A Short Story: "Trains, Planes, and Minions"

I am an avid reader of Paulo Coelho's blog, live under a flight path next to a train station, and sleep with a noise machine that utilizes the sounds of water and wind.  Therefore, I am not surprised to have had the following vision:

Minion!!
You're sinking!!

In a small fishing village, a young boy bit his nails as he watched the village’s toughest warrior, Warrior, practice archery along the railroad that hugged the shoreline.  Warrior was the boy's idol, and the boy spent most nights dreaming of going into battle with him.  The boy’s brow bent as he watched Warrior's minion, Minion, use his good leg to wobble up the steep grade to the elevated train tracks.  Minion labored to set-up a dozen empty Guinness bottles on twelve different timber ties.  It took him a considerable amount of time to maneuver between each rail tie that jetted out from beneath the metal rails like the branches used to support a thatch roof.

Warrior watched Minion place the last bottle and tumble like a cannon ball down the steep grade into a small tide pool below.

“Get out of the way, Minion,” he said.

That’s no way to treat Minion, thought the boy.  Minion waited until the tide pulled most of the water out from beneath him to try and stand on his good leg.  He pulled his lame leg from underneath his bottom, but was not quick enough and the tide pushed his lame leg right back to where it was.  He looked at Warrior, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "Minion kick own ass."

“Boy, help Minion to his foot so that I can finish my training.  Now, little boy!”

Well I was going to help him anyway, thought the boy.  He helped Minion to dry ground, opposite the raised rail tracks.

A Short Story: "I Smell a Rat In the Ball-Crawl" (working title)

At risk of losing you, I have decided to post a short story I am working on (by working on, I mean I wrote it yesterday and decided today to post it).  As I learned in his writing memoir, "On Writing," Steven King got his start with short stories.  So why not throw around a few ideas?

Chuck E. Jesus look
at all those tickets!

Below is a first draft - not yet revised in any meaningful way - that I may try and develop into a full blown short story.  Think of it as a plot sketch.  Painting in the pieces (character, scenes, setting) may come later, if the plot is worthwhile.  Truthfully, I am really excited to share it, even in this raw form.  

I would love your feedback.  A small kernel (the corny part) is based on truth, but otherwise it is completely fictional.

We are off to celebrate the marriage of close friends in the Dominican Republic.  If I can't stay away from eD, I'll post from there.  

In the meantime, happy reading!  If you want to share your thoughts with me, please post a comment or shoot me an email.  I am open to ideas and even pleas for me to stop writing.

A True Story and Sporks are Rad

“Look, mummy, no roof!”  The no-more than five-year old kid could barely contain his excitement as he clutched at his mom’s purse.  I looked to where he pointed and smiled when I realized what he was talking about.  She was distracted by the voice in her mobile phone.  He yanked the purse down hard towards the ground, the strap almost snapped on her shoulder. “Look muuuuuuummmmy, la-look,” he said.

Titanium Spork

“Hmmm, ah yes, sorry one second right” she said into the receiver.  “What is it Nigel?”  She waited a half-second for his response, which she did not receive.  “Hmmm, okay then Nigel.”  She returned to the phone, “Right then…” 

His excitement waned, for just a second, and it cost him dearly.  He had her attention, but did not capitalize.  I watched as he realized that his communications skills were not sophisticated enough to tell the Real Housewife of London that whilst she burned the afternoon telling his Auntie about her lovely new purchases, he had just witnessed - no scratch that - he had just discovered, the most incredible thing in his life: A bus without a roof.