Central Asia, 1280 A.D. ...
Samuel of Locksley awoke. His head throbbed, his dry tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his vision was blurry. Yet he was able to discern, standing about forty paces away, a man dressed head to toe in metal armor.
Pushing himself up, Samuel gained a knee in the dry and dusty dirt. Eventually, though it pained him to the core, he stood.
“Are you a knight?” he called out to the man. “I am in distress and require aid!”
Samuel looked down at his bloody tunic. He felt the spot on his belly where the dried blood was thickest, and the pain nearly sent him back to the ground. Nevertheless, his feet held their place.
The metallic man made no reply.
“Did you hear me?” Samuel shouted. “I need your help!”
He staggered toward the motionless figure, but stopped as suddenly the question of the fate of his sister and friends came to mind. What had happened to Rhiana, Kristopher, and the Little brothers? Were they alive? Could they have survived the flashing swords and stinging arrows of the Turkish horde?
Samuel could not know. All he knew was that, with the exception of the armored man, he was alone in this vast wasteland. The ravages of disease, hunger and barbarian attack had destroyed the Papal delegation to Xanadu. The grand party of One Hundred Men of Learning and Letters, along with their squires and retainers, had been utterly destroyed.
Suddenly, the man of metal began to slowly turn around and walk away. A strange whistling sound seemed to match his movements.
“Wait!” Samuel cried. “Speak with me at least!” He struggled to move forward and pursue the mysterious stranger.
After a seemingly endless and painful march through the swirling dust and shadows of twilight, Samuel wiped the caked dirt from his eyes just in time to see an astonishing sight.
A doorway had opened in the middle of nowhere. The metal man shuffled through it, and then the doorway vanished. Samuel was truly alone.
He lurched ahead toward the spot where the stranger had disappeared, waving his arms as if to grab hold onto any remnant of hope. He had reached the pinnacle of despair, when his hand struck something hard.
He banged his fist against the invisible object, and it echoed as if hollow.
He banged again.
And a third time…
Then with a quiet creaking sound, the same miraculous doorway reappeared. Beyond the opening, Samuel could see a vast though dimly lit chamber. Though he had no reason to trust that the place beyond the door would be safe or welcoming, he knew that the desert behind him offered no comfort either. He stepped through the door.
Once inside, it slammed shut behind him.
He looked around, allowing his eyes a chance to adjust to the dim expanse. Eventually, he noticed the metallic stranger standing on the far side of the chamber.
“I am Samuel of Locksley,” he announced, his voice echoing wildly, “and I come in peace.”
Again, there was no answer.
Soon though, a figure dressed in white appeared on a balcony high above.
“Locksley, you say?” a rich and resonant voice floated down to Samuel’s ears.
“Yes, my lord,” Samuel bowed as far as he could. “I am far from home, and I fear not far from death’s door. I asked your knight for aid, but he has not heard me.”
“He is no knight,” the figure in white declared, “but rather an automaton of my own making. He cannot help you, other than in the way he already has, by leading you here.”
“If I may ask,” Samuel panted in his near total exhaustion, “what is this place, and who are you?”
The man in the white robe lifted up his arms and then proceeded to float down from the balcony, until landing on the ground several paces away from his guest.
“You see before you the great and powerful Wizard of Xamba!” the man in white proclaimed. “And you have arrived at my invisible tower, which no mortal has ever found and then departed to tell the tale.”
“I do not doubt that you are one of great power and might,” Samuel said humbly, “and so I plead for your mercy and kindness.”
“And so you shall receive both,” the Wizard replied in a suddenly softer tone.
The Wizard stepped forward into the flickering torchlight, and his face became illuminated. Behind the wrinkles and lines from many years of pain, sadness and regret, Samuel could see eyes and a face that looked strikingly familiar.
The two studied each other for several awkward moments.
Samuel was the first to speak again, and the words he uttered awoke something inside the Wizard that had been long dormant; words he had never expected to hear again.
“Uncle Edric, is that you?”
