Category Archives: Writing

Writing

The Thief of Days

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Pictures fill my mind, I see
Visions of success
Dreams that could be, might yet be
Shall be – nothing less.

Satisfied that certainty
accompanies each vision
I wait for its fulfillment
Inaction my decision

Reliance on tomorrow earns
Regret for yesterday
Ineffective action burns
The dreams and hopes away

Still there lingers deep belief
That God can make a way
That time remains to stop the thief
Who steals and wastes “Today.”

But like a mirror then I see
The thief is none other than me.
God will make a way, ’tis true
Yet work still falls on us to do.

Writing

One Fiddy

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It’s been about a year and two months since I started this blog. When I published a recent post, I noticed I was close to 150 total posts. I thought it’d be a good time to pause and reflect.

149 posts on this blog, plus another 106 on the three topic-focused blogs I split off from this one about four months ago. 255 holds significance to me because I grew up using old computers like the Commodore 64, and 255 was the upper limit number in a lot of programs.

So with this post, I hit 256 total. Take that, C64. You can’t even count that high!

Along the way, there are about 170 of you who said “I wouldn’t mind seeing more of this person’s writing.” Though I know there are probably many duplicate readers, my other three blogs each have about 100 people willing to have my posts spam their inbox, twitter, or Facebook.

This is my moment to say Thank you.

I have a number of family and friends who express surprise at my willingness to get along with people who are very different from me – especially those who are antagonistic and provocative about it. “How are you still putting up with that person?” “Why do you bother reading what they post? It’s always crap.”

My experience has been that there’s always a unique quality in every person we meet. There’s something about that person worth discovering. While I may not be a huge social butterfly, I love watching the way people interact and learning some of what motivates them. Like different spices or flavors of ice cream, I enjoy the variety, especially when they can open up my eyes to perspectives I’ve never had before.

That’s what this blogging experience has brought me. I check out the writing of almost everyone who follows me or comments on my page. I browse the Reader, looking at different topics and Freshly Pressed. I get to see what you all share, and invite you into the parts of my life that I’m willing to share. Windows open into lives I’ve never known, and I want to enjoy the view.

My blog experience is no success story. But for those of who you who have joined me in this little corner of the internet, I am truly grateful.

Writing

Liebing it Up to You

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Today I discovered that a mad scientist slash crazy mom was kind enough to nominate my blog for the Liebster Award.

The Liebster Award, for being "not rubbish"
The Liebster Award, for being “not rubbish”

I recently started following her blog because of the A to Z challenge, and also because she made the flu virus sound interesting. Then I saw she has kids roughly the same ages as mine (though her family has one more child than us). Science fun plus parenting fun… fantastic. She checked out some of my entries as well.

I had heard of the Liebster thing, but I didn’t really know how it worked. We use the term “nomination” as though there are authorities out there on the Interwebz who are going to come look and make a solemn gesture of approval, thereby formally blessing us with the award.

Nah, it’s just one blogger to another, saying, “hey, I like what you’re doing over there, and I wanted to call attention to your blog. How about you do the same, but for other people? Pay it forward, and all that.”

Ah, yes, there is the matter of some Q&A first. The way this particular Liebster goes is that I must post random facts about me, answer the Mad Scientist’s questions, and then post blogs that I deem worthy:

First, the facts about me.

