In the Beginning – The Conspiracy

Part three, the first two parts are in the couple of previous posts.

“April showers bring May flowers, at least, that’s what my partner used to tell me. If only I knew at the time what he meant.”

The young priest urged the FBI agent on the other side of the screen to continue. Whether or not there was sin, the older man needed to unburden himself.
______________________________________________________________________

Agents Jackson and White did not relish the assignment, but the bureau did not give options. A week in close quarters made Jackson start fantasizing about pistol whipping his long time partner. Tasked with discrediting a religious extremist out of Harlow the two hacked the preacher’s accounts.

That was all normal and good. They were field agents devoted to high tech operations. Also normal, but not good, was Agent White’s perversion. Jackson knew too many men stepped out on their wives. He wouldn’t hold that against his partner. White was also a deviant. Every mistress he found fell between the ages of fifteen and almost eighteen.

Jackson should report the violations. He couldn’t though. Officers at any lever were a brotherhood. To turn his back on that was unthinkable.

“Look at this one buddy!”

Jackson was up for any good news. “Is Templeton trying to find us again?”

“What? Oh, no. He’s gone dark. It’s this girl. DirtyNico16. She has a filthy mind for a teenager.”

Jackson sighed and looked over his partner’s shoulder. How did he always get drawn into White’s games? He might have to consider that not reporting his partner wasn’t loyalty but some sick, voyeuristic need.

“I think you’re on the wrong trail this time. That picture looks at least five years old.”

“I might make an exception for this one.”

“Why don’t you go meet her and let me do some work then?”

“She won’t meet. The little bitch is a tease. Getting me all worked up then turning shy on me. It’s driving me crazy. I might have to find some other girl to take it out on.”

“Why don’t you do that?”

“You sure? Okay buddy, you man the ship. I’m off to the hunt.”

Why had Jackson encouraged his partner?

Screams from upstairs greeted Jackson when he got home. A normal man might freeze but Jackson was an agent. Limbering his gun he sprinted up the stairs to his daughter’s room.

“May! I’m coming!”

What he saw when he burst through the door sickened him. He wasn’t sure if his daughter was a willing participant or not. He did know a man protected his family.
_________________________________________________________________

Father O’Reilly felt the agent’s horror. What to say? He knew about the preacher, Templeton. There were rumblings in the religious community about this nut and his prophecy. What can you do? The priest thought, Protestants always espoused lunacy.

He was about to impart this wisdom to the agent. He never got the chance. Just before Jackson placed his service weapon to his temple and painted the inside of the confessional with blood, thunder, and the smell of sulfur he uttered last words that chilled the priest.

“And that, father, is why I had to murder my partner.”

#shortstory #author #writer

In the Beginning – The Forum

Okay, this is part two of an ongoing story, you should go down one post and read part one first if you haven't already.



“No… NO!”
Templeton checked his login to thethronecometh.com. Username: New_World_Prophet Password: say3thth3l0rd Where were these posts coming from? It was time to seek assistance.
Hellfire and brimstone boiled from him at the screen. Vengeance may be the lord’s but he was mad enough to spit. He drew the cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number he hated to interrupt.
“It’s me. Do you have eyes on?
“Yes. Something strange is happening. I logged into the throne…
“It is not an end times site. It’s a forum for those who participate in a particular hobby.
“Of prophesizing what the world will be in the next age of man. What we will endure in the coming change and how transcending it will alter our society.
“That is not the end times! Now listen. Something strange is happening and I need to know if your friend is involved. Someone logged in as me and posted some very blasphemous statements that contradict the prophecy.
“Of course I tried to delete them! It is like that writer site that girl you went to school with was always on. There is no option to retract. I guess they think you should stick to what you say.
“The girl was obsessed with her imaginary worlds, and don’t you dare start comparing what I know to what she imagined. Wait, there’s a new one posting now. Now listen to me…