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
John Lock and the Benevolent Bandits
Sherwood Nebula, 3009 Common Era…
Hundreds of attack cruisers from the La Gunga Galactic Syndicate swarmed amidst the pink and purple haze of the vast Sherwood Nebula. The brilliant white flashes of their phasers tore through the swirling space dust, as they bore down upon the three fleeing corvettes.
The Chief Enforcement Officer of La Gunga’s Sector 23 watched the chase onscreen from the safety and comfort of his capital ship, slowly orbiting a nearby red dwarf. He slammed his fist against the console as once again, the corvettes successfully dodged a hail of photon torpedoes.
“We will destroy this pathetic remnant,” the Chief roared at his terrified crew, “and that will finally be the end of the Benevolent Bandits!”
“You think so, eh Chief?” a voice called from the rear of the capital ship’s bridge.
The Chief spun around and hissed, “Damn it! Is that you, Lock? I thought I killed you on Icarus Prime!”
“That you did, Chief,” John Lock laughed from behind his face mask, “mostly, that is. Unfortunately for you, not all of the medibots on the seventh moon had been destroyed. They did quite a fine job reconstructing my body, wouldn’t you say?”
To demonstrate his new agility, Lock jumped up high with seemingly no effort, sailed through the air, and landed on the far side of the bridge.
“Impressive,” the Chief muttered.
“That’s not the half of it,” John Lock chuckled. “With the new generation hydrogen cell they installed in lieu of my heart, I should be able to continue harassing you for… well, for quite some time, as long as I can acquire a cup of clean water, say, every seventy years or so.”
“I wouldn’t plan on living that long, Lock!” the Chief fumed. “And your friends in their flimsy corvettes won’t last long out there either.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will manage,” Lock turned for a moment toward the display screen to watch the flashing lights emitting from the heart of Sherwood Nebula.
“Why are you here?” the Chief growled.
“Ah yes,” Lock turned back to face his nemesis, “I wanted to personally deliver the good news that my men, and women, have retrieved the Gaia Code from your, until recently, secure database. The DNA sequences are already en route to the Pelagian Cluster, where I’m certain the Pelagians will find them most helpful in rebuilding their ecosystems that you and the Syndicate so thoroughly ruined.”
“No matter!” the Chief scoffed, “We will just destroy them again!”
“You can try,” Lock shrugged, “but thanks to a few modifications I made to the Code, with a little cultivation, the Pelagians will be able to revive their forests even faster than La Gunga can burn them down.”
“I don’t know why you care so much about the foul Pelagians!” the Chief sneered.
“It’s not that,” Lock answered, “I just don’t like you.”
“Well,” the Chief grinned as he pulled out his side-arm blaster and aimed it squarely at John Lock’s helmet, “at least I have the consolation that you will not be around to enjoy your victory.”
The Chief fired the blaster, and the high energy beam passed directly through Lock’s head, striking the far wall where it left a black smoldering scar.
“What the…?” the Chief looked down at his ineffective weapon.
“Eh, wrong as usual, Chief!” Lock laughed again. His remote holographic avatar shimmered slightly as it auto-calibrated from the energy beam’s effect. “And good luck hunting the corvettes, since like me, they are just an illusion.”
The Chief cursed and stomped his feet as John Lock’s hologram began to disperse. His roaring laughter resounded throughout the bridge, even after the hero’s image had faded away.
Hundreds of attack cruisers from the La Gunga Galactic Syndicate swarmed amidst the pink and purple haze of the vast Sherwood Nebula. The brilliant white flashes of their phasers tore through the swirling space dust, as they bore down upon the three fleeing corvettes.
The Chief Enforcement Officer of La Gunga’s Sector 23 watched the chase onscreen from the safety and comfort of his capital ship, slowly orbiting a nearby red dwarf. He slammed his fist against the console as once again, the corvettes successfully dodged a hail of photon torpedoes.
“We will destroy this pathetic remnant,” the Chief roared at his terrified crew, “and that will finally be the end of the Benevolent Bandits!”