  1. I play piano really well, but I can barely read music. I can pick out the notes, but not the tempo. I have to hear a song to know how it is meant to be played, and I’m secretly jealous of those virtuosos who can take a piece of sheet music and start playing it with ease.
  2. My wife is one of those virtuosos, and she plays the violin.
  3. Before joining the military and going to Air Force basic training a “few” years ago, I had mostly gone no further than about 3 hours drive time from my home in Chicago, Illinois.
  4. I once was almost two hours late to a date with my then-girlfriend-now-wife because of a video game.
  5. My wife once held my video games for ransom.
  6. When we knew we were having a son, I immediately thought about the name Jonathan, because my parents had named me after David in the Bible. I thought the name might symbolize a desire for a close-knit relationship with my son like David and Jonathan had in Scripture.
  7. I am ridiculously picky. I hate trying new things. I’m probably the kid who said, “I’ve never tasted that, but I know I hate it, because I looked at it and it’s gross.”
  8. Though I am still a coffee fiend, I was once so addicted that I would fall asleep if I did not make a pot of coffee after work.
  9. My gravatar picture was taken at a hotel balcony at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, when I was arranging surgery while stationed on Okinawa.
  10. Other than Illinois and Indiana, I’ve never been in any states east of the Mississippi River. On the other hand, I’m 99% sure I’ve driven through or lived in every state west of the Mississippi.
  11. I used to memorize Garfield jokes and tell them every day to my 5th grade teacher.

Now, to answer Mad Scientist’s questions:

  1. What is your favorite book/genre?  Right now, I’m set on Brandon Sanderson’s The Way of Kings. I picked up his Mistborn trilogy and found it accessible and intriguing – especially the very logical, almost scientific magic system. Then I checked out his work completing the Wheel of Time, and was again very pleased. The Way of Kings is all his own, and kept me turning pages until the mind-blowing finish.
  2. What is your happiest childhood memory? The happiest is hard to pin down. I am blessed in that I had a wonderful childhood. We weren’t rich, but we weren’t broke. Hours spent playing the piano with my Mom listening and relaxing, long walks with my Dad along the nearby train tracks and throughout the neighborhood, time spent with my older brother at the various arcades… Yeah, you get three for the price of one because I can’t choose.
  3. Cat or dog?  Fish, several of them, of various sorts.
  4. If you could have a super power, what would it be? I would love to bend time (and perhaps space) because I am so often running late. I think traveling back and forth in time would be prohibitively problematic, so I would just like to be able to slow or suspend time.
  5. What has surprised you the most about how your life has turned out? My family. I never pictured the joys and struggles of raising children, so they have each been special surprises in their own way.
  6. If you could change one thing in your life, what would it be? For lack of a better answer late at night, I would have fixed my sleep habits long ago.
  7. Why do you blog? I joined a Writers’ Group when we first arrived in Nebraska. They started talking about blogging, and I realized I could work on my writing by practicing on blog articles.
  8. What do you like best about where you live? I have a spectacular view of the base flight-line.
  9. If you could bring only 1 thing with you on a trip, what would it be? Without a doubt, my iPad with Bluetooth keyboard case… and the charging cord. I need my tech toys and ability to type.
  10. What is your ultimate vacation? I’m not big on vacations. If I have money to travel, I use it to go home to visit family, since I and my wife and kids have been geographically separated from our parents on both sides.
  11. If I were to meet you in person, what is the first thing I would notice? Lately, it would be the walking boot. It draws attention.

And now, my Liebster Award Nominees:

Here’s how it works. You can accept and pay it forward, but of course there’s no obligation. Or you can ignore the award (and make me cry).

If you do accept:

  • post the award on your blog
  • credit me and/or others for nominating you
  • write 11 random facts about yourself
  • Answer my 11 questions
  • Post links to 11 nominees you choose, blogs with 200 followers or less*
  • Ask them 11 questions (and probably provide some of this information)

*if you have more than 200, my apologies. I may have misunderstood what was visible on your site. But you’re still worthy of awards!

