You can find Gladiator's Pen at it's new home on Blogger. http://gladiatorspen.blogspot.com

You can find Gladiator’s Pen at it’s new home on Blogger. http://gladiatorspen.blogspot.com

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The Mission

A glance at the tower clock said it was almost time. Fingers drummed nervously on the café table. Stop he admonished himself mentally. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself. Not now.

The mission was about to take place, delivery was crucial. Crucial to national security, maybe even global from the impressions he got during briefing.

After one last sip of the pungent tea he pulled a few dollars from his wallet and tossed it on the bill. Standing the young spy glanced again at the clock in the square. It was time.

Knowing the importance of this meeting made it difficult to keep a strolling pace to the park. He wanted to hurry and be a hero to his country. An unknown hero since he was one of the men in black as they say.

Focus man, focus. To keep his concentration on the task at hand he began to sing the instructions in his head.

Near a tree by a river, there’s a hole in the ground. Where an old man of Aran goes around and around.

It had taken him a bit to decipher the cryptic message. Then suddenly it all snapped into place once he found the tree. Behind it a river gently flowing with children on the bank skipping rocks long the water’s surface.

An old man with a thick Irish accent sat on a stool in the shade of that great oak. The table in font of him filled with all sorts of whirly gigs to catch the wind and spin around and around.

The young spy took a deep breath. This was it, the moment he’d been training for.  Hand in pocket around a small pistol he approached the table of wares. “Good afternoon.”

The old man gave him a slight nod. “Afternoon. See anything you like there?”

He picked up a bird shaped pinwheel. “This one I think. Reminds me of something.” He gave a pause and made eye contact with the old man. “The blackbird sings on bluebird hill.”

The old man nodded and took the offered money for the trinket and dolled out the spy’s change. “Thanks to the calling of the wild. You must be a wise man’s child.”

His heart sped, this was it. The old man knew the code phrase. The hand in his pocket moved away from the gun to a keyring. “Indeed, thank you.”

Blood thumped in his ears as he pulled the ring from his pocket slowly. Keeping it hidden in his closed hand. With out breaking his pace he dropped the keys into the hole by the great oak tree.

It was hard to keep the grin off his face until he’d exited the park. Success, he’d done it.

The old man pulled the keys from the hole and sighed. Why did H.Q. insist on testing the rookies like this? The wig came off revealing jet black hair. This was the last time he’d forget his keys in the office.

 

One Word/60 Seconds: Panel

OneWord.com is a website for getting the muse warmed up. Each day you get one word and sixty seconds in which to write what it inspires. This was my entry today.

Looking down he saw a wooden panel loose on the desk. The jut ting corner beg ging for discovery. Gently he pried at it with the tip of a pin. The panel fell to the floor revealing a compartment. Reach ing inside he pulled out a diary, the first line read.… “My God,what have I done?”


One Word/60 Sec: Seat

The seat was still warm from her pres ence. The lin ger ing of her per fume in the air around him. He sat back and inhaled deeply long ing for her to be there.

In the Air

It was getting harder to breathe, the air felt thick like breathing soup. There was no energy left in her body to try and fight for deeper breaths. The white of the walls seemed to glare.

Across from her on the floor her college lay stretched out. His eyes were still, Evan could see there was no life left there. Hot tears began to roll down her face as she summoned one last effort for breath. Forcing her arm to obey her command she reached for the keypad by the door.

The tips of her fingers could only reach the bottom few. Pressing until she heard the horrible honking alarm signally invalid entry to the lab. Her hand falling to her lap Evan waited. Breaths shallow, coming slower and slower.

Outside the lab they had given up hope. The chemical content in the air of the now sealed room was too much for any survivors. Then the alarm.

One of the security ran over to the door peering into the small glass window set in it. “It’s Dr. Lane. I think she’s still alive.”

Renewed efforts to open the contaminated lab began with zeal. Problem was they couldn’t just open the doors with out contaminating the building. They had to find a way to vent the toxins faster than the present plan.

