Green Eyes on Green Grass

The grass is always greener on the other side. It always seems this way, but why? Step back a think for a minute.

It must be because they water it more. So, that is what you should do, right?

It must be because their grass is more hardy than yours. So, you should get better grass, right?

It must be because their grass gets better shade from the scorching sun. So, you need to protect your grass better, right?

Or it is possible they secretly spray paint their grass to appear better and healthier. When in truth, they have the same grass as you.

Now knowing this potential, ask yourself a new question.

Why do you care so much about grass?

Curator, Captain and Leviathan

*I never thought I would be in this position five years ago. If you'd asked me were I'd see myself I would have said something like 'I don't know, just here taking care of this floating museum.' Just a regular guy doing his normal job.*

Jordan MacCade was a stocky well muscled man but he hid it under his loose practical clothing. His auburn hair he kept cut short for ease of care and safety. Jordan saw a glint under some debris next to the road. He squatted down and brushed it off. He found a can with an illegible label.

*Hah. Figures. More mystery food.*

He squeezed the can and shook it to gauge if air had gotten inside.

*Good. It shouldn't be spoiled.*

He tossed the can in his backpack with a few other food stuffs and some odds and ends he had already collected.

"Excuse me, sir?" A woman asked from behind him.

*Shit.*

Jordan's hand slowly slid to the 9mm pistol on his hip.

*I don't want to waste the ammo lady don't make me use this.*

He stood and turned to face the woman. She was covered in haphazard ragged clothing and she was quite thin.

"Please, sir." She pleaded extending her hands. "I need food for my family. You look well and must have something to spare."

"Tell your friends that I'm not falling for this-" Jordan said as he was interrupted by the barrel of a shotgun being placed in his back.

*Damn.*

"Wrong." A different  woman said behind him, her voice much raspier, like she rolled and smoked everything she could every day. "Just one friend."

"Where is the Leviathan's Good Will?" The ragged woman demanded.

"You know I'm from that ship and you threaten me?" Jordan asked.

"Put your gun on the ground." The raspy woman commanded with a jab of the shotgun. "Then you can take us to your ship Captain MacCade."

*My reputation has gotten around here too...I guess I do need to start scavenging with a escort.*

He unholstered his gun and slowly squatted to place it lightly on the ground.

*This is where you will understand why I am that ship's captain.*

Once the pistol left his hand he drew a knife from his boot. He spun around as he stood using his free hand to redirect the shotgun away from him. His circular step end as the tip of his knife plunged through the back of the raspy woman's neck. The shotgun fired, the ragged woman screamed and blood sputtered from the raspy woman's mouth. Jordan let her body fall and turned his attention to the other woman.

"What did I do to make you two do something this stupid?" Jordan asked as he picked up his pistol and holstered it. He got no response then noticed the shotgun blast had hit her and she was as lifeless as the surrounding landscape.

*****

Captain Jordan MacCade rowed his dingy towards a Sloop. Along the side was the ship's name, 'Leviathan's Good Will'. The wood of the ship was scorched black and the sails stained gray with soot.

*Every time I see her I can't believe the original Little Belt was salvaged and restored. How could I say no to curating a haunted ship museum. I just love how they left it charred and burnt just like the British left her in 1814. She was made sea worthy and they were going to rename her back to the 'Friends Good Will' but I thought it was more fitting for a different name. 'The ship was preserved by the good will of the legendary Leviathan' was my argument and the board of directors liked the sound of it.
Now look at her. Keeping myself and my crew alive after The Great Fallout. the only real ship around the Great Lakes anymore. All the modern vessels were fried by the EMP blasts leaving the waters open and safer than the land, if you know what you're doing. No electronics on this old girl, just rope, wood and tar, old fashioned just like I like my ships.*

"Her breath sets coals ablaze, and flames dart from her mouth." the voice of Benjamin Bradshaw, Jordan's first mate, shouted from the deck.

"Strength resides in his neck; dismay goes before her." Jordan shouted back.

"Welcome back Captain." Benjamin called. "What did you find today?" Ropes were thrown in the dingy and Jordan tied them on.

"Some of the basics." Jordan said. "Food, booze, a shotgun and a large helping of 'you told me so'. No more solo scavenging for me." Benjamin smiled through his thick black beard, grabbed Jordan's hand and pulled him onto the Sloop.