My nominees, with a brief description of why:

  1. Stuff BQ Knows  – politics, history, and a generally unique point of view from a co-worker of mine.
  2. Things to Adore – A mom’s experience maturing and raising her lovely young children
  3. Jemtree – a military mom and home educator, sharing her experiences and life lessons
  4. The Encouraging Scribe – because who doesn’t need some encouragement and fiction now and then?
  5. A Writer Inspired – I’ve found this blog to be joyful and passionate about the craft of writing.
  6. Livin’ Out Loud 4 Jesus – A friend of mine from WordSowers, currently blogging about the joys of moving.
  7. Angela D. Meyer – Another published WordSowers friend who is about to publish a novel
  8. Irreverenture – probably BQ’s polar opposite, a blog with some politics, culture, and the start of a new post-apocalyptic tale
  9. Growing in a Shrinking Culture – Great insights on motherhood and spirituality
  10. Joe Seeber –  Warm and moving material that makes me want to live as the best “me” I can be
  11. Faith Laces – awesome fitness blog that challenges me to do better with my own exercise routine

Secretly I nominated all of them because I enjoy what they have to share and I want to encourage them to keep on sharing. I also like the idea of finding out more about the people behind the posts.

If you nominees are willing to play along, then here are the questions I have for you:
(Full disclosure, they’re exactly the same on both of my Liebster posts, so you only need to answer once.)

  1. What’s your favorite meal?
  2. Have you ever broken a bone, and if so, how?
  3. What is the most interesting place (preferably a foreign country) you’ve visited?
  4. Who do you look up to as a writer?
  5. What other hobbies are you passionate about?
  6. What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?
  7. Traveling by yourself – no rush –  do you take a road trip or air flight, and why?
  8. What’s the last good book you read?
  9. Do you play a musical instrument or sing?
  10. What “clique” did you fit into in high school? (i.e. jocks, nerds, cheerleaders, gearheads, rockers, school band)
  11. What’s your favorite motivational quote or thought?

There you have it. I “lieb” it all up to you, fellow bloggers. Go forth, and pass on the pat-on-the-back to those blogs that inspire you!

General, Writing

Getting Busy

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So, I have some excitement ahead, and I am looking forward to it.

A to Z Blogging Challenge
A to Z Blogging Challenge

It’s Blogging A to Z April. So it’s a time to exercise those writing skills and push out some additional entries on the blog in a fun challenge.

But I’m not doing A to Z for this blog.

I’m going to be attempting an A to Z for the fitness blog I co-author, Fat Guys Vs. Gym.

I’m also going to be writing an A to Z for the worship blog I author: Chasing the Storm.

I am not doing it for this blog, nor am I doing it for my creative writing blog.

I’m excited about what this challenge has to offer, and I hope you can take some time to see the results.

On top of that, I’m going back to work on Monday (boo!) and I’m starting a 4 week Chinese-Mandarin refresher course. Then I’m going to be finishing up some professional education and maybe CLEPing a few college classes. Oh, and I’ll be trying to get into shape since I get my cast off in two weeks.

Time to get busy!

Wish me luck!

Culture/Politics, Worship, Writing

The Mirror

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For a Monday Morning Snack, here’s a short piece about mercy and judgment.

The Mirror

I looked out the window at the world, angry at all the injustice.

Then I looked in the mirror, ashamed at all of my own.

I looked out the window at two men in love, and my religious beliefs rose in offense.

I looked in the mirror, saw how little I love, and I was humbled.

Outside I saw greed ignore need and I was enraged.

Inside, I saw my own selfishness, and I was appalled.

I looked out the window at passion paraded and praised, and I stood in judgment.

I looked in the mirror at my lust and desires, and I cried for mercy.

I looked out and saw people reject God’s word, and I thought them foolish.

Then I saw my life contradict my professed beliefs, and I was disgraced.

I looked out the window at everything wrong, and asked, “God, what are You going to do about this?”

Then I heard Him respond, “I gave you a mirror.”

Bordermarches, General, Writing

Shuuka

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This is a piece I wrote to introduce a villain for my Worldmender project. I aimed for a present tense “in the bad guy’s head” style that is different from my usual efforts, and of course this is about a villain so it’s a bit dark. I’d love to know what you think!

shuuka

“Don’t care ’bout the letter from Hagron,” Dagger Bandit mutters and draws twin blades.

He probably thinks I can’t hear him. He turns toward me, all thin and hunched over, ready to pounce on smaller prey. He’s breathing hard. I see it in the chill air. I hear his heart pounding.

