Happy Birthday
March 25, 2012
“What is it? What did you get me?” asked the rambunctious little boy named Darren. His mother walked into the room holding a bag that he knew would certainly contain his birthday present.
“Oh sweetie, you’ll just have to wait.” said his mother. Her loving eyes playfully narrowed into a weak scorn. She loved her son and she wanted to make his perfect day one that he would not soon forget. She knew she had picked out the perfect gift she just needed to wrap it and hide it.
“Oh come on Mom! Just a peak! Everybody else always gets me okay presents, but yours are the best.”
“Nope. You’ll just have to wait until Friday for your birthday party.” she replied. She knew he was going to have a hard time containing himself. She looked at her husband reassuringly. “And Harry, could you put this up so Mr. Sticky Fingers won’t end up ‘accidentally’ opening his gift to early.”
“Fine. You guys never let me have any fun anyway. Why would anything else change? It’s only my eighth birthday for cripes sakes.” he said with a pouting bottom lip.
Today was Monday. Darren knew his tiny little brain couldn’t possibly wait that long to open that present. Immediately he decided he was going to scheme his way into peering into that delicious box. He had to see what lie within. Even if it meant getting in a little bit of trouble.
It took him many hours of scouring around the house to find where his present was hidden. He had to hide his scouting missions because if his parents noticed what he was up to the jig would surely be up.
On Wednesday he eventually found it. The top shelf of his parents closet. They had tried covering it with some older sweaters but some of the wrapping paper still shown through.
Target acquired, now it was time to move in for the kill.
Darren waited until the evening when his parents had left to go to a friends house. They sometimes left him alone at home when they wouldn’t be gone for long. This was his only opportunity. He had all the steps laid out ahead of time. All it took was a quick hand and a sensitive ear.
When they said their goodbye and walked out of the door Darren sprang into work.
He raced to the garage and brought the step ladder and a roll of clear tape with him up to his parents bedroom.
He locked eyes on the present and quickly retrieved it the way he had practiced it in his mind.
Success. So far so good.
It was beautiful. Bright blue paper with a golden bow to top it off. He decided that if he just removed the pieces of tape that were holding the wrapping together he should be able to slide out his prize take a peek. Later he would replace them and just follow the folds to make it seem like he never even touched it. He even took a note of how the sweaters rested on the present before his retrieval.
The plan was flawless.
For each sliver of tape that he removed he checked over his shoulder. He perked up, wide eyed like a meerkat, at every sound that the house made. He knew he would surely be punished if he were caught. He kept up his pace like a surgeon trying to save a life. Delicate work that had to be done quickly.
Finally he got to the brown box that was hidden. It revealed nothing. He listened for his parents and continued further into the mystery. Just a peek is all he desired…but his urged yearned for more.
As he pulled back the flaps of the box to reveal his little surprise.
What he saw left him feeling a little perplexed, but excited none the less. It may not be exactly what he wanted, but he knew how to get it.
He gave himself a devilish little smile.
***
Jessica and Harry pulled into the driveway having only been out of the house for 45 minutes. They had just gotten back from a friends house where they dropped off some Tupperware they had borrowed. As they walked up to their front door they could smell smoke. They feared their son, whom they had left alone for only a few minutes, was in danger.
They threw open the door to see their young boy sitting at the dining room table happily eating a piece of blackened toast. Smoke still hung in the air throughout the house.
“What’s happened here?” they said in unison.
“Sorry to ruin the surprise. But I couldn’t help myself.” said the little red-headed rascal they called their son.
The little boy took hold of a butter knife and applied some more butter to his slice of charred toast. There were several plates with burnt up slices on top of them. Small stacks of ten each dripping with butter scattered around the table.
“A toaster! The best birthday present ever! I love you mommy and daddy!” said the tiny future-arsonist. He slipped out of his chair and gave his parents the nearly eight year old equivalent of a bear hug.
Jessica and Harry looked at each other with curiosity.
Jessica spoke up. “Honey, what toaster are you talking about? We don’t own a toaster.” She tried to hide her growing anger. Her son had nearly burnt the house down.
“Jessica,” started Harry. “The toaster was for you. Happy early birthday.”
Harry tried to compensate. “At least he didn’t find the Transformer we bought him.”
Darren offered them both a heavily buttered slice of carbon and asked, “Well, if the toaster wasn’t for me, can I still get my Transformer?”
His parents agreed. They had burnt toast for dinner and Darren had is Transformer early.