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E. M. Hyland

Short Story Exercise - Caste of Dolls

Due to writer's block on Bushido: Zendou and some miscellaneous inspirations I started writing a short story last night as a writing exercise to help break up this writer's block. Might as well share what I have so far.

As a warning this piece is a darker satirical piece.

Caste of Dolls

Samuel Craddock slammed a shirtless screaming man against a concrete traffic divider. The screams only got louder when the shirtless man noticed a rib piercing through his skin. Samuel was certain the man didn’t feel the rib break and slip through his skin, because he looked hopped up on Testostradin; know as Mad Bull on the streets. The drug was made from the blood of men on an adrenaline high. It gives the user a near limitless tolerance to pain and a rush of muscular strength. The combination has led to users overtaxing their muscles and having them tear the ligaments and tendons right off their own bones. The most concerning part is the careless use can lead to a blood bourn outbreak of disease and sickness. This would cripple the worker class and cause unnecessary problems for the whole society. It is crime like that Samuel is to root out and put an end to.

             “Clear!” a woman’s voice shouted from past the traffic divider. Samuel let go of the man and jumped back. Right as he jumped a hollow thud was heard. An opaque blue gel slapped around the man’s face muffling his screams as it began to send thousands of volts through his body. The man began to convulse as he tried to claw the Shock-Stop gel from his face. Samuel whipped his telescoping baton out and landed a solid smack to the man’s calf. The added stimuli of the strike on top of the drugs and electricity caused the connective tissue in his knee to give way. He collapsed as his calf rolled down inside his flesh and his leg could no longer support him. Once he was on the ground Samuel struck the man in the throat with his baton. The muscles in his neck ripped away and the screams stopped. The man kept fighting the voltage until all that was left was a convulsing corpse.

             “Turn it off, Bethany.” Samuel called to a dark haired, tan skinned woman now standing a few feet from the traffic barrier. The body stopped twitching and Samuel ran his hand through his black hair.

“Why do they take this stuff?” Bethany asked while she hopped the barrier.

“Check under the hood.” Samuel replied. “I bet breakfast he is a Doll.” Bethany extended her baton and used it to slide the corpse’s pants down. This revealed that the man had been gelded, completely.

“He was on his last strike.” Bethany stated.

“Mad Bull must have been the only way he could feel like a man again.” Samuel said while retrieving a hypodermic vial from his coat pocket. “Here take a vial of his blood. We get the read out back in the car; it is too dangerous to stay out on this road.” Bethany nodded and filled the device.

“Did you remember the Duster Sticks?” Bethany asked as she handed the hypodermic vial back. Samuel took it and handed her small box. She opened it took out two slender plastic sticks and handed the box back. Bethany twisted the sticks together making a crackling noise. Then she set the nanite filled sticks on the corpse only to see it rapidly dissolve a few seconds later. In under a minute the corpse was rendered to dust and Samuel and Bethany returned to their squad car across the street.

Bushido: Zendou - Part One Available

I actually forgot I had this blog to update for almost a year it seems. So, it is time for some posts.

Bushido: Zendou - Part One is available as an eBook on Amazon.com the following link will take you right there.

Bushido: Zendou - Part One

A Different Perspective

After a sounding board session with my wife I have found more webs to weave. I also was inspired and encouraged to write some chapters from the perspective of Yokiko.

Yokiko: daughter of Warabe and Takara and sister to Koji. She is in her late teens.

I have never written from the perspective of a young female character before but the challenge intrigues me. I also feel this adds a new level of interest and better rounds out my list characters that are focused on.

Current Progress: 31,145 words

The Warriors of Teroushima

These are some of the people of the land of Teroushima. You will read about them as they endure and fight through the events that unfold before them.

Aron Ozirashu: Grandmaster of the Kage Clan (Special Note: This character was named and reinvisioned to honor my friend Aaron "Ozzie" Rhoda who passed away April 2013)

Asumi Miyamosho: Wife of Mikoto
Banok: Ashigaru of the Hikar Province
Iwao: Haku (Doctor) from the Nagan Province

Kachimi: Shinobi of the Kage Clan

Mikoto Miyamosho: Samurai of the Nagan Province

Onishomu Nagatashi: Samurai of the Nagan Province

Warabe: Ashigaru of the Hikar Province

Zatanaga Yoshimo: Samurai of the Nagan Province