Nicole turned on bare toes, who walked barefoot on the beach in late winter? She peered at Chester before issuing what could only be a command. Daddy’s princess still assumed obedience would come naturally.
“Show me your phone.”
Chester turned it, showing her the mindless matching game on the screen. The game was a cover, to hide how intently he stared at her posterior while she spoke.
“Okay. Daddy thought you might have been hacking his account.”
“Let me guess, crazies for god? No, wait, the throne cometh dot com?”
“This is no laughing matter.”
“I think it’s hilarious.”
“He said if it was you to stop being childish. Your destiny is sealed and you need to get used to leading men into their future, even if you find it distasteful. You will be the tool of the new age.”
“Your dad’s a tool. Tell him maybe the devil, or God himself finds his prophecies asinine and might be hijacking his user name for the greater good. To show people what nut jobs modern day prophets are.”
Nicole glared at her date, the look of death indicating he had gone too far. Would have gone to far if not for his importance in the impending change. Chester choked on a laugh and continued.
“Better yet! Tell him to check and make sure he isn’t getting hacked by the NSA. They could be doing it to make him look like what they want him to, to the general public. I hear that’s what they did with the video of the whackos in Waco.”
“Daddy? Listen to me…”

#shortstory #novel #author #writer #religion

In the Beginning - The Meeting

So my goal is for the rest of the year to use the prompts to string stories together into something that might make a novel. So I might be posting two some weeks, if I can always make it match up. I'm sure some weeks will get me and some will inspire a story outside of this one. But for now, here's the start.



In the Beginning – The Meeting

She had an ass you could bounce a quarter off of.

A disembodied thought floated along the river of Chester’s mind. Why now? The only girl to inspire such thoughts was Nicole in high school. Now the hinny of some soon to be trophy wife in the grocery store was… slipping out of view. Why didn’t he have the upskirt app on a hotkey? The woman turned and…

“Nicole?”

His one word question brought a smile that could melt the sun. Often, unrequited longing and distance left feelings reality found itself unable to match. Chester’s daydreams of long lost Nicole paled in comparison to her in the flesh. Not that he had her in the flesh yet. She agreed to lunch though, so he was well on his way if he did say so himself. Nicole turned out to be one of those rare women to grow more beautiful as she approached her dreaded mid to late twenties. Score one for Chester the MILF hunter.

Despite his odious personality and reprehensible hygiene practices the ex prom queen agreed to lunch. He missed the implications of something bigger afoot that such an agreement portended. Chester lived in a delusional world where his self-proclaimed title as stud of Harlow, Minnesota remained despite time and miles.

They met at Fusion, a restaurant both obviously and pretentiously named. Nicole found herself enjoying the experience in spite of herself. Once he showered and got past the initial shock of the hottest girl in his graduating class showing up in his town, Chester was a decent enough guy. If he would stop “accidentally” touching her thighs he might pass for human.

They reminisced over a traditional Harlow lunch. Rocky Mountain oysters, fugu, and foie gras. People said many negative things about the inhabitants of the small town but they were culturally diverse and accepting. At the end of the meal they were both laughing.

Nicole hated that. Snow bound slugs crawled inside her stomach and up her back. She had to break Chester’s heart and shatter his mind. What kind of woman would that make her? She hesitated as long as she could, laughing with him. All the while she languished inside until her soul died. With that pesky thing tagged and bagged she moved on to why she agreed to the date in the first place. It was time to crush a man’s spirit.

“Chester, do you think about home very often?”

“As little as I can. I have a good life here.”

“Well, you see, it wasn’t an accident that I found you. I came looking for you.”

“Oho! You couldn’t get the stud of Harlow out of…”

“Stop. Don’t ever call yourself that again. Do you remember the prophecy?”

“That thing the fucking Baptist moro…”

“My father was the preacher.”

“…ralists were always going on about? I remember it. Why?”

“It’s us.”

“What is?”

“It is, they are us, we are them.”

“Speak English.”

“The time is here and we’re the chosen ones.”

#shortstory #novel #author #experimentation #writer

That Unreachable Note

So, for the prompts recently I've been trying to experiment with things. I have getting the story out in few words where I want it. Now I'm working on things like more poetic description, describing without describing, and breaking out of my comfort zone. The descriptions here and using a female main character were what I wanted to focus on.


