Take a break with a short story I hope will make you smile.
It’s All About Attitude
Karen Black
I woke up flat on my back, the sun blazing in my eyes, and a seagull standing near my feet. To my left, the ocean stretched as far as I could see. To my right, the white sand of a pristine beach reflected the sun. Waves slapped at the sand near my left arm. I had no idea where I was or how I’d gotten there.
Think, Jeremy. What in heaven’s name have you managed to get yourself into now?
Bewildered, a fuzzy memory surfaced. I’d eaten dinner and consumed several glasses of an outstanding cabernet while listening to a rock band until the last song had been sung. After saying good night to the others who had stayed until the end, I stumbled to my stateroom. With a glass of wine in my hand, I strolled onto the small, private balcony to enjoy the cool night air and sip my drink as the ship rocked and swayed over the ocean. Sitting on the rail in the quiet darkness, I’d closed my eyes.
I flexed my ankles, slowly stood, and tested my limbs for mobility. My arms and legs still worked, despite the scrapes and bruises scattered across them. I needed help but saw nothing to suggest any would be found nearby. An inventory of my pockets found a lighter, a wine cork, and a slightly smashed, cellophane-wrapped cigar.
If I had planned a day at the beach, I couldn’t have imagined a more spectacular setting. Unfortunately, my current situation wasn’t planned. I was stranded. Realizing there was no sense in wallowing in self-pity, I pushed myself to my feet and began walking along the spectacularly gorgeous beach. A bird swooped down and landed beside me.
“Are you lost, too?”
He tilted his head in response. The bird reminded me of Hector, a character in one of my favorite books. He should have a name, so that’s what I named him. “Looks like it’s you and me, Hector.”
After walking for a short distance, I noticed a few coconut trees. A single coconut sat on the ground. Scooping up the coconut, I glanced at my new friend, and asked, “Do birds eat coconuts?” He didn’t answer.
After another few minutes’ trek, I noticed something glistening in the sand near the edge of the water and headed toward it. Hector waddled ahead of me. He seemed curious, too. Since it could have been a dangerous creature, we approached cautiously and verified that it wasn’t a sea monster. At least not a live one. Grasping the edge, I pulled the shiny object free. Hector flapped his wings twice, as if he were clapping, then he hopped closer to me.
“These masks were worn for fencing practice,” I explained to the bird. “That’s why the front is steel mesh. It can be useful, but I wish we’d found a sword. We could use one to open this coconut.”
Using the mask as a basket, I placed the coconut in it and continued on my quest to locate humanity.
“Do you suppose there’s a grocery store around the next turn?” Hector squawked.
A steady breeze fluttered through the leaves of trees that became more plentiful the longer we hiked. Except for the sound of the waves, and my occasional comments to my sidekick, I’d heard nothing until a fluttering sound caught my attention. Scanning the area, I located the source. With its pages quivering and flapping in the breeze, an oversized dictionary lay open under a tree. It made me smile. I closed the cover and sat on the book. It made a decent little seat. Hector kept his distance but watched.
From my seat under a tree, I dumped the coconut onto the sand, lifted the mask above my head, and slammed against the fruit as hard as I could. A small crack appeared. The second hit sent a piece of the shell flying, which sent Hector airborne. But the coconut had opened.
“Dinner is served,” I announced, and Hector landed.
Nothing had ever tasted as marvelous as the coconut milk, which I guzzled. Breaking a piece of fruit from the shell, I tossed a morsel to Hector before eating the rest for dinner and plotting my escape from the island.
The ship can’t be far away, I reflected. Otherwise, I would have drowned getting here. I need a signal.
Using the coconut shell as a shovel, I began digging. Soon, a ten-foot-long, five-inch-deep trench, shaped like the letter S marred the smooth sand of the beach. Pleased with my effort, I dug a circle of similar dimension to the right of it, and then another S-shaped ditch.
I stuffed the coconut shell with dictionary pages and dried seaweed that lay scattered along the beach. Ripping the remaining pages from the dictionary, I scattered them throughout the SOS trenches, added dried brush and seaweed to the pile, and waited for a plane or a ship to pass.