“You think so, eh Chief?” a voice called from the rear of the capital ship’s bridge.
The Chief spun around and hissed, “Damn it! Is that you, Lock? I thought I killed you on Icarus Prime!”
“That you did, Chief,” John Lock laughed from behind his face mask, “mostly, that is. Unfortunately for you, not all of the medibots on the seventh moon had been destroyed. They did quite a fine job reconstructing my body, wouldn’t you say?”
To demonstrate his new agility, Lock jumped up high with seemingly no effort, sailed through the air, and landed on the far side of the bridge.
“Impressive,” the Chief muttered.
“That’s not the half of it,” John Lock chuckled. “With the new generation hydrogen cell they installed in lieu of my heart, I should be able to continue harassing you for… well, for quite some time, as long as I can acquire a cup of clean water, say, every seventy years or so.”
“I wouldn’t plan on living that long, Lock!” the Chief fumed. “And your friends in their flimsy corvettes won’t last long out there either.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will manage,” Lock turned for a moment toward the display screen to watch the flashing lights emitting from the heart of Sherwood Nebula.
“Why are you here?” the Chief growled.
“Ah yes,” Lock turned back to face his nemesis, “I wanted to personally deliver the good news that my men, and women, have retrieved the Gaia Code from your, until recently, secure database. The DNA sequences are already en route to the Pelagian Cluster, where I’m certain the Pelagians will find them most helpful in rebuilding their ecosystems that you and the Syndicate so thoroughly ruined.”
“No matter!” the Chief scoffed, “We will just destroy them again!”
“You can try,” Lock shrugged, “but thanks to a few modifications I made to the Code, with a little cultivation, the Pelagians will be able to revive their forests even faster than La Gunga can burn them down.”
“I don’t know why you care so much about the foul Pelagians!” the Chief sneered.
“It’s not that,” Lock answered, “I just don’t like you.”
“Well,” the Chief grinned as he pulled out his side-arm blaster and aimed it squarely at John Lock’s helmet, “at least I have the consolation that you will not be around to enjoy your victory.”
The Chief fired the blaster, and the high energy beam passed directly through Lock’s head, striking the far wall where it left a black smoldering scar.
“What the…?” the Chief looked down at his ineffective weapon.
“Eh, wrong as usual, Chief!” Lock laughed again. His remote holographic avatar shimmered slightly as it auto-calibrated from the energy beam’s effect. “And good luck hunting the corvettes, since like me, they are just an illusion.”
The Chief cursed and stomped his feet as John Lock’s hologram began to disperse. His roaring laughter resounded throughout the bridge, even after the hero’s image had faded away.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Author Commentary
“The Seven C’s” or “Why I like Robin Hood”…
Some folks have asked me why I am so taken with the Robin Hood legend, so I am writing this non-fiction essay as an answer. As with Charlemagne and King Arthur, the legend of Robin Hood is woven into the fabric of Western Civilization, dwelling near the core of our cultural identity and the height of our aspirations. Following are seven specific aspects of the legend that I find particularly interesting and exciting.
1. Constraining Evil
In most versions, Robin Hood battles the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham and his sponsor, the usurper Prince John, who has seized the throne in the absence of his crusading brother, King Richard the Lionheart. In this sense, Robin is not an outlaw at all, but rather a loyalist to the legitimate king. Robin fights to uphold what is right and true, until the Lionheart returns and sets things back in proper order.
This, of course, is reminiscent of the biblical narrative. In the temporary physical absence of the legitimate King (Jesus Christ), a usurper (Satan) has seized control of the realm and is causing widespread distress. Robin Hood is therefore a role-model for all Christians. We must do our part to uphold truth, justice, goodness and right until the return of the King. The temporary physical absence of Jesus Christ is no excuse for anyone to deny or ignore His authority.
2. Caring for the Poor
One of the primary ways that Robin makes a difference in his community is by redistributing wealth from areas of overabundance to areas of dire need, that is, by robbing the rich and giving to the poor. Does this sound uncomfortably like socialism? Well, let’s think this through before we panic.
Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham (the government) were the ones hoarding wealth, along with other disloyal aristocrats that were collaborating with them against King Richard. By forcibly resisting such ultra-leftwing totalitarianism, and by rallying the common man to the banner of the king, Robin Hood was actually fiercely anti-socialist. Keep in mind that Robin was actually a noble.
Again, the legend provides a timeless example for us to follow. Of course, robbery is not acceptable behavior. Wealth can still be redistributed to those in need, however, by creative fundraising. After all, most wealthy people are good and generous folk. All you have to do is ask!
3. Courage in the Face of Danger
Robin Hood’s bravery is both notable and necessary. It is notable because of all the great deeds he was able to accomplish as a result. Standing up against oppressors; rescuing friends from the gallows; climbing castle walls; chasing away the local constabulary; going head-to-head with a much larger “Little” John – these are not tasks for one that is faint of heart.
His courage was necessary because these accomplishments and all the rest would not have come to pass if he had cowered behind a tree in Sherwood Forest, wringing his hands and waiting for King Richard to ride in and save him. The lesson for Christians is clear in this aspect as well. While we can look forward with assurance to Christ’s coming, and accept that only then will things be made truly right, we do have a responsibility in the here and now to act with courage.
If we do not, people around us will suffer unnecessarily, just as the people of Nottingham would have been found in a much worse state upon King Richard’s return if Robin had not kept up the fight as best he could.
4. Chivalry toward Women
I love women. Yes, my wife and daughters hold unique and special status in my heart, but all women and girls are, if you want my opinion, amazing parts of God’s creation that deserve a particular kind of respect. This includes honoring their contributions to society, protecting them from harm, and within reason, working diligently to make sure they are comfortable and happy.
Does this bother you? Do you think I am anti-feminist or behind the times? Well, I don’t care. If you are very upset, go write your own essay about it.
Yes, Robin paid special attention to Marian because of his romantic feelings for her, but he also stood up for the widows, the orphans, and any damsel in distress he may have encountered. It’s simply the right thing to do; always has been, always will be.
5. Cleverness against Adversity
This is one of the most exciting parts of the legend, because it separates Robin Hood from other heroes that succeed through strength alone. For certain he was strong, brave, fast, and skilled with both blade and bow, but he was also blessed with a quick and sharp mind. The best victories are those that require no bruising or bloodshed, and there is also something very pleasing about seeing the slow-witted bad guys fall to their own stupidity.
The Disney cartoon version, not surprisingly, gives some of the finest examples. Robin and the Merry Men’s use of disguises, subterfuge, careful planning, and taking full advantage of the enemy’s weaknesses are all commendable. After all, part of what makes the good guys good is that they do not actually desire to hurt anyone.
While violence can become necessary to protect the innocent, a real hero always tries to find another way. And the best heroes do.
6. Celebrating Life
Again, it’s worth taking a moment to recall the classic 1973 cartoon version. The music, dancing, feasting and celebrating that happens in Sherwood Forest is inspiring. This is what it’s all about!
If all that happened in the stories was fighting and battles and rescues and escapes, what would be the point? There has to be something worth fighting for. Robin and the other heroes show an important aspect of their characters when they kick off their boots, lay down their bows and arrows, and have a rip-roaring good time.
This is another thing that separated the good guys from the bad. Just say for a minute that Prince John and the Sheriff had won and succeeded in oppressing the people of Nottingham indefinitely. What good would it do them? Would they be happy sitting inside the castle, counting their pieces of silver and watching the misery outside their walls? Of course not! They were blinded by greed and power-lust all along!
Robin and friends knew what was truly important. That’s why they gave their money away. What did they need with a pile of gold? They already had the greatest wealth of all – good friends, a little music, a little ale, and love in their hearts for God, king and their fellow man.
7. Coming Home
Thank you and congratulations if you’ve swum this far in my river of words. I just want to mention one more aspect of the legend that I feel is important, and that is its distinctive British character.
