                I padded over to check the time on his phone and brushed the light brown hair out of my eyes. I was skinny, ungodly so, and very tan with only a touch of the red of sun burn marring my nose and cheeks. The battery was nearly dead and had automatically turned off Grayson’s semi-talented singers and banjos he likes. Lord knows you can’t text out here. Twelve thirty four. I had gotten up a hour earlier than the day before. I looked around at the various equipment scattered around the dock and decided against cleaning it up. Grayson would get it after today. I broke into a sudden run and took the dive of a practiced and familiar hand out of the left right port. When I came back above the waves I took a quick breathe and began swimming to shore. A good way to wake up and get some much needed exorcise, in my mostly sedentary lifestyle here.

                The swim was monotonous and exactly what I needed. By time I was climbing out up the sand and shell scattered shore line I was pondering the secrets and deep meanings of the universe. The view from the beach was obscured by the sand dune which was infest by ants and scorched black by our annual bonfire at the end of the week and our repeated, and vain, attempts to rid the dunes of the pests via gasoline. I climbed up the stairwell and turned left off of the dock and began to make my way to the house, dodging sand burs the whole way.

                The trees were a hue of green that exploded in your vision, the grass was fluffy and yellowish green, the bushes were big and filled with flowers, the hammock squeaked invitingly as it swung. So much beauty in such a small place, I thought, nothing like where I live now. Tennessee is such a dull place. Nothing to see, nothing to look at, in fact the only redeeming quality of that purgatory was the people, and only some of them at that. It is good to be home.

                I reached the house after what felt like ages, but was only two or three minutes. People buzzed about setting out plates and pot holders on the table set outside. My aunt with flaming red hair and freckles came out the door exasperated and stressed carrying a delicious looking breakfast pie. My mother came rushing angrily, as always, out the door after her, fussing about something or another. I slipped past, happy mom hadn't seen me, and went inside to find my other cousin, Savannah, and my uncle, Kenny, sitting on the couch.

                I began helping my grandmother move the rest of the food outside, and by time I got outside my mother was finished throwing her temper tantrum. The patience my family had developed was nothing less than divine. I caught a glimpse of Grayson running to the shed with the fishing gear in hand as my two younger brothers came from the road, probably playing on the canoe in Jack’s hole, a swampy watering hole used by bass fishermen and jet skis to change bodies of water.

                We sat together, bowed our heads, and prayed. I bowed and closed my eyes. God however wasn't in this particular prayer. I am sure he has no taste for our petty politics and certainly not over their struggle to make it in a corporate world. If he was anywhere, it was at night sitting at peace with me or in Iraq with my father as he fights for what he loves. We finished eating and then disbanded throwing away the paper plates and heading towards the beach.

My youngest brother Kris got there first, but I quickly caught up to him and threw him in the air. He laughed loudly in surprise and joy before splashing into the water. My brothers, my cousins, my uncle and I all played like that for hours, as my aunt and grandma watched from their lawn chairs on the dock, laughing loudly at us or their own jokes. My mother slept in the hammock where she was of no bother to anyone. Slowly the hours crept by and finally Uncle Kenny bowed out to start the charcoal on the grill; the sun was beginning its descent towards the power plant on the far side of the lake, the sky taking on a light orange tint.

Grayson challenged me to swim to the sand bar; a mile one way swim way beyond the dock and its illusion of safety. I thought myself fearless and accepted without hesitation. We swam for what felt like days. When I finally reached the sand bar my muscles ached and my mind was numb. Gray was only a short time ahead of me and was just as fatigued, but neither of us were ready to give up. He jumped from the waist deep water back to the deep end as soon as I touched down. I didn’t take time to rest and jumped off as well.

Every few moments I had to return my thoughts to the task at hand. I was wavering and could feel it. Every muscle cried for me to stop, every tendon and joint. My lungs burned for more air than there existed.  At every turn my thoughts were to return to the sandbar. I no longer cared about winning, only not drowning. Finally I stumbled on sand. I couldn’t feel a muscle but I stood and slowly waded the final twenty feet back to shore. The sky was now yellow and the charcoal grill could be smelled from where I was. I looked around to find Grayson and did not find him. He had turned back and I had won. My brothers were already braving the larger than normal waves to retrieve him.

I made my way to the house smiling sorely. The food was just coming off the grill and I was hungry beyond belief. My skin felt tight on my body as the water dried and the effects of the days sun sunk in. Dinner came shortly after the smell of the meat making my mouth water. We sat and prayed but my mind was on something else. Soon, I kept thinking. Soon it will be time once again. The excitement built up so that every second I looked around to see if everyone else had finished yet. I ached to go out there, to rush toward the dock.

Finally it was time; everyone was getting up and heading in to play hand and foot, a card game my grandmother and grandfather brought with them from Kansas. I retrieved our gear from the shed and walked, avoiding the sand burs, and to the deck. The sky was a red, the water orange as the sun glared in my eyes. The dock swayed back and forth under my feet as the waves lapped against it. This was the moment I had been waiting for all day, all year. It felt like days walking on that dock. I would never reach the end. The cicadas buzzed from shore and the clinking of the line on the mast of the sailboat beat a rhythm for me to walk on. The night spiders were beginning to weave their webs under rails of the dock, to many these were an annoyance, to me they were a blessing cutting down on the billions of mosquitoes and adding another layer of beauty to my home.

I reached the end and set down the tackle box and began casting lines. I had crossed a barrier. I stood now in a different world, while only a few football fields away from the house, they could have been from different countries and cultures that have never met. Gray’s and I’s family sat indoors answering the call they heard.

Ours was a different call. A call we could only answer for seven days a year. This call was one of peace. Every night at Lake Moultrie, South Carolina, hundreds maybe thousands turned on floodlights on their docks, their overheads on their boats and maglights from the shore. No matter where you looked, when the sun went down these lights blinked on. Some sat alone, most with a friend. All were silent. Simultaneously hunter and monk, peace and decisiveness were the center of the call. It is not for everyone.

The sun was long below the horizon but the hydroelectric plant glowed pink on the horizon. With exception of the other fisherman’s lights nothing could be seen beyond the glow of our floodlight. As I sat there, watching the fishing lines, listening to mediocre music, I sighed a deep breathe of contentment. This is where God resides.

Quote

"i was her fallback. the one she wants to settle down with. she knows i would make the perfect boyfriend and loves the idea of me but to make that change, to say it isn't just an idea anymore... it was too much i guess. i can't.. no i can. but i shouldn't have to. i WON'T keep waiting on her."

Quote

"you see it as never being full. i see it as every meal i eat is the best meal i have ever had. you see it as always working. i see it as relaxing like never before. everytime. you see it as taking the hard way. i see it as being about the journey. where you see hardship, i see reward. where you would rather do something you like, i do it because i do not enjoy it. Such is its own reward"

Home

Bone chilling cold enshrouds,
as if in frozen wastes,
i stretch my muscles,
aching for warmth.

I miss her arms,
her welcoming beams of light and heat,
thawing the depth of my wounds,
'llowing them, begging them heal,
her memories all i have.

my body  burns,
my eyes droop,
forever cold and bored.

my home awaits,
sandy dunes that scorch the feet,
water waxes and wanes,
storms of might and destruction; and rebirth,
she doe not wait for me though i wait for her.

there is a certain happiness and spiritual fulfillment that comes with utter exhaustion and soreness. it is your body's evidence that you made the most of your time.