“Letter from a noble or not,” Dagger Bandit continues, “Shuuka’s getting on my nerves.”

That’s what these robbers call me. They don’t know my name. They only know their boss sent me. I don’t know their names either. I don’t need to. Tools should be called by their function.

Maybe they think I’m not listening. Maybe they know I am. I keep playing my bonerattle to the Rhythm as I watch the firelight dance across the sands and the boulders.

shhuuu-Ka shhuuu-Ka shhuu-Ka shh…

It’s cold tonight. I see wisps in the wind when the bandits breathe. I can’t feel the cold, and the fire doesn’t warm me. I can’t feel anything.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

I feel the Hunger. My body needs fuel, so I take a bite of dried meat. It tastes like sand in my mouth. I can see the spices, but I can’t taste them. I can’t taste anything anymore.

The Rhythm is the only thing that keeps me calm until I can satisfy the Hunger.

Dagger Bandit hesitates in his approach and glares at me. The stocky bearded man next to him speaks up. “You saw what he did to Namir yesterday. Fought him one-handed, one blade against Namir’s two.”

I call this big one Meat-shield. He seems to be the smartest of the bunch.

He looks up at Dagger Bandit now. “You think you can take him, have a go. I won’t miss the noise.”

“Never seen Namir lose a duel,” Dagger Bandit admits and sits down.

“Lost his bleedin’ hand is what he lost.”

Meat-shield has a point. Plus he’s in charge.

I would have liked very much to take more from Sword-dancer, the one they call Namir. He sits in the shadows, nursing his bandaged stump. The Hunger clamors within me always, and Namir might have satisfied it. For a time. But I don’t want them to know about me yet. I kept my glove on during the fight, kept the Darkness hidden.

I chose to be patient then. To listen to the Rhythm a while longer. But I think today’s the day.

shhuu-Ka shhuu-Ka shh…

Footsteps rush toward us. My fingers rest on the pommel of my blade. Our scout bursts into the hidden campsite. “They’re coming,” he pants. His chest thuds in my ears like a horserace. My right hand twitches. I want to consume him. The Hunger roils within, and I suppress it with a shudder.

I focus on the rattle again.

“His letter,” Farsight blurts between gasps, pointing at me. “It’s true. The caravan, nearby, three guards, four others.”

Meat-shield hands Farsight a waterskin. Only a few drops in it. Enough for another day here in the Waste. Then Meat-shield hisses “Get ready,” as he kicks out the fire.

I stop the rattle and head for the dunes around the camp. It’s time. Away from the firelight, I remove my right glove. Shadows swirl and flow like oil in the shape of a hand. I’m not sure I really have an arm under there anymore. Only the Darkness remains.

I don’t mind the loss. The power is worth it.

Meat-shield is smart. Good position. The rocks and dunes hide the camp in darkness. Anyone would have to be on top of the nearest hill to see the firelight. But the robbers take no chances. Prey in the Waste is skittish and dangerous. Predators must be crafty.

Meat-shield sends archers to the tops of the stones where they can get a clear view of the merchant route. His best bowman has a monocle that Meat-shield got from Lord Hagron.  It makes night like day in the wearer’s eye. I can think of many uses for such a device.

Trueshot looses a flaming arrow to mark the caravan. I hear it sink into the wood of a wagon with a thok. Now everyone can see it. The travelers cry out. The four robbers on foot rush the prey while Trueshot and the others take aim at the guards.

I take aim at Trueshot. I creep forward, unnoticed, black hand extended.

His monocle slips into my open palm as he dies. I lay his body down atop the stone and turn to the next archer. The night makes it easy. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the kill–that makes my victims delicious. The Hunger feeds on life, but strong emotions and passions are the sweetest. I can taste those. I can feel them as they are consumed.

Meat-shield and his allies are busy fighting guards or chasing the unarmed. They don’t notice that the arrows stop flying. Three of the guards are wounded. One fights on. It’s easy to sneak up on the bandits.