Now, much has been made of the horrible things done by white Anglo-Saxon Protestant males during their brief so-called dominance of the world. I agree that poor choices were made and great harms were done, and on behalf of my forefathers, I humbly apologize. Nevertheless, we also did some good and perhaps we even still have something to offer the world.
My genetic heritage is largely British, and for this fact I will not apologize. But even beyond my sturdy and resilient genes, I feel connected to a wonderful heritage of ideas and institutions that we, those of us fortunate enough to be Americans at least, inherited from the old Brits.
Our beautiful language, our system of law and justice, countless stories and legends, the frying of potatoes, the Beatles, James Bond, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Love Actually; for all of these and so much more, we owe thanks to the mighty yet soft spoken people of that green and pleasant little group of islands just off the coast of Europe.
We, the United States and the United Kingdom, have stood together and prevailed against the greatest tyrants of the age. I hope that my Song of Sherwood stories might in some small way be an honor to these distant cousins back across the sea.
Some folks have asked me why I am so taken with the Robin Hood legend, so I am writing this non-fiction essay as an answer. As with Charlemagne and King Arthur, the legend of Robin Hood is woven into the fabric of Western Civilization, dwelling near the core of our cultural identity and the height of our aspirations. Following are seven specific aspects of the legend that I find particularly interesting and exciting.
1. Constraining Evil
In most versions, Robin Hood battles the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham and his sponsor, the usurper Prince John, who has seized the throne in the absence of his crusading brother, King Richard the Lionheart. In this sense, Robin is not an outlaw at all, but rather a loyalist to the legitimate king. Robin fights to uphold what is right and true, until the Lionheart returns and sets things back in proper order.
This, of course, is reminiscent of the biblical narrative. In the temporary physical absence of the legitimate King (Jesus Christ), a usurper (Satan) has seized control of the realm and is causing widespread distress. Robin Hood is therefore a role-model for all Christians. We must do our part to uphold truth, justice, goodness and right until the return of the King. The temporary physical absence of Jesus Christ is no excuse for anyone to deny or ignore His authority.
2. Caring for the Poor
One of the primary ways that Robin makes a difference in his community is by redistributing wealth from areas of overabundance to areas of dire need, that is, by robbing the rich and giving to the poor. Does this sound uncomfortably like socialism? Well, let’s think this through before we panic.
Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham (the government) were the ones hoarding wealth, along with other disloyal aristocrats that were collaborating with them against King Richard. By forcibly resisting such ultra-leftwing totalitarianism, and by rallying the common man to the banner of the king, Robin Hood was actually fiercely anti-socialist. Keep in mind that Robin was actually a noble.
Again, the legend provides a timeless example for us to follow. Of course, robbery is not acceptable behavior. Wealth can still be redistributed to those in need, however, by creative fundraising. After all, most wealthy people are good and generous folk. All you have to do is ask!
3. Courage in the Face of Danger
Robin Hood’s bravery is both notable and necessary. It is notable because of all the great deeds he was able to accomplish as a result. Standing up against oppressors; rescuing friends from the gallows; climbing castle walls; chasing away the local constabulary; going head-to-head with a much larger “Little” John – these are not tasks for one that is faint of heart.
His courage was necessary because these accomplishments and all the rest would not have come to pass if he had cowered behind a tree in Sherwood Forest, wringing his hands and waiting for King Richard to ride in and save him. The lesson for Christians is clear in this aspect as well. While we can look forward with assurance to Christ’s coming, and accept that only then will things be made truly right, we do have a responsibility in the here and now to act with courage.
If we do not, people around us will suffer unnecessarily, just as the people of Nottingham would have been found in a much worse state upon King Richard’s return if Robin had not kept up the fight as best he could.
4. Chivalry toward Women
I love women. Yes, my wife and daughters hold unique and special status in my heart, but all women and girls are, if you want my opinion, amazing parts of God’s creation that deserve a particular kind of respect. This includes honoring their contributions to society, protecting them from harm, and within reason, working diligently to make sure they are comfortable and happy.