The rumble of an engine sounded before the lights of the small aircraft appeared above me. Like a Boy Scout, I was ready. After lighting the pages in the coconut shell, I used it to transfer the fire to my trenches and had a flaming SOS signal within seconds. Then I lit my cigar and waited. Life was good.
The plane circled twice. My signal had been a success. A couple of hours later, a helicopter landed on the beach. I was rescued at dusk, and Hector flew away.
I’ve always loved birds, but never expected a pair of them to move in!
Coming back from the garden one morning this summer, I saw a blue bird on our deck. When I realized he was a budgie, I tried, unsuccessfully, to coax him into my hand. While my husband knocked on neighbors’ doors to ask if anyone lost a bird, I stayed and talked to the little guy. He’d approach me, but never closer than about 18 inches. Because he appeared to be in good weight with sleek feathers, I thought he’d recently escaped from somewhere nearby.
As I continued talking to the elusive creature, a green and yellow flash caught my eye. Yes, it was the other bird in the picture. She flew onto the table beside him. The two were obviously a bonded pair. They stayed for a little while, then flew away. I figured they were gone for good but when they returned a few minutes later, I filled a shallow dish with water, and my husband brought cracked corn and bird seed. After a few pecks at the food, off they went. When they hadn’t returned an hour later, I doubted we’d see them again, and hoped they’d found their way back to their owner. Budgies aren’t native birds and are chased and attacked by the wild birds in the area. The colorful little creatures are also a favorite meal for hawks. Although parrots typically have little homing instinct, I left the food and water on the table, just in case.
For the rest of the day, I checked often but they hadn’t returned. Near dusk, I went out to bring in the dishes and the birds were there, interested in “talking” to me, but not considering allowing me to touch them. Armed with a fishing net and a spaghetti strainer, I caught the female, put her in a cat carrier and brought her into the house near the door. The male came inside to sit with her and we herded him into the carrier, too.
My husband headed to the pet store to buy a bird cage and supplies, while I searched the internet, the humane societies, pet rescues, neighborhood chats, etc. attempting to find someone who’d lost a bonded pair of budgies. After a week of searching with no luck, we ordered a flight cage and gave them names, Kai and Kani.
Kai is named after Malacai, the dragon in my novel “Goldfield Forest,” and Kani’s name came from Makani, a dragon in the novel “Sanctum,” a story I loved, by PTL Perrin. I’m now in the process of taming the feathered dragons and am grateful they don’t breathe fire!
Has a furry or feathered creature ever adopted you? I’d love to hear the story!
While laboring over a title for my next novel, I wondered if other authors have a difficult time finding the right one. After a bit of research, I found some trivia that made me smile.
Most of you have probably seen the movie, “Jaws,” based on Peter Benchley’s novel by the same name. According to Mr. Benchley, he considered over 100 titles, including The Shark, Leviathan Rising, The Jaws of Death, Silence in the Water, and The Jaws of Leviathan. He came up with a winner with a simple one word title, Jaws.
F. Scott Fitzgerald settled on The Great Gatsby, but had second thoughts about not using a title he preferred, Trimalchio in West Egg. In my opinion, he chose the correct one. I wonder if Stephen Crane’s novel, The Red Badge of Courage, would have sold as many copies if it had used his other consideration, Private Fleming, His Various Battles?
Margaret Mitchell planned to name her novel Pansy, after the main character. After changing Pansy’s name to Scarlett, she considered Bugles Sang True and Not in Our Stars before settling on the final title, Gone With the Wind.
***
Enough book trivia! Are you in the mood for a free short fantasy story? Download your copy below.
Monique is a witch who associates with no one but Dante, a raven. At Dante’s insistence, she accepts an invitation for a weekend at an enchanted hotel, where she rescues a kitten from the jaws of a goblin and is pointed in a new direction.
Even as a kid, Juan does what he needs to do to survive. He believes in the rule of law, more or less, but crime is a part of his life. “Juan’s Path to Justice” tells about his life growing up in a rough desert town. Juan begins a journey where loyalty serves him well and takes him from the streets of Mexico to the mountains of Wyoming.