Sword-dancer dies first. I catch him rifling through the goods in a wagon, out of the view of the others. Greed–lust for the prize–it’s not delicious, but it will do.

He expires with a quiet sigh, the noise lost in the din of the fray.

The lone guard shouts as he cuts down Mace. I’m not surprised. Mace isn’t a fighter. He’s Meat-shield’s cousin, or brother-in-law, or some other relationship with obligation. Doesn’t matter. With that steaming wound in his belly, he’ll be dead soon.

One of the other bandits is down. Arrow in the back. Maybe Trueshot or another archer had some score to settle. I don’t care. And now Meat-shield is fighting the guard that killed Mace.

I sense two more heartbeats, one pursuing the other. Dagger Bandit finished off a couple of the passengers and is chasing the last one. A woman’s scream pierces the night. I can feel Dagger Bandit’s lust building. The Hunger longs for him, and I shiver. He’ll be tasty.

But first, Meat-shield is fresh, and this final guard is weary. Not a fair fight.

I stretch my right hand toward Meat-shield. No one can see it in the dark, but I know tendrils of black are forming around him, slowing him, hindering him. I hear him rage against invisible bonds, swinging wild punches as he tries to break free.

The guard sees his opportunity and thrusts a sword into Meat-shield’s ribs. Meat-shield roars and draws a knife as he grabs the guard by the throat. I turn away, releasing the bonds. I hear choking and gurgling behind me, weak cries, labored breathing in the dark. They’ll both be dead soon.

Dagger Bandit’s heart is thudding in my mind. It’s all I can think of. Maybe it’s all the Darkness can think of. I’m not really sure how this all works.

All I know is I want him.

He has the woman cornered. I sense her fear. It’s a powerful emotion too, but it’s the only one the Darkness doesn’t like. She doesn’t interest me, not with Dagger Bandit near.

I hear his voice telling lies, his tone meant to soothe. I can’t make out the words. The pounding of his heart is so loud in my head. My shadow hand can barely retain its form. It yearns to stretch out and take him. I resist.

The woman cowers. Dagger Bandit steps forward, knife shaking with delight. He slowly reaches for her, and giggles as he grabs her shoulder. She writhes and screams, but she can’t get away. He raises the knife.

Now.

Shadows wrap around him, wracking his body into awkward positions. I think bones snap but I don’t care. His eyes are wide, reflecting firelight. His mouth is filled with darkness. His intense emotions are captured and consumed in an instant.

The lifeless body crumples to the ground. A wave of pleasure washes over me, the reward from the Darkness for such a perfect feast.

The woman sees me, knows that somehow I’ve saved her. She doesn’t question how, just bows and babbles profuse thanks. I am not interested.

…until the Darkness senses her overwhelming relief. Her fear is gone. I step into the light.

“I swear to you,” she continues, “I will tell my father of how you saved me and he will reward you with greater riches than what we carry here. I cannot thank you enough.”

“No, dear,” I frown. “You can’t.”

I stretch my hand once more and close my eyes, awash in satisfaction as she dies.

A minute later, the night is quiet. I start collecting provisions. I’m not sure where I’ll go. Before I came here, Hagron spoke of war in the city of Sulkath, and invading armies from Kandurien.

War always brings out strong passions. It sounds like the right place to be.

Meat-shield mumbles something behind me, dying on the ground, tangled with the body of the guard. “Hagron… that letter was fake… he didn’t send you…”

“No, the letter was real. But Hagron didn’t send me. I took it after I fed on him.”

He looks confused, so I explain. “You worked for Hagron. I killed him. So you serve me now.”

Meat-shield coughs up blood.

“Rest now,” I say as I turn. I can’t help a grin. “I have been well served.”

I take out my bonerattle as I walk away from the ruined caravan. The Darkness is sated.

shhhuuu-KA shhhuuu-KA shhh…

I can hear the Rhythm clearer than before. For now.