The plan had worked perfectly.
Ideas
March 17, 2012
I got another short story coming.
I didn’t plan it. It just showed up like an unexpected visit from an uncle that has that funny smell. Don’t get me wrong, you love him, he’s your uncle…but that smell. You know what I mean.
It’s one of those moments of Writer’s Non-block. If that’s a thing.
As a matter of fact the idea came to me at about 1 a.m. this morning. Like lightning….
Oh…you’ll see what I did there soon enough…
::Rubs hands together menacingly:::
So yes, this is a short post now telling you that I will have a longer (and hopefully a better) post tomorrow. I could have just surprised you with some productivity by displaying a new short story tomorrow. You would have made a double take. But I’m not going to use too much energy for this post. I’m in the writing mood. I’ve got the basic story down…now I just need to edit and make it better.
This additional brain usage will prevent me from making much more than that awesome pun you read above.
And a few notes: (in convenient listy goodness)
1. This will be more of a shorter story but it won’t be a flash fiction.
2. The reasoning behind this story is something I heard about writing. I’m not sure where I heard this but this is the idea.
There are two kinds of stories. One is a story of ‘The hero goes on a journey’. The second is ‘A stranger comes to town’.
I like the idea of “a stranger comes to town”. It’s so mysterious. So cool. So here’s my take on that. A stranger comes to town.
3. It’s not going to be the most original idea ever…you’ve probably heard of a variation of it. But this one will be distinctly mine.
It’ll be called The Man in Blue.
Bottoms Up
March 14, 2012
In the summer of 1974 I was in love.
Her name was Cynthia Herron. She had braces, red hair, and a slight overbite. A consummate beauty.
I jumped at the opportunity when she invited me to a party.
It was a pool party for her 11th birthday.
Everything would have gone according to plan had it not been for that diving contest.
I hardly knew how to swim, let alone dive, but if I wanted to win her hand (and I did) I knew I would have to meet any challenge.
We formed a line behind the board. All the girls watched us guys. They whispered their picks for winners. I was third in the queue.
First up was Tommy. He was built like a can of sausages. He flew like one too. A cannonball resulted in a big splash. Cynthia was not impressed.
The second was Aaron. He was shaped like a pencil that had been broken and taped back together. He went for the jacknife. There was a loud pop as his belly hit the water. It barely pequed her interest.
Finally I was up. My heart raced. If I wanted to win I needed to make sure that I won on perfect form. that would impress her.
So I went for the perfect dive.
I put my ten-year-old toes up to the edge of the board. It felt like I were staring down the side of a building. My head was dizzy. Time slowed to a hazy ripple.
I took a breath and closed my eyes. With a bend of the knees and a hop from my heels I went floating through the air. I felt ecstasy on my dismount. The tuning fork in my mind rang with peace. I knew I was going to slide right into that pool and come out to applause.
The perfect dive.
As I entered the water I could feel total freedom. The water rushed past my ears. The cold water gripped my body. I swam out a few strokes while under before I let buoyancy release me back to the surface.
I felt so confident.
Until I realized my swim trunks were floating next to me.
Bottoms Up – D.A. Bancroft
Journey’s End (Story & Post)
August 3, 2011
He was battered and bruised. Sweat was dripping from his brow. Heat peirced his mind. He was exhausted. He stopped walking and considered his future. It didn’t look well.
“This will be my demise,” he thought to himself. “No man could continue in these conditions. I pray the Lord meets me with comfort on the other side.”
The trip was a disaster. His entire expedition crew started with 36 men. Now, after nearly 7 months lost in the jungle, it was just him. His last mate had succumbed to disease, probably malaria, nearly three weeks earlier. He wasn’t in any condition fit for traveling either. He was sure he had a fever, dehydrated, and starving.
The bones in his feet felt like gravel. He couldn’t go on.
“I will lay here. Maybe the heat will take me quickly.” he mumbled to himself.
He pulled off his pack. It didn’t have anything in it but it was still a relief to take it off. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad. It would only take a little while. He was certain the only reason he was still standing was because of his sheer willpower.
But now his will had run out. He no longer wanted to continue.
He looked out into the landscape and took one last look at what drew him to this jungle. His expedition was sent here by King Ferdinand II in order to explore the new territories his country had claimed. He would be the first to pave the way for new colonies. But from the very beginning things had gone awry.
“It would be beautiful if it were not so venomous.” he mused. “Maybe the next group will come and find my dry bones. They will then bury me at home. That is the most fitting thing I can hope for.”
