Create Every Day

September 27, 2009

The sky burned the light baby blue of the tropics, the sand a blinding white. The shimmering sea was an artist’s pallet of turquoise and aquamarine. Waves lapped playfully on the shore as birds ran along its edge, combing the sand for tidbits. A gentle breeze whispered and rustled its way through the dense palms along the edge of the sand, complementing the cacophony of the birds and the rhythmic crash of the waves.

Beyond the first few palms a line of denser grass and thick underbrush, seemingly unbroken for as far as the eye could see, clearly demarcated the end of the beach and the beginning of the jungle. It was dark under the thick cover of leaves, and the swaying grass played tricks with the light. Easy to miss two dark eyes peering out from under the broad leaves of a banana tree.

Harrod, to whom the eyes belonged, watched the shore unblinkingly, as he had for some time. He remained motionless, staring at the small knot of men struggling to bring something — a wooden craft of some kind, it seemed — farther up the beach, above where the tide would come. Harrod did not know these men. He did not know any such men. But Harrod did know trouble when he saw it, and these men with their glinting mantles and strange trappings looked like trouble.

Harrod silently and suddenly faded back into the darkness along hidden paths known only to him. He sighed quietly as he jogged through the jungle. It was going to be one of those days.

August 15, 2009

There’s nowhere to run, Cheryl’s mind screamed as she frantically glanced around the hotel room. Her heart raced. Her breathing came in short, clipped gasps. The bedroom.

She ran toward the bedroom of the penthouse suite, her stiletto heels left silent divots across the thick, new carpet. The heels cut into her ankles.

Through the door and into the room. Look right, look left. Nowhere to hide. The room was sparse, as all hotel rooms are. There was a pile of Italian luggage in the corner, open and strewn about the bed. The door to the balcony was open. The curtains billowed.

Cheryl felt a sudden jolt of fear as she hear a noise behind her, and her head whipped around of its own accord. He was almost there. She rushed toward the open glass door and slipped outside. Her heels sounded painfully loud on the concrete. The air was hot after the air conditioned interior. There was nowhere to go now. Nothing but a couple of chairs and a glass table shared the balcony with Cheryl. The door from the main room was latched from inside. Cheryl gasped for breath.

She could hear him in the main room now. He was drunk, and noisy. There was a crashing sound as something – a vase, she thought – was overturned.

“Where you at?” He bellowed. The speech was slurred. Cheryl shrank back against the side of the hotel, wrapping the dark around her like a protective shield. “I know you’re in here. I know you’re in here and I know what you did with Len. I know every goddamn thing.” There was another crashing sound as the door of the room was shoved open and slammed into the wall.

“You’re gonna pay, Cheryl. I’m going to take every cent of it out of you.” He was in the room now.

Cheryl knew he meant it. Kane wasn’t a man of restraint, or forgiveness. She cowered outside, biting her lip in fear. Tears streamed down her face now, and her body tensed against the thought of impending pain. Everything was quiet in the room for a moment. He was walking across the room toward the balcony. Terror welled up in Cheryl’s chest.

She screamed as he crashed into the frame of the sliding glass door, almost knocking it off its track.

Time slowed to a crawl. Cheryl’s heartbeat slowed to a dull thud. Her ragged breathing spread billowing fire in her lungs. Every nerve in her body screamed with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Instinctively, her body prepared to lash out in a last-ditch effort of self preservation.

Silence.

Painful seconds dragged on, an eternity in Cheryl’s distorted world.

Slowly, achingly, the chemicals flooding Cheryl’s veins receded and time accelerated. She suddenly felt weak and vulnerable. Her skin was clammy, and she involuntarily shivered despite the heat. Her eyes darted around warily.

Slowly, a dark, crumpled shape against the inside of the door resolved itself into a man. It was Kane. His arm hung limply out of the door.

Cheryl heaved a ragged and shaky breath. After a second she mustered her courage and edged closer timidly. Suddenly she lashed out and kicked the prostrate hand. Hard. It bounced off the door frame and fell back to the floor. She watched for a second for any sign of motion. There was none. Another second, and Cheryl slid the door open a bit more and peeked inside. Kane lay on his front across the doorway, his face toward Cheryl. There was a fine white froth around his lips. He was dead.

About damn time, Cheryl thought to herself. Len had assured her that the drugs would take effect faster.

She suddenly turned away from the body and grabbed her purse from where it had fallen to the ground. She dug around inside and found a pack of cigarettes and a worn Zippo. She lit up a cigarette and took a long drag as she leaned over the banister and looked out on the night. The smoke burned her lungs. It felt good. The smoke trailing up from the cigarette curled straight into the still air.

Twelve stories below the lights and the noise of the Las Vegas strip hurtled on uncaring. Just another hot night in the desert.

Well, it’s been a very long time since I updated my blog.  Sigh.  Such high hopes for my resolutions, such mediocre results.  Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk.  I have at least been up to some creative writing lately, so my plan is to stop keeping those all to myself and start putting them up here for all to share.  Hooray for you, dear readers!

I’m thinking that I”m going to have to change the blog theme, though, to better facilitate reading.  So that’s first on the agenda.

See you in the future…