Does this bother you? Do you think I am anti-feminist or behind the times? Well, I don’t care. If you are very upset, go write your own essay about it.
Yes, Robin paid special attention to Marian because of his romantic feelings for her, but he also stood up for the widows, the orphans, and any damsel in distress he may have encountered. It’s simply the right thing to do; always has been, always will be.
5. Cleverness against Adversity
This is one of the most exciting parts of the legend, because it separates Robin Hood from other heroes that succeed through strength alone. For certain he was strong, brave, fast, and skilled with both blade and bow, but he was also blessed with a quick and sharp mind. The best victories are those that require no bruising or bloodshed, and there is also something very pleasing about seeing the slow-witted bad guys fall to their own stupidity.
The Disney cartoon version, not surprisingly, gives some of the finest examples. Robin and the Merry Men’s use of disguises, subterfuge, careful planning, and taking full advantage of the enemy’s weaknesses are all commendable. After all, part of what makes the good guys good is that they do not actually desire to hurt anyone.
While violence can become necessary to protect the innocent, a real hero always tries to find another way. And the best heroes do.
6. Celebrating Life
Again, it’s worth taking a moment to recall the classic 1973 cartoon version. The music, dancing, feasting and celebrating that happens in Sherwood Forest is inspiring. This is what it’s all about!
If all that happened in the stories was fighting and battles and rescues and escapes, what would be the point? There has to be something worth fighting for. Robin and the other heroes show an important aspect of their characters when they kick off their boots, lay down their bows and arrows, and have a rip-roaring good time.
This is another thing that separated the good guys from the bad. Just say for a minute that Prince John and the Sheriff had won and succeeded in oppressing the people of Nottingham indefinitely. What good would it do them? Would they be happy sitting inside the castle, counting their pieces of silver and watching the misery outside their walls? Of course not! They were blinded by greed and power-lust all along!
Robin and friends knew what was truly important. That’s why they gave their money away. What did they need with a pile of gold? They already had the greatest wealth of all – good friends, a little music, a little ale, and love in their hearts for God, king and their fellow man.
7. Coming Home
Thank you and congratulations if you’ve swum this far in my river of words. I just want to mention one more aspect of the legend that I feel is important, and that is its distinctive British character.
Now, much has been made of the horrible things done by white Anglo-Saxon Protestant males during their brief so-called dominance of the world. I agree that poor choices were made and great harms were done, and on behalf of my forefathers, I humbly apologize. Nevertheless, we also did some good and perhaps we even still have something to offer the world.
My genetic heritage is largely British, and for this fact I will not apologize. But even beyond my sturdy and resilient genes, I feel connected to a wonderful heritage of ideas and institutions that we, those of us fortunate enough to be Americans at least, inherited from the old Brits.
Our beautiful language, our system of law and justice, countless stories and legends, the frying of potatoes, the Beatles, James Bond, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, Love Actually; for all of these and so much more, we owe thanks to the mighty yet soft spoken people of that green and pleasant little group of islands just off the coast of Europe.
We, the United States and the United Kingdom, have stood together and prevailed against the greatest tyrants of the age. I hope that my Song of Sherwood stories might in some small way be an honor to these distant cousins back across the sea.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Billy Crimson
Any American City, Tomorrow…
Cassandra should never have gone out alone at night, not on the streets of the downtown district known to locals as the ‘Hood’. She was only 15, and there were always thugs and muggers prowling the streets after dark.
All she had in this world though was her grandmother, who desperately needed more pills for her heart condition.
After leaving the drug store, Cassandra felt like she was being watched. She heard footsteps from behind, but when she turned to look, there was no one. She only had a few blocks to go, so she started running.
Just before turning the corner onto her own street, two men jumped out from behind a dumpster and blocked her way. She glanced back and two more men seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
“Please, just take it,” she held out the five dollar bill that was her change from buying the medicine. “It’s all I have.”
The four men laughed as they closed in on her.
“Please,” she repeated, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Oh, we don’t want any trouble,” one of the men snickered.