In his breast pocket he felt the paper. It was the last letter he had written to his wife, Emily. It had never been sent, but he kept it close to him in hopes that, if he were found, she might get to read his last thoughts. His thoughts of her.
In his last surveying of the land, he spotted a small flicker. A small fire.
A camp?
Rescue?
He knew he couldn’t make the walk down the valley. His legs would not move anymore after he stopped. His only chance was to call out and hope they heard.
He knew he would use all of his energy to just get the words out but it was his only chance.
“Still,” he said to himself, “I must try.”
He screamed until the blood rushed into his head. Before he blacked out he remembered how Emily looked on a Sunday morning. Maybe he would see her again one day…
***
“Where have you been?” the soft-spoken shadowy figure asked him.
“I- I’ve been-” the man tried coughing out the words. The figure then gave him a little water to ease his pain.
The person began, “We didn’t hear word from your journey so a rescue team was sent out. We were getting concerned you wouldn’t come back. We have been searching for your team for months. Up until today, we thought all hope was gone, but we only found you. What happened?”
“I’ve been-” he looked for the words. “House sitting.” he whispered before he passed out again.
Emily looked at her exhausted husband. He was alive but was clearly defeated.
What had happened to make him utter such strange words?
Journey’s End © D.A. Bancroft
I”M BACK! No more house/animal sitting.
I know….the story was pretty lame…but I feel relieved like the weary traveler.
Full internet access. No dogs. No cats. No geckos. No turtles. No frogs. No more cleaning of animal feces and urine. No more wondering how the light switches work. No more anything.
Oh wait… I got hired.
So I guess let the worrying begin!
I would love to tell you all about the crazy hiring process that I’m going through but, hey, that’s not going to be very entertaining nor informative. That’s because I just do what they tell me and hope I’m doing it right.
In short, I will have less than a week before I get access to textbooks/materials/classroom/computers before students show up. So I will have to plan my entire year in the matter of a full work week.
Still, I’m looking forward to it!
I understand that it’s going to be hard and annoying at times but at least it’s my room. My plans. My effort. It’s all mine.
I’m not trying to sound very possessive or anything but I just haven’t been solely responsible for a classroom yet. I’ve only interned and that felt like there was a lot of ‘hand-holding’ involved.
I have a lot to say that I haven’t been able to say in the past week or so…so expect that to show up on here within the next week. This is really more of a “hey, i’m back” post…
So, what did you do while I was gone? (I hope it involves monster trucks and not cleaning up dog crap.)
D.A.
Moving Ahead
July 10, 2011
Thunk.
Julian’s bloodshot eyes suddenly opened. He turned to see that his alarm clock read 6:32 a.m., much too early to start a day. He lay half-naked in his bed clinging to his childhood Batman blanket. Sleep was still in his eyes and the sun was just barely peaking through his broken blinds.
Three hours of sleep wasn’t going to be enough to get through today.
Julian Sanders wondered what had woken him. Did he hear something? He threw off the old tatter of a blanket sat upright in bed. After some hard blinking and rubbing of his eyes, he turned and placed his feet on the bare wooden floor. He kept his breathing shallow as he tried to listen for another sound.
After some time of waiting, and nothing happening, he assumed it was safe. Julian contemplated not getting out of bed. Maybe he could lay back down a get another few hours of rest.
Thunk.
The sound seemed to come from his living room.
Did somebody break in?
He didn’t have anything of value, except maybe his pitiful DVD collection. And what kind of burgler would work at six in the morning?
“Nah,” thought Julian. “Nobody in their right mind would be up this early.”
Maybe it was his neighbors in the apartment above had dropped something on the floor. Julian contemplated going up there and complaining. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Now he heard muffled voices. But these were definitely coming from his living room.
Julian’s mind raced and he had to stop himself from panicking.
Somebody was out there.
He knew he had to see what was going on, he had to do something. Julian glided his way toward his closet. He didn’t think to reach for pants, or a phone, but instead grabbed his Louisville Slugger.
“I’m not going out there with nothing.” he thought to himself. The plan that formed in his mind involved a lot of bravado and yelling. While he may not be a very loud and aggressive man he expected the bat would do most of the work for him.
“Okay, Julian, just stay cool. Just walk out there and get ready for anything that comes at you. Remember, you’re the boss.” Julian’s conscious spoke to him. “These punks probably don’t even expect me to be home. So, I’ll just go out there and demand they leave. They’ll be out of here in a split second.”