Mist curled through the valley like plumes exhaled from a smoking giant. Cadets stared daggers across the expanse. Graduation day, history stood ready for writing and repetition. Tablets washed faces on both sides with dimmed but sickly green glows as intense faces studied the lists. The handheld delivering the list was unique in being the only uniform piece of equipment.
Team Amazon perched east of the valley. Sheathed in leather, velvet and lace to emulate the style of a British dominatrix. Yet after four years in the hellish academy the ladies stood devoid of any femininity except the external. Empty soul cavities stripped of maternal instinct now lay bloated with pride and bloodlust, courtesy of the officers. Eden stood as their seeker, the nameless sisters hers protectors and backups.
To the west Team Mars stood, rigid as black powder riflemen. Adorned like Spartans with less shame and fewer body issues. The males contained nothing to empty them of, from birth they knew only war and service. Their seeker lived a faceless, nameless existence like his protectors. Men served only two purposes, military devastation and continuing the race. Only those who survived this indoctrination could receive a name and then only at the whim of the woman whose household they served. Thus it was, and so would it continue until the XYs finally triumphed on graduation day.
Behind the Amazons the sky tinted scarlet, dawning light punctuating the chill permeating the air. A cry from the battle horn spilled forth loud enough to tear the air asunder. So it began. So it always began.
Earth churned into muddy mist, turf tore free to fly like tiny green birds. These young, after four years training together, charged the bottom of the valley akin to slightly modest Picts. Today they were enemies, there could be no mercy nor surrender. A thin red film quickly colored the sky, filling it with the scent of genealogical rust. Metal clanged against metal as the symphony of honor lost and discovered began.
Eden absorbed the sensory banquet before turning to her task. The officers compiled the list in riddle and mystery. Her mind was sharp, her arm strong, and her legs quick. She would win the day. The first items came quickly, as simple things often do.
She read Captain Tripps from the list then collected the correct mushroom. The finger of the tear shedder led her to hack a branch from the appropriate willow. Twenty items on the list, Eden collected nineteen in less than an hour. Then she spied the last. She knew where to find it but it would not be easy to obtain. Thankfully she was cunning and patient as well as strong.
Cleopatra’s sister’s prize.
Eden smiled slow and wicked. Her feet carried her to the latrine to crouch and hide beside it. Her sword drawn, she meditated on the need. Eventually the commander’s man whore would come to do his business. Then the women would win the day, yet again.

#shortstory #dark #socialcommentary #writer #author #experimentation

Enter the Something New and Original

Pellets of hail pounded the glass like angry fists of tiny, forgotten gods. Clouds turned the night so dark it took on a smell; Old Spice, Rohypnol, and the sweat of Clive Barker’s fever dreams. The oppressive atmosphere slipped inside like an unwanted visitor into a celebrity’s home, Cleetus powered on his console.
Lightning ripped vibrant wounds in the sky. Cleetus thought of his mother admonishing him to turn off the power when storms grew electric. He almost did. Then the start screen of Wizards and Warriors brightened his home and life. He clutched the controller. Soon blood wizard would save the princess. Mom’s ghostly memory could suck it.
Cleetus pressed start. The screen faded to the dim world of Magicstan. Mother’s ghost didn’t take kindly to being ignored. At the moment of ecstasy between worlds the obnoxious woman tossed another lightning bolt from heaven (like she was there), striking the house.
Cleetus shat himself. The electricity flowing over the controller and into his hands was to blame. The sudden jolt also caused him to pass out.
Cleetus awoke in a world of lines, Disneyfied versions of powder electric blue and toxic neon green. Futuristic motorcycles zoomed past. Cleetus held some sort of light based sword. A hard-shelled backpack covered his spine. In his other hand was a note.
-Find me and I’ll send you home.
“Really?”
“What?” The air responded, in the voice of a nineteen-eighties Mac.
“This is your test?”
“Why not?”
“One, it’s weak sauce. Two, don’t you think it’s a bit derivative of Tron?”
Cleetus awoke standing in a field, a long-sword firmly gripped in one hand. A pack covered his back. In the other hand a note.
-Beat me and I’ll send you home.
“Come on! Did you play too much D&D or are you just another Game of Thrones hipster?”
Cleetus came to with a straightrazor, a Hello Kitty fanny pack, and a note he didn’t read. Flesh wounds, patent leather and spikes surrounded him.
“Because I thought of Clive Barker when I looked out my window, right?”
Cleetus sat bolt upright with a chair supporting his back. He held a Jolt Cola in one hand and nothing in the other. An ancient computer sat on the desk in front of him. Words began to type themselves, echoed by that electronic voice.
-Would you like to play a…
“Oh hell no! I thought the shit up ‘til now was derivative. This is outright plagiarism if you ask me!”
Cleetus opened his eyes on a brave new world. His sword hand stood empty. Nothing adorned his back. Looking from horizon to horizon he saw only the muted brown of cheap cardboard. He was inside his game, literally in the box. The space, while claustrophobic, seemed insurmountable. The note in his off hand was the final touch.
-I tried to be nice. Good luck getting out of this one, dick!
“Ummmm… I was just kidding?”
Cleetus stepped into the lack of response.
“Should’ve listened to mom.”