From inside the lab Evan heard her name shouted. Someone was banging on the door trying to get her attention. They had it, she just didn’t have anything left with which to acknowledge it.

Pain began in the center of her chest and worked its way outward. There wasn’t even any air left in her lungs to groan. Evan knew the end was getting close, she was seeing things. In the corner of the white room stood a man surrounded by mist.

When their eyes met he started to move forward. The pain has spread though her body taking over all her other senses. Lungs burning as if she’d run a hundred miles. Evan’s mind struggled to hang on even though her body was spent.

She wanted to cry and scream but nothing would come out. One last time she tried to take a breath only there was nothing to breathe.

The man from the corner knelt beside her. His eyes were green and ever changing like the sea. He reached out a hand gently caressing her cheek. “Take a breath Evan.”

The stranger knew her name, but he didn’t know she couldn’t …. Air filled her lungs slowly. It wasn’t the poison air from the room there was a touch of something in it. Something sweet like honeysuckle. The next breath came easier, then another. It was impossible wasn’t it? The room was still filled with poison.

Even began to come back to herself as the strange man caressed her face. Her eyes focused and she realized, he was there but not. As if he were made of air himself.

She could hear calls from outside the lab saying the venting was working the particles were clearing. Soon they could open the door.

The man of air caressed her softly, brushing her hair from her face. Evan was sure she knew him. But this was impossible he was a figment of her dying mind.

Cool air brushed the side of her face, it was his breath. It smelled like honeysuckle. There was a gentle smile on his face as she took a deeper breath. Evan lay her cheek against his palm taking comfort.

The palm was soft, warm, there was a pulse that beat from his wrist against her cheek. He looked up at the door. There were more sounds and activity coming from out there now. The strange man cupped her face softly. “They are coming. Do not be afraid, you will be well.”

Evan wanted to ask his name, how he got into the lab. But he pressed a soft kiss to her lips distracting her thoughts.

The stranger began to fade changing into fog then less…then nothing but air. His touch gone her lungs began to burn again. Aching for a breath of the honeysuckle sweet air. She gasped and struggled as the door slowly slid open.

She tried to scream hurry but there was no voice. Only squeaks as Evan took in a little of the fresh air coming from the open door.

Paramedics, scientists, security all rushed into the lab. A paramedic wearing oxygen masks lifted her up from the floor to a gurney. Shouts began all around her as a mask was fitted over her own face.

None of them were the strange man. She turned her head as much as they would allow to look into the corner where he had appeared. Nothing but air stood there now. Evan grabbed the EMT’s arm and forced out the words. “The man… that was… with me…”

With a somber face he gave her hand a pat thinking she meant the dead scientist they were wheeling past them in the hall. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just concentrate on taking slow deep breaths. Let’s get you oxygenated. You’re a real miracle surviving that long in that toxic soup.”

Evan shook her head. “No… someone else.”

The paramedic walked beside her as they wheeled the gurney to the ambulance. “There was no one else in the room, Dr. Lane.”

Why writing is important to me

Writing is a huge part of my daily life. I do write almost every day on articles or fiction works. I began writing V fan fiction. (the original with Marc Singer, you know the good one.) Now I have worlds of my own creation to play in. Though I admit to playing in the fan fic world too.

Though writing I met one of the most important people in my life. My best friend and sister in heart Rose. We both belonged to Russell Crowe fan fiction boards. We started joking and playing around on the board then chatting though Yahoo IM.

Three years later and we have never missed a day of chat. We have written many stories together fan fic and original fiction. We’ve laughed we’ve cried and fought for each other. I was given this gift of close friendship though writing.

It’s not just a place to express myself it’s a part of my life that I hold dear.  Other people and opportunities that expand outside of weaving words have been discovered because of writing. Now my son who is 13 is getting excited about doing NaNoWriMo with me this year. Seeing him begin to enjoy something that could turn into a life long practice makes me even more proud of what I do.

I love being a writer the sense of accomplishment when holding a book with my name on the cover, my words on all the pages. A reader saying how much they enjoyed your work. Nothing gets better than that.

 

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