He took a few deep breaths and convinced himself that he was brave. Julian kicked open his bedroom door and stepped out to confront whoever was out there.
He expected to see one or two guys wearing black ski masks and carrying crowbars. Maybe they would be carrying sacks with all of his things stuffed inside. They were probably tip-toeing around as well.
Instead, he opened the door and saw two rather normal looking men in uniforms. There were a lot of open cardboard boxes scattered around the room, some of which contained his possessions.
There was also a large opening in his wall that emanated a green glow of light. These men did not seemed alarmed by the unnatural object whatsoever nor the half naked man facing them armed only with a baseball bat.
The men in the yellow and blue one piece work-suits continued onward, moving boxes to the middle of his living room, and carrying on normal conversation.
“Who- who do you think you are?” Julian managed to squawk out. He had wished his words sounded more menacing.
The men finally took notice of him.
“Oh. Hi there.” said one man casually. “Did you not get the notice? We were told you had gotten notified of your departure.” said the man with blonde hair that was holding Julian’s table lamp. His voice was bright and cheery.
This was discomforting for Julian this early in the morning.
“What notice?” cracked Julian’s voice.
“I guess not.” replied a mustached moving man now walking in through the portal. The bill of his yellow hat was bent in the middle, causing it to look like a cartoon duck bill. He grabbed a box and walked back into the doorway, leaving Julian behind, dumbstruck.
“Did he just walk through my wall?” Julian said. His eyes were locked on the green passageway.
“Yeah, now I know you didn’t read the letter of notice.” said the friendly looking blonde. “You’re moving. Today. And you’re also coming with us.”
“Did that guy just – walk – through -my wall?” Julian repeated with obvious discomfort.
“Yeah, if you would have read the notice you wouldn’t be so concerned right now.” said the kindly man.
After a few seconds of incomprehension Julian allowed a small dribble of drool fall out of his mouth. He had just seen a man walk in and out through a solid wall. It might have been very early for Julian, but he knew that something wasn’t quite right.
Taking notice of Julian’s confusion the blonde man set down the lamp and slowly approached with open hands.
“Okay bud, just take a seat.” He guided Julian by the shoulders to sit on a box full of his unimpressive DVD collection. “Don’t flip a lid. Breathe. Just. Breathe.” The man’s voice was soothing. “Here, drink some water.” he handed him a nearby bottle of water.
Julian wiped the drool from his face with the back of his hand and began to drink. His eyes were still locked on the odd opening in the wall.
The moving man extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Frank. That’s Grant. We work for a moving company – of sorts.”
“I- I don’t understand.” said Julian. His eyes finally broke away from the portal and met those of Frank’s.
“Of sorts?” Julian asked. ” There’s a hole in my wall. I don’t know many moving men that put glowing holes in your house.”
“Oh, no, that’s not a hole per se. That’s what we in the business like to call a ‘Dimential Rift Membrane.’ Most other folks just call it a ‘rift’ for short.”
Grant walked back into the room and tried to explain what he could. “We work for a company that relocates those who have been displaced by the Korring Effect. That’s when people from one dimension end up in another by accident. Our records show that you were moved here, and we’re here to bring you back.”
This guy wasn’t making any sense. Julian thought of the possible explanations of his current state of mind. Maybe he was hallucinating. After all, he did order take out from a very questionable restaurant last night. Perhaps he was still sleeping and a gas leak is causing him to have a trippy dream. Still, everything felt so uncomfortable it had to be real.
After a few awkward seconds Grant spoke again.
“Hey buddy, can you get up? I need to take that box next.”
Julian decided now was as good of a time as any to stand up and fight these guys. He was determined that he wasn’t just going to get robbed, or moved, or evicted without a fight.
“Get away from my stuff!” he leap up from his box and held his bat in a swinging position. “I’ll hit you so hard your mustache will fly back to where it came from.” Julian didn’t think too hard about his insult, but he figured that if he said it loud enough, they would stop what they were doing.
“Mr. Sanders, just stay calm. We will explain everything but you just need to calm down.” said Frank.
“How about I don’t calm down and you explain everything, or I make that hat become part of your skull.” Now his threat felt a little more convincing.
“You live in a dimension that is not your own. You were moved here when you were young, you just don’t remember. Our company checked your records and decided that it was time you came back to your original dimension. You were slated to move today. It’s not a big deal. It happens all the time.” explained Frank. His voice had a casual tone.