Although “Juan’s Path to Justice” is an introduction to “Deadly Repercussions,” it’s a complete tale, and doesn’t end with a cliffhanger! The first chapter is below, and followed by links to major retailers where you can download the rest of the short book for free.
I hope you enjoy it.
JUAN’S PATH TO JUSTICE
Santiago’s Refugio was always open. For that reason, Jorge claimed a corner table as his own. Pine that had darkened over the years lined the walls of the century-old tavern and the aged wood absorbed the sunlight that shined through the windows in the dimly lit space. Facing the door with their backs to the wall, two soldiers from Jorge’s gang sat at his table.
“Another tequila and a Corona,” one man hollered. “My bottle is almost empty!”
A young girl scurried to the bar to get the drinks.
“Jorge thinks Alejandro has become a problem,” the man declared.
“His talent for repairing guns and his knowledge of the Chihuahuan Desert spread his name for years,” the other replied. “Now, his refusal to pledge to the Malevolent Disciples has gotten attention. Alejandro’s esteem is raised among the smaller bands. If he collects a following among them, we can be challenged.”
As the two men continued their conversation, they paid no attention to Manuel Velasquez, when he quickly finished his beer, then ambled toward the front door.
Manuel strolled casually through the parking lot, past his truck and around to the back of Santiago’s. Then he ran.
Short of breath from his quarter-mile run, Manuel pounded on his brother’s front door. “Alejandro! Trouble is coming!”
“How long do we have?” Alejandro opened the door for Manuel and then barricaded it behind him.
“It is Jorge. He is not far behind me,” Manuel panted.
Fourteen-year-old Juan climbed down the ladder from the loft where he had been sleeping. “Hi, Uncle Manny. What’s going on, Papa?”
“Trouble might be coming.”
Manuel helped Juan’s father lift the kitchen table, move it three feet to the side and raise the trapdoor that was almost invisible in the center of the wooden floor. Alejandro dashed to his bed, grabbed the quilt, and shoved it into Juan’s arms.
“Down you go,” he directed. “Don’t make a sound. No matter what you hear, stay there until Uncle Manny or I come to get you.”
As Juan climbed down the steep steps to the small enclosure, Alejandro pulled a wedge of cheese and a container of orange juice from the refrigerator and grabbed the bread from the counter. He handed them down to his son, along with three bottles of water and a flashlight.
“Take this. It might be a day or even two before it is safe for you to come out.”
“I can fight,” Juan said.
“Not yet, my young warrior. There is no more time for talking.”
“Are they coming to kill you, Papa?”
“No. I think they are coming to recruit me, or maybe to try to frighten me. Now climb inside and be silent.”
Alejandro slipped a revolver into his belt behind his back and pointed to the loft. “Go up and wait. It is better if Jorge thinks I am alone.”
Manuel climbed the ladder, as Alejandro turned off the lights and went into the bedroom to wait.
Only minutes later, Juan felt the vibration from the thud of the front door slamming against the wall. Followed by two men, Jorge strode inside and in a hoarse voice hollered, “Amigo, it is Jorge! We need to talk!”
When Alejandro walked from the bedroom to greet his uninvited guests, he was met with an explosion of gunfire. Juan closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his ears. He was afraid that this time, his father would not lift the cover to his sanctuary.
The smell of smoke and gunpowder seeped into the enclosure where Juan was crouched in the corner on the stone floor of the wooden compound. He listened to the men talking in muffled tones and the shuffling of their footsteps until there was no sound. He waited.
A husky voice said, “Let’s get him outside and load him on the truck. We can drop him in the desert outside of town. Grab his shoulders and I’ll get …”
Before the sentence was finished, there was another eruption of gunfire, accompanied by a scream that sounded like the devil himself. A thud was followed by the creek of the floorboard near the ladder to his loft. Again, everything became quiet. Afraid to breathe, Juan stayed immobile while he listened for any noises above him.
A loud, gravelly moan filled the silence before Juan heard the rage in the voice of his uncle. “When you killed my brother, you signed your death warrant, Jorge.”
“Wait!” Jorge’s hoarse command was followed by a single gunshot.
Manuel crossed the kitchen to the door to the outside. Less than a minute passed, and footsteps signaled Manuel’s return.