General, Writing

February Resolution

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“You only fail if you stop writing.” – Ray Bradbury

“I’m writing a book. I’ve got the page numbers done.” – Steven Wright

 

It has been quite a while, and I regret being away from this for so long. “Life gets in the way” is a poor excuse.

It’s common experience that other priorities sometimes force themselves to the top of the list, but the harsh truth of writing is that people more busy than me are blogging and writing at a prolific rate.

You make time for what you love, what you want, what you need.

Writing is something I really want, so I never doubted that I would get started with this again. I thought I could in December, and when that didn’t happen, I told myself I had a New Year’s resolution to uphold.

“A New Year’s resolution to start blogging again? How trite,” I rationalized.

So now, at the end of January, I am committing to return. Perhaps this won’t have the over-reaching “every day” commitment I tried to maintain in August and September. But I will commit to frequent entries. Some of these can follow the daily format I used before — today’s Thursday Tirade about quality versus quantity, for example. Others will be whatever strikes my fancy.

In any event, I welcome back your thoughts, your feedback, and your interaction. Thanks for your patience; let’s get back into this.

– Dave

Bordermarches, General, Writing

Break Time

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There is some news that is relevant to my interests. It might be relevant to yours as well. I know some of you who read my ravings also do some writing of your own.

Harper Voyager is accepting unsolicited submissions for their planned Digital releases.

I have about 100K words poured into a rough manuscript, and so I am going to dedicate some time to editing and polishing it for submission. It’s a roll of the dice, and I’m sure they’ll be swamped with tons of other aspiring amateurs. But if nothing else, I end up with a completed and stronger manuscript than I have now.

Alas, this means no daily blog posts, and possibly very few at all until the project is done. I apologize, because I know you all don’t click Follow lightly. But I hope you’ll bear with me as I put in some effort to accomplish a project that has been waiting a long time.

With respect,
Dave

Bordermarches, Writing

Introducing D'Ten

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For this Storyline post, I thought I’d introduce a villain. I’ve had the idea of the Bloodsworn for quite some time, but they were a faceless foe and an alien culture to the characters in the Bordermarches. There’s no fun in that. It’s more interesting to see life from the villain’s perspective now and then (at least to me). So, allow me to introduce the new Chronicler of the Bloodsworn, D’Ten.

Saturday Storyline

From the Eldest, life was given to the Newborn;
To the Eldest, life is given from the Bloodsworn.

The Ancient Rede filled D’Ten with pride as he drew the sharp side of his hook-dagger along his forearm. His eyes widened as pain seared his nerves, but he kept silent as he finished the cut. Blood ran down his upturned palm, warm and wet, to drip off his fingertips onto the stained stone altar. A collective roar went up from the gathered crowd on the steps below, and D’Ten looked out over the masses.

Over my people.

They would follow him now. They would look to him as they once looked to Kasheta; they would trust his wisdom as they once hung on her poisonous words.

He raised a glittering goblet in his left hand, and the blood began streaming toward his elbow. Kasheta abandoned the old ways. She forsook the sacrifices meant for the Eldest Ones, dismissed the power and truth of the Rede. Under Kasheta’s guidance, D’Ten’s people were docile, quick to retreat and slow to respond as the bastard children of the Cerune Empire once again came across the mountains.

“Not the will of the Life-givers,” she would say whenever he pressed her to attack. “This Cycle will end in trouble enough for all; we need not add to it. We will depart, and not engage them.”

Foolishness. Weakness.

Kasheta was one of many Chroniclers to interpret the Rede in a figurative sense. She taught the people to give their lives–their time, their resources, and their energy–in service to the Eldest.

But D’Ten learned the truth. He knew how wrong she was, and the trouble that would come. He even knew the will of the Life-givers. One of them spoke to him directly, granting revelation about the long-forgotten paths his people once followed.