“How can you just “move” me to some other place. I live here. This apartment is my home. I don’t want to crawl through some hole and end up who-knows-where.” he complained. He searched for something else. “Plus, that thing will probably give me cancer or something!”
“No, you don’t understand.” said the man with the mustache. “We move people through, what you might call, ‘wormholes’ to other dimensions. It’s totally safe technology, just this dimension hasn’t discovered it’s wide spread use yet.”
“So, you mean this is like, some Stephen Hawking stuff?” Julian managed.
“We don’t know who that is, but if it makes you calm down, then yes. Yes it is.” said Frank cooly. “Just put down the bat and we’ll get this process started.”
After a few moments, Julian calmed down enough to have a seat. Frank pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.
“This is a copy of the notice you were supposed to have read. Read it and then you’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.” said Frank as he handed the paper to Julian.
It took a few minutes, but Julian read every word.
After another few minutes, Julian stopped crying.
He was placed in the wrong dimension. Something called the Korring Effect causes rips in time and space that mixes things up.
Maybe this is why he always felt alone in this world. Maybe this is why he never found it too easy to live in a world where people lived like this. He always felt out of place.
This could be his opportunity to start over; to fit in.
“Okay, I think I’m ready to – leave – I guess.”
Great!” said Frank. “Come with me. Grant here will take care of the rest of your stuff and I’ll just guide you through.”
“Okay. Just don’t break anything.” said Julian. He dropped his bat and figured Grant would take care of it.
They walked up to the gateway and looked into the green swirl that seemed so sophisticated and terrifying. The neon glow seemed to churn within. There was no sound, nor was there anything to identify inside. It looked like he was going to walk into a dense cloud.
“Now, just walk through. There’s a little step, so don’t fall.”
“Okay…”
Julian took a deep breath, and stepped into the green world that lay beyond.
He was trusting his life to these two men; men he had never met before today. Men with funny yellow hats. Men who were comfortable around the idea of a wormhole.
He wasn’t sure why, but he decided to close his eyes. Maybe it would make the decision less terrifying if he didn’t see what he was getting himself into.
Julian took one step and found nothing for his foot to land on.
He fell.
He decided in that moment to not open his eyes. He would prefer to not see how he died.
Sooner than expected, he hit the ground, face first, in a heap.
When he opened his eyes he saw Frank, heartily laughing, helping him up.
“I said don’t fall.” Frank chuckled.
“Sorry.” Julian squeaked.
“That’s alright. Now you know. Keep your eyes open next time.” Frank opened his arms wide and looked all around him. With a big smile he said. “Welcome to Plane #243 D, Alpha! Your new home.”
After looking around the building he was now inside, his breath was taken away. This was his new home.
Julian acted accordingly.
After another few minuets, he stopped crying and took his first steps as a new resident of Plane #243 D, Alpha; wherever that was.
“Hey, uh, Frank?” asked Julian.
“Yeah?” replied Frank.
“I think I need some pants.”
Explaining My Delay
July 4, 2011
I’m not going to post a story tonight.
Yeah…it seems silly to draw attention to my own ineptitude but there you go.
Last week, when I thought up of this thing, I said to myself, “Now that’s an original thought, it will be a breeze to think of a story behind that.” Now I look at the idea and I say, “Wow, what’s the point of this story? Where is it going?” It just doesn’t have a real point. It’s pretty aimless.
I even rewrote it at least 3 times. New ideas were tried. Different characters were brought in. Nothing seemed to be able to fix the problem of the plot. There was just no way for me to squeeze a plot out of this thing.
I will freely admit that environments and kooky (if this is even how you spell this word) situations usually lead me in developing characters and stories. This time it seems that this process has failed me. Or maybe I failed the process. Either way, I always end up developing a story second. Maybe that’s a shortcoming that I need to work on.
So I’m going to try again, from scratch, and try to focus on a good and interesting story first. Then I will allow myself to develop the characters and environment.
I’m going to try to think up something and get a story done some time in the middle of this week.
I was looking forward to getting something done, but I’m not going to try and throw something up here that would only confuse you and embarrass me.
Just stick with me, I promise I’ll actually get something done sometime,
D.A.
When I Grow Up
June 7, 2011
“I checked every room for 15 minutes Mr. Krantz. I opened every drawer, cupboard, and box I could find. It wasn’t there.” the sweaty man huffed for air. “I think our tip was from a bad source.”