#shortstory #author #comedy #writer

Author Interview

So if you ever think I don't do enough about how and why I write on this blog... Well I did it on someone else's blog I guess. Go check out my author interview with the wonderful and amazing Christie Stratos. You can find it here http://www.proofpositivepro.com/authors-2/author-chat-patrick-elliott/ and if you still haven't, once you're done go buy the book.




#interview #amwriting#writers #authors #mondayblogs #bynr #books #novel #shamelessselfpromotion

Infernal Metamorphosing Raven

Don't ask me where this came from. I think I'm reading too much Kafka.


Toiling with form ten ninety-nine extended, due on time and un-amended. I pondered with a heart so leery, an interminable existence grown quite dreary. My head did bob, nearly napping, when suddenly there came a tapping as of someone gently rapping, rapping on my front room door. Drunkenly lurching I vehemently swore to throw it open and find my best friend Lenore. Unusual attire I inspected as some ruse may go undetected under the scandalous thing she wore. A patent leather string bikini covered in steel studs quite unseemly, only this and nothing more. To my hand she a long sword extended. “Come with me so your family life not be ended.” Mysterious and womanly was that bitch Lenore.

Extending her hand, which had offended, spoke a word and space was rended to emit a fiery infernal door. With laws of physics so transcended, to the top a sign appended by imp or succubustic whore. Words in Latin quite outdated my scholarly mind at once translated, “Fallen angel express portal, abandon hope to enter mortal.” The legend this damned egress bore. At Lenore I expressed a hunch, this vile journey would cost me lunch. Though my scorn be gently born her eyes upon me wished flesh be torn. With wit acerbic and quite quick she thus expressed I was a dick. “I owe your family a settled score. Thus you are an ass and nothing more.”

Pack animal could I be, when need arose, thus I descended with my hellish rose, into a world of enigmatic throes, watching for any sign of an exit door. Though my terror be quite extended, by the copious sweat and blood Lenore expended she walked on stoically as if all were a bore. Through nine levels she did dance, my own survival was mere chance, eventually I spared a glance and understood how little she wore. Little armor was imparted from the souls both damned and departed but instead shielded her from a hefty bill of drycleaning off, after the kill, the black and ichorous gore. For in truth her hair and skin with fluids be lathed her simple outfit was almost saved. A truth unshared by me, I witnessed with horror.

Through fields of carnage we two fleeted and it was to the devil justice was meted. In middle battle grown quite heated Lenore’s arms were soon depleted and to her I passed the sword I bore. In pitched battle I was uneducated, that simple act my guilt abated, I was simply squire and thus not sore. To this day I still wonder, why my family Satan chose to plunder, there is a whole world to be torn asunder. I must confess, my family frivolous, but as for sins… they read not even Gor! In my declining years grandchildren listen with intrepid fears to the courting tale of I and my Lenore. Were you not afraid, asked in voices staid. An avenue I will not explore, “They were my family, nothing more.”

#shortstory #surreal #tribute #author #writer