“Stay where you are, Juan,” Manuel called. “I will come back for you when I know it is safe.”
Tears trickled from Juan’s eyes and dripped untouched to the stone floor. His father was dead.
Manuel lifted Alejandro and carried him to the bed where he gently placed his brother’s body before he dragged Jorge and the two others outside and heaved them up into the bed of the pickup truck. He tossed their weapons alongside them, went back into the house, dragged the table from above the hideaway, and pulled the door open.
“I am so sorry, Juan. Your father was a good man. They killed him before he had any chance to talk, but they will never kill again. Tomorrow, we will have a funeral for Alejandro. Tonight, you will have a lesson on the consequences of pledging to a street gang.”
Manuel covered the hideaway and Juan helped him lift the kitchen table back over it before he went to his father’s side. He stroked Alejandro’s cheek and whispered, “I will remember what you taught me. And I will fight for justice, no matter what.”
Juan pulled the sheet over his father and followed his uncle to the truck.
After an hour’s drive, they were outside of the ambient lights from the scattered homes of the small town. Off the roadway and into the darkness and the solitude of the desert, Manuel drove to a spot where it was unlikely for people to wander.
“You can help me, or stay in the truck,” Manuel said, when he turned off the engine.
Without a second thought, Juan hopped out of the cab and walked to the back of the pickup. Before Manuel directed him, Juan reached for the leg of one of his father’s murderers, as his uncle grabbed the other. The two of them dragged Jorge’s body from the truck bed and let it drop to the sandy ground. They did the same with the other two killers.
A shallow grave would do little to protect the bodies from the rapid deterioration that the sun would encourage, or to shield them from the feast that the mountain lions or coyotes would find. For that reason, Manuel didn’t bother to bury them. He closed the tailgate and he and his nephew turned toward home.
About ten miles from the road, Manuel stopped the truck. He removed the license plate and heaved it as far as he could, then set the vehicle on fire.
“We have a three-hour walk ahead of us,” he said to Juan, “and a lot to talk about. You will come to live with me. Your father would have wanted that.”
“I will stay in my home,” Juan countered. “My father would understand. I am ahead in my classes. In two years, maybe less, I will finish high school.”
“You are only fourteen, Juan. You can’t hold down a job and go to school. How will you pay for food and electricity?”
“I have a job,” Juan said stubbornly. “And I have money.”
“What job and what money?”
“For a long time, Papa has hidden money under the stones of the escape room. He said it was for my college. But if I don’t finish high school, college won’t matter, and so that money will buy food and pay bills until I get a paying job.”
“You said that you have a job,” Manuel said. “Is it a job for no pay?”
“There is a border agent who allows me to cross and sometimes asks what I have seen. I will talk to him. I will ask him if I can look more closely and get money for the information.”
“Is that border agent named Diego?” Manuel asked.
“I will not tell you his name. We have an agreement not to speak of our arrangement.”
With a sigh and a nod of his head, Manuel accepted Juan’s response. Loyalty was a family trait.
His nephew knew the mountains and the desert better than most of the border agents who patrolled it. And they knew Juan. They called him Chameleon because of the way he could disappear right before their eyes.
Not happy that his young nephew was practically working as an informant, Manuel knew Juan was wise beyond his years. In school, he was lucky enough to have gotten the attention of a teacher, who encouraged his fascination with education. She pushed him to excel, and he did.
“Besides, I cannot leave Marissa,” Juan continued. “I help her and her mother with some chores.”
“Tell me about Marissa.”
“She is my girlfriend. Marissa and her mother live very close to my house. Marissa and I are going to be married.”
“Aren’t you a bit young to be thinking of marriage?” Despite the circumstances, Manuel grinned.
“You know Papa married when he was sixteen. In eighteen months, I will be sixteen.”
Manuel understood that relocating Juan was going to be difficult and maybe impossible. Without the boy’s agreement to stay with him, his uncle did not doubt that Juan would keep leaving Manuel’s home and returning to Mexico. He was his father’s son.
“Tomorrow, I will meet Marissa and her mother. If her mother agrees to watch over you, I will agree that you can stay in your home. But you must stay in close touch with me and go to school every single day.”