“Yeah right. You said the same thing three hours ago and I found you sitting in the kitchen eating a box of Yum-Yums.” the man known as Krantz spat back at the other. “And I don’t care where our information comes from, I just do what I’m told to.”
“Well I wouldn’t have needed to eat something if we could take a break every now and then.” the now visibly upset fat man, named Reed, walked back into the living room. He put his hands on his hips in exasperation. “Let’s just let the boss know it ain’t here and we can move on with our lives.” He loosened his tie.
“The only way we’re going to be able to ‘move on with our lives'” Krantz mockingly used finger quotes. “Is if we are allowed to keep them. If we go back to the boss without what we’re here for, he’s going to shoot us, hang us, kill our pets, and then write mean letters about us to our families. And trust me on this, my grandmother couldn’t handle anything like that.” Krantz’s nasally voice hung in the air.
Reed reluctantly gave in. “I know, I know. But I get sleepy when my blood sugar is low, so if you want me to keep working-.”
“Shut up and grow a pair!” Krantz interrupted. “Just keep looking!” Krantz lit a cigarette out of frustration. “We will turn this place upside down if we need to. Remember it’s a small green box. It shouldn’t weigh much either. It’s just a jewel.” Small clouds of smoke filled the air around his head.
These two men were looking for the Jewel of Yamamoto, an ancient gem that had been discovered to be one of the largest found in the eastern hemisphere. Earlier that day, they had been assigned by the owner of the gen to guard it during a private display. Everything was fine until a child had ran in and took out most of the security. She also took the jewel. Since the display box was also taken, the tracking device hidden inside had signaled this house as being the location of the jewel. So they followed.
Across the street, in the second story of an abandoned house, sat a little girl in a window. In her possession was a Hello Kitty walkie talkie, a Girl Scout uniform, and a backpack with one small green box that didn’t weigh very much. The tracking device for the jewel lay hidden in the house where the two men were arguing.
Marla switched channels on her walkie talkie. “Come in Condor, this is Bumble Bee.” her childish voice sounded strangely mature.
“Go ahead Bumble Bee, this is Condor.” the voice broke through the static.
“I’ve got the package. Request new orders for delivery. The first drop point is hot. I repeat. First drop point is hot.”
“Wait, you’ve got the jewel? Already?” the voice sounded surprised.
“Yup.” Marla stated with a level of confidence that was similar to a car mechanic talking about transmissions.
“Okay, one minuet.” the man on the other end muted his channel. He was probably checking with the higher ups to make sure they understood the situation. They would also give her new orders.
The man came back on the line. “Alright, you drop point is Honeycomb. Repeat, Honeycomb.” That was the code word for the park near her house. Marla loved that park. That’s where the big swings were. Plus, that’s where her and her friends would play hide and go seek. But most importantly, it would make her trip home shorter. She didn’t have much time.
“Okay Condor. Honeycomb is go.” She was about to end the transmission when the other voice came through again.
“What did you do about the guys on your tail? If you leave in the open, they could find you again. HQ needs an answer.”
“Nothing. Yet.” She almost forgot to get rid of these bad guys. She was almost certain one of them actually saw her steal the jewel. It would be necessary to make sure they didn’t follow her or find out who she was. That could make her job much harder. It would also mean she would have to skip school for a couple more days. But she had a spelling test on Friday, so that wasn’t an option.
Marla needed to think of a plan, and quick. If she wasn’t home before six her mother would get home, and then she would be in real trouble. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of them. See you at Honeycomb. Over and out.”
She clicked her walkie to the other station. This station was rigged to listen in on the bug she planted in the house across the street. She though it would be a good idea if she was going to leave the tracking device their as well. Every word that was spoken between the two men was heard clearly. She had the element of surprise.
“Fine, I’ll check the living room. Again.” Reed huffed.
Marla heard him move close to the hidden microphone she had planted. If he finds it, she thought, then they will be on to me. She needed to do something. As she looked around her bag she realized that she only had the equipment she used from the heist. She also had her Girl Scout uniform and a few boxes of cookies.
And just like that, she had her plan.
“The living room is clean Mr. Krantz.” Reed yelled to the still smoking Krantz. “Will you at least help me look around instead of just sitting there puffing away at your cigarettes?”
“No.” One could hear the simple joy in his voice when he said this.
“Why not?” Reed started to sound like a little kid.
“Cause I’m thinking, you lump. Just keep working -” he was cut off by a knock at the front door.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
They both froze.
“What do I do?” said Reed only standing a few feet away from the door. “Oh no. What do I do? What do I do? WhatdoIdo?” he was losing his composure.