Blood was required, for the blood was life. For centuries, the devout among the Bloodsworn offered up a portion of their lives back to the Creators, a fitting tribute and offering of thanks for what the Eldest Ones first gave to mortals, a completion of the cycle that satisfied the Life-givers and turned away Their wrath.

D’Ten shuddered as he held the goblet aloft, almost spilling its precious contents. If the cycle was ever broken–if blood was no longer offered to the Eldest–then the Creators would return to undo what they began. The world would be shattered, all life extinguished… for those who gave life could surely take it away.

That must never be.

Kasheta had led the people astray. It was time to correct her error.

“Offerings shall be made once more,” D’Ten called out, “now and forever, in accordance with the Rede and the ancient ways, and in accordance with the words of the Eldest.” He tipped the goblet until a steady stream of crimson splashed across the altar, mingled with his own blood. Another cheer burst from the crowd, but D’Ten’s deep voice rose above them all.

“To the Eldest, life is given from the Bloodsworn!”

The words of the Life-giver’s visitation echoed in D’Ten’s mind as he poured out the last drop of Kasheta’s life from the goblet.

Who said that the offering had to be your blood?

As his people cheered, D’Ten grinned widely. They were focused on their ritual, but his mind wandered west, to the mountains where the Dunnestanni and their Cerunae allies swarmed like gnats in spring.

The offerings to the Eldest had been neglected for so long; D’Ten was certain he could feel Their anger.

You will have sacrifices. Many sacrifices. We will give You life for the life You granted us. The cycle will not be forgotten.

Word of the Day, Writing

Modest Interest

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It’s time for a Saturday Storyline. Unfortunately, I misplaced the initial handwritten draft of the next part of my Worldmender storyline. So… here’s a Word of the Day post, based on “vigorish,” which was not at all what I thought at a glance.

The Fourth Street Diner in Berkeley… probably NOT the setting for this story!

Jonas Budyenko’s hands quivered as he dried the last glass and set it on the Fourth Street Diner’s bar. It rattled on the plastic until Jonas let go.

“Vanessa, who’s on the phone?” Please god anybody but Vitoly.

She didn’t even look him in the eye as she walked by. “AT&T, boss. Courtesy call. They’re shutting off your service again. Twice this month. New record.”

Jonas wiped his brow with the dishtowel. One more bill to juggle. I need to get a hold of Sarah at college. But I can’t pay the bill until I talk to Vitoly or Dom.

Dom hadn’t been around to collect in a couple weeks. He’ll come soon. He’s a ‘regular.’

Jonas rehearsed his plan for the fourth time. It ain’t much, Dom, but I got three thousand together this week, and with school startin up again, Mister Vitoly knows I’m gonna be good for the rest real quick. I’m gonna pay, promise.

The bell above the front door jingled and Jonas startled. Two college girls took the first booth and Vanessa brought them menus. Three weeks now, where’s Dom been?

Jonas caught sight of Ted, the Greek who owned the corner store. Has a spring in his step today. What’s he smiling about? Vitoly’s been on his back for months.

“Two triple chocolate,” Vanessa mumbled as she walked by.

He grabbed the scoop and two chilled glasses. Come to think of it, all the shopkeeps have been up lately. I’da thought Vitoly was dead the way they’re acting. But I saw Dom at the pier the other day, picking up monthly payments from the Romanian with the fish market.

Jonas set the pair of frosty glasses on the bar for Vanessa when the bell jingled again. His heart froze colder than the shakes in his hands. He’s here.

A wall of muscle with slicked back grey hair, Dom stepped in and tucked Ray-Bans into his leather jacket. Too warm for that coat today, unless you’re hiding holsters. Sweat dripped under Jonas’s arms. Oh Lord I’m not that far behind, am I?

Ice blue eyes fixed on Jonas, and Dom’s lips parted, showing white teeth in an awkward smile. Jonas attempted to return the gesture, but his clenched jaw made it difficult. Dom moved to the bar and took a stool. Even seated, his shadow loomed over the counter.

“What’ll it be, Dom?” Jonas managed to say.