“I will agree,” Juan said. He stopped walking and offered his hand to Manuel.
His uncle clasped Juan’s hand, surprised at the youngster’s sturdy grip.
“We have a contract,” Juan said, his jaw set with determination.
For the next hour, they alternated between a slow jog and a fast pace and covered the ground quickly. When they got within sight of his brother’s house, Manuel said, “Wait here. Stay out of sight until I signal you.”
Juan waited by a wooden fence and crouched in the shadows. He watched his uncle make a wide circle around the yard and approach his house from the back side. It wasn’t more than a minute before Manuel opened the front door and gave his nephew the all-clear sign.
“Do you think more will come?” Juan asked.
“No. Jorge is the only one who had a vendetta against your papa and unfortunately for his two friends, they followed him blindly. If we did our job right, it will be days before others even know they are missing.”
“What will we tell the police about Papa?”
“We will tell them that intruders broke in and your Papa confronted them. Before he could defend himself, they shot him. We will tell them I was up in the loft with you when it happened. I fired back at them and hit one or maybe two of them and they ran out. I will give descriptions of the intruders. You were behind me and couldn’t get a good look. Can you stick to that story?”
“I can, Uncle Manny.”
“Now it is time to call the police. I will stay with you for two days. Tomorrow morning, you will take me to meet Marissa and explain what happened. We will plan the funeral service for the day after.”
If the police suspected that Manuel’s story was not accurate, they gave no indication.
Alejandro and Juan lived in a rough area. Gang violence was not uncommon in the nearby town and occasionally it overflowed into the homes that were situated on the outskirts. Their assumption was that Alejandro’s death was one of those occasions.
Three Years Later
Juan was in Mexico, but just barely. It was late afternoon, and he was on his way home from Texas when he heard a familiar voice.
“Hold up there, son.” Juan stopped and turned toward the sound. He recognized the voice. The man who called to him must be hidden behind the cactus or hunkered down in the gully.
***
The following links will take you to the entire short story. It’s afree download.
The hummingbird babies have hatched and fledged and we’re seeing tiny nectar drinkers hovering in the flowers. Migrating birds, butterflies, and baby critters are my favorite part of summer. The herbs loved that June heatwave and have flourished. I’ve got enough parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and oregano to last a year. Oregano notwithstanding, I’m sure Simon and Garfunkel would be pleased. Do you remember that song?
If you’re looking for your next novel and enjoy epic adventure and fantasy with a touch of realism, you might enjoy my new release, Goldfield Forest. It’s on sale for $1.99 through July 31st.
In 1783, August Alexander becomes lost during an archaeological expedition in the Amazon jungle. After wandering for days, he has little hope of survival before a mystical clan saves his life. August doesn’t realize his ancestors were guardians of the fae, or that his encounter with the clan of lion people sets off a series of events that spans two centuries.
Like August, Maria Goldfield is an archaeologist. She is also a 21st-century guardian of the fae. When Lena, a supernatural lioness, needs help to prevent the destruction of the rainforest and the demise of its magical inhabitants, she turns to Maria. Risking her life and the future of the little people she protects in Goldfield Forest, Maria agrees to accompany the lioness to the Amazon jungle. There, they confront Bagrim, a warlock, and fight to protect the plants that provide the only cures for illnesses that could cause the death of otherwise immortal fae worldwide.
The novel has Ivan’s seal of approval! Of course, Ivan approves almost anything that doesn’t wake him.
Here’s what some editorial reviewers had to say about Goldfield Forest.
“This enchanting novel will transport you to a world of magic and wonder, filled with mystery, intrigue, and unforgettable characters that will keep you turning the pages until the very end.” Midwest Book Review
“…a narrative filled with intrigue, suspense, and fantastical creatures, keeping readers eagerly flipping pages through fantastical settings to discover the fate of these highly lovable characters.” Readers’ Favorite
“…a fantasy lover’s fantasy. This novel is sprinkled with fairy dust. There are little people everywhere, waving and winking at you … with natural imagery, you’re going to love spending time in these forests.” Independent Book Review
I hope your summer is filled with magic. Thank you for subscribing to my newsletter!
Stories By Karen 