“Just answer the door and lie to them. Tell them you’re a prospecitve buyer or something. Just get rid of them.”
Quietly Krantz slipped into the kitchen, hiding. Reed slowly approached the door. He took a deep calming breath.
“Uh,” he tried hiding the uncertainty in his voice. “Who is it?”
A muffled response came from the other side of the door. “Gril Scout cookies!” The voice was sweet and innocent. And it promised tasty delights, that seemed safe enough for Reed to open the door.
“H-Hello little girl, and what have we got here?” he started. He saw a young girl, no older than seven, looking up at him with a big smile that was missing an incisor and trying to hand him a box of Snickerdoodles. “I don’t think I ordered any cookies. You have the wrong house.”
“Oh no, Mister, I have the right house, but my mommy told me that the people who used to live here ordered cookies. Since we don’t have their new address or anything I asked if I could give their cookies to our new neighbor. She said that would be very nice of me. So here I am!” Her little teeth were beaming.
“Oh, well, that’s so nice of you. But I’m sorry little girl, I don’t have any money to pay for these. So, you know, go away.” He didn’t know how to act around kids. He didn’t even really like them all that much.
“Oh that’s okay Mister. It’s free.” she nodded reassurance at Reed as she put the boxes in his hands. “I’m just doing my Scout Duty.” She even gave him a short stature salute.
He had to admit, this kid was cute. She was handing him free cookies. And Snickerdoodles were his favorite. Maybe if he took them he could solve two problems at the same time. He could get the kid to leave and he could satisfy his hunger that had been sticking with him all day. Why couldn’t all kids be this way? he wondered.
“Oh. Alright. If you insist.” He gave the little girl a crooked smile. ” Thanks.” He didn’t wait for her response, he quickly turned back inside and kicked the door shut with his foot. His hands were busy opening the first box of cookies. He was starving.
Reed walked back into the kitchen after taking a deeply satisfying bite of a freshly unpackaged cookie.
“Who was that? And what are those? Asked Krantz from his hiding place, underneath a table.
“These are snickerdoodles, and I am one happy fat man.” replied Reed. Cookie crumbs started hitting the floor.
“No, you slob, who was at the door?” Krantz asked this in a heavy whisper.
In a normal tone and volume Reed informed Krantz “It was just some gap-toothed girl scout. Nothing to be afraid of.” He continued to devour the cookies. “These are delicious.” he exclaimed delightfully.
“Girl Scout? Like with the sash and buttons and all that?”
“Yeah, the whole nine yards. I think she even had a missing tooth. Pretty cute kid.” Reed’s answer was muffled by the last of the cookies he shoved in his mouth. He started opening the second box.
“Did she have pigtails in her hair?”
“Yeah, but don’t they all?”
Krantz looked deep in thought, the only sounds that could be heard were the crunching sound emanating from Reed’s mouth and a slight beeping coming from the kitchen.”
Beeping? Krantz thought. That didn’t seem right.
“What’s that sound?”
Reed’s chewing stopped but the beeping continued. Now it was picking up in rhythm. Reed looked inside of his newly open box of cookies and pulled something out.
“Hey Mr. Krantz, what do you think this is?”Reed held it up, in Krantz’s face.
It was beeping.
A beeping block of C4.
“I don’t think that was a Girl Scout-”
The explosion was covered during the six o’clock news that night. Marla watched it from her living room couch. She even beat her mother home by half an hour. Marla greeted her mother at the door when she arrived home from work.
“Sorry I’m late honey. There were police blocking off some streets because of a house fire a few block from here.”
Marla’s mother put her car keys and purse on the side table by the entrance. “And what did my little Bumble Bee do today?”
Marla gave her mother a hug. “Nothing too much. I had a Girl Scout meeting after school.”
“Oh yeah? And what did you learn about?”
“Fire safety and cookie sales.” she smiled.
When I Grow Up © D.A. Bancroft
Charlie 3
May 29, 2011
“One minute ’till glory, boys!” the Sergeant grimaced through the puff of smoke in his face. “Hoorah?”
Every man in grunted out their response with gusto. “Hoorah, Master Seargent!”
The yellow ready light turned on. The men stood from their seats and formed two single files.
Master Sergeant Dripps knew the men in front of him were nervous. He tried to make a point of looking nonchalant about their work even though the plane bounced in the storm clouds. He was about to give the speech that he had given to all the men he had previously led into battle. While looking into their frightened eyes he spoke clearly and with confidence.