The mountain grumbled. “Hmmm… you know, I never stopped by for casual. Always business,” he said with a shrug. Believe me. I know.

“What’s your best? I’ll try one. Special occasion and all.”

Jonas stood, staring at the big man. What are you playing at? Trying to make it look like you’re not here to threaten me? Waiting until there are no witnesses?

“Do you got a best?” If Dom noticed the hesitation, he said nothing. “Ehh, I guess you can’t really call one good. Makes the others sound bad, right?”

He turned. “Hey, ‘Nessa! What’s your favorite?”

“Red Velvet Cake.”

Dom turned back to Jonas. “Bit pricey, ain’t it? I don’t got money to throw around.”

There it is. Jonas opened his mouth to speak, ready even to beg. But his throat felt full of ash and dust. Tell him! No one’s listening.Tell him like you practiced. “I’ll get the money.”

“But I’ll try that.” He glanced at the waitress again. “Nice girl. Reminds me of yours… what’sername, Sarah, right?”

The ice cream scoop clinked against the glass as Jonas worked. Oh god oh god, that’s your play? I need to call her. But, the phone-

Dom continued, chatting like an old friend. “She’s gotta be in high school by now, right?”

“She’s in college, Dom. Third year.” Please god let her be okay. Vitoly isn’t that cruel.

“Oh. Jeez, where’d the time go, right?”

Dom laughed, and Jonas cringed. His stomach churned. Oh god, I’m gonna vomit right here, all over the bar, all over Dom. Oh god, he’s gonna hurt Sarah, and the three grand isn’t gonna be enough, and he’ll come for me and take me out back and–

“I’ve got three thousand right now in the safe, more next week, please don’t hurt her,” he blurted in one breath.

Dom shrank back, hands raised in protest. “Jonas, what the–”

“She’s all I got, Dom!”

“Whoa, Jonas, what are you–you mean, you haven’t heard?”

Jonas leaned on the diner, arms shaking.

“Old Man Gino died a couple weeks ago, right?” Dom explained. “So he had a stash he been saving up for years I guess. Got no kids, wife died three years back, so he left it to you guys. All you Fourth Street shopkeeps that played chess with him? He left money to pay off everything you owed Mister Vitoly.”

“He did what?”

“Yeah, paid it all. The whole she-bang. Your loan, plus Mister Vitoly’s modest interest rate.”

Jonas struggled to remain standing. Gone? It’s all gone?

“You’re not here for a payment.”

“Nope.”

“You’re not threatening my daughter.”

Dom laughed. “Jonas, I would’ve been by three weeks ago, but I thought you heard. And your phone was out.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, I gotta call Sarah.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

Jonas ignored the comment as he headed for the door. Vanessa can handle the place for a minute. Ted will let me borrow his cell.

The bell almost broke loose as Jonas burst out of the diner to catch up to his friend. He shook off decades of age and anxiety and started a shuffling jog. There he is… gotta let Sarah know.

He never saw the speeding car.

Jonas awoke to the steady beep of the IV pump and the too-clean scent of a sterile hospital room. He felt numb on his left side, but he smiled when he heard Sarah’s voice.

“Dad, you’re awake?” She rushed to take his hand, careful to avoid the IV tubes.

“Yeah,” he whispered, and offered a weak smile.

She hugged him. “What were you doing running into the street?”

“Oh sweetie, I was so excited… wanted to tell you the news.”

He looked into her bright eyes, and his heart filled with joy. “You wouldn’t believe–”

Then he caught sight of Dom.

“What’s he doing here?”

Her face fell. “Dad, you had several broken bones,” she explained. “A few surgeries. We… my job doesn’t pay well enough for those kinds of bills.”

No.

“So I talked to Dom, and he talked to Mister Vitoly. Everything’s taken care of. I got a small loan, with modest interest.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Now, what were you saying?”

He felt the old crushing weight settle back down on his shoulders, and he tried to fake a smile.

“Nothing.”