“We are here to do one thing. That’s to kill us some of those humans that crawl beneath us. They’ve scuttled around on the ground for long enough. They enjoy the freedoms that we deserve.”
I know I don’t need to remind you that they consume us. They feed off of us.” One man in the back of yellow team had begun to throw up. He had probably seen it happen before. The enemy below were known for doing deplorable things to his fellow people. There were even rumors that the humans had build machines that allow them to drink the fallen.
“I know you can’t stand it. I can’t either. Even though this war seems like it doesn’t end we’re here to make progress. When we jump, we jump for a promise of hope, a promise of victory.” his voice sounded like gravel. He had given this speech hundreds of times.
The Sarge, as he was affectionately known, surveyed those who were in front of him and he saw the potential. The potential for these men to stand up and become fighters; heroes. And he saw the potential for them all to earn nothing more than an obituary. That was the reality of those who served in the Drop Trooper Program. They always turned out to become one of two things. They could become total wash outs, or they could reach the highest state in The Cycle.
The Sarge quietly hoped for the latter.
His second in command handed him their orders in an envelope. They were kept secret until the last possible moment. It helped to stop the humans from predicting their movements. He snatched the paper from the younger officer and read the words before him. He understood his orders. He knew they were going to jump into certain death. He did his best to hide his disappointment in front of the men but despite his effort, his men seemed to know. With a fake sense of confidence, he gave the orders.
“It seems that our target has been designated Charlie 3. It’s big. We are to hit it with full force. No mercy. Use whatever you’ve got equipped. I know you don’t want to hear me admitt this but it looks like we’re going to have casualties. Remember your training and you can survive. Remember the target. Charlie 3. Don’t deviate. Don’t miss. Every hit counts.”
The sergeant took note of the effect his words had on the men around him. It wasn’t enough. They needed something more. None of them had the fire they needed to get their job done. His job was to make sure every man he led met the call of duty. He decided to reach out and remind their tired hearts of how the Cycle could help them come to terms with their fates.
“I know it doesn’t look good boys. But remember what The Cycle means. You know the motto: ‘If it falls, then it will rise. If it rises, then it will fall.'” he got some silent nods at this. They all knew about the Cycle. They’ve been taught about it since they were young. “All out us have been through it before whether you remember it or not.” More nods. He was getting through. Some of their demeanors were starting to change for the better.
“You’ll come back. We all get the chance. Maybe by the time that you’re back here, we’ll have made some real progress in this war. And when this thing is finally over, maybe we’ll never need to be Cycled again. Until that day comes we have a job to do. So let’s get to it!”
“Hoorah!” they trumpeted in unison. This time it was enough to shake the chest of the Master Sergeant that stood in front of him. It made him grin.
He pulled out his cigar and gave them the only appropriate response. “Hoorah.” He snapped a salute.
Finally he could see the fight in his men. They wouldn’t become washouts. They were heroes already.
With that small sign of comfort, he walked around to the end of the Yellow Team line. He attached the hook for his chute and double checked his cable and harness. No mistakes would be allowed.
The pilot looked behind him and yelled into the fuselage. “30 seconds until drop!”
“Blue Team! You’re up. After 15 seconds I expect to see each one of you on your way down. Then Yellow Team will follow. I’ll be jumping with them.” the Sarge barked. He knew deep down that these men were ready. They knew they were going to complete the Cycle.
For a few tense moments nobody spoke or moved. They could only hear the hum of the engines and the rumble of thunder outside of the craft. The sounds of war.
The yellow light turned green and Blue Team started their exit. They took their leave in a tight order and each man yelled “Geronimo” as they dove down toward their fate.
Another green light blinked on, and the men in front of the sergeant quickly stepped to the edge and looked into the wild blue yonder.
“Alright you lollygaggers.” The sergeant seemed to speak through his smoldering cigar. “Go! Go! Go!”
They took flight knowing only one thing. Hit Charlie 3.
***
On the earth below them Becky Bainbridge looked out of the windshield of her 1998 Volvo. She heard the loud splat of a drop of water on her roof looked up toward the sky.
“Hmm, It looks like it’s starting to rain.” Soon, and in rapid succession, she heard the rest of her car get hit with droplets. This time, before she heard each drop she could have sworn she heard a tiny scream.
“Odd.” she said to herself. Becky shrugged it off and started her engine. “Well, I’m not going to let it ruin my day.”
Charlie 3 © D. A. Bancroft