“We don’t want your money either,” another said, and with that the four men rushed in and grabbed her. They picked up Cassandra, and carried her back the way she had come.
They hissed at her to stay quiet, but one of them had his hand firmly over her mouth anyway. Soon after turning down a dark alleyway, they entered an abandoned garage.
Tears were already streaking her face as they threw her down onto a large piece of cardboard on the cement floor.
“Please,” she whispered, “please, my grandma needs medicine. Please let me go.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” the apparent leader said as he stood over her. “We’ll go and take care of your grandma. But first, we’re just gonna have a little party.”
They all laughed again.
“A party?” a voice said from just outside the garage. “Now, why was I not invited?”
The four thugs and Cassandra all looked as a young man entered from the alley. He was oddly dressed in green denim jeans and a green long-sleeved shirt.
“Who the f*ck are you?” the leader barked.
“Billy Crimson’s the name,” he said.
“Well, get the f*ck outta here!” the leader said as he pulled a .38 special from the back of his pants. “This here’s our neighborhood!”
“I have discovered that neighbors are wherever you find them,” Billy replied.
Before any of the thugs could mentally process his statement, Billy burst forward, instantly closing his fingers around the barrel of the gun and redirecting it back toward the leader’s gut. The gun went off and the leader’s eyes went wide with surprise.
With very little effort, Billy pried the gun from the bleeding leader’s hand, dumped the remaining bullets out, and tossed the gun through a broken window pane and into a shrubbery. The leader collapsed onto the cement.
Meanwhile, two of the remaining thugs drew switchblades, while the third restrained Cassandra.
One of the knife attackers raised his blade over his head and swung it downward. Billy blocked the swing with his left arm and delivered a lightning fast strike of his palm against the attacker’s nose, completely crushing it. The attacker flew backward into a wall and then slumped to the floor.
The other knife-man was already charging toward Billy while making a straight thrust with his blade. Billy seized the man’s wrist and used his momentum to swing him forward, while twisting his arm so that his elbow became hyper-extended and locked. A swift chop against the man’s elbow broke it with a loud crunch, causing him to immediately fall to the floor where he vomited and blacked out from the pain.
The last thug had abandoned Cassandra and bolted for the door.
Billy stepped out into the alleyway and called after him, “What about the party?”
Billy then picked up a broken piece of brick and threw it after the fleeing brute. The brick hit him squarely in the back of the head, and the man fell face-first into the gravelly asphalt where he lay still.
Cassandra had already appeared in the doorway by the time Billy turned around.
“Why did you save me?” she asked.
“I hope someone would stand up for me if I was under attack,” he answered.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
“Will you let me walk you home?” Billy asked.
She nodded, and after checking that she still had her grandmother’s pills, followed Billy back onto the street.
They walked silently for awhile, but soon Cassandra could no longer contain her curiosity.
“I’m Cassandra,” she began, “Cassandra Jackson.”
He smiled.
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
“No.”
“What did you mean when you said neighbors are where you find them?” she asked.
“We are to love and protect anyone we find along our path,” he answered, “and so where we were born, or where we lay our heads to rest, matters not.”
She marveled at his words and wondered aloud, “Are you a Christian?”
After a moment he answered, “I am.”
‘Me too,” she said.
They reached her doorstep and she drew out a key from her pocket. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments more.
“Go to your grandmother,” he said as he took a step backward and motioned toward the door with his hand.
“Thank you again,” she said after a deep breath. “I wish there were more people like you in this world, Billy Crimson.”
“There are,” he answered, “yet most of them still slumber.”
Cassandra turned and looked in the direction of a rustling noise down the street. When she turned back toward Billy, he was gone.
Cassandra should never have gone out alone at night, not on the streets of the downtown district known to locals as the ‘Hood’. She was only 15, and there were always thugs and muggers prowling the streets after dark.
All she had in this world though was her grandmother, who desperately needed more pills for her heart condition.
After leaving the drug store, Cassandra felt like she was being watched. She heard footsteps from behind, but when she turned to look, there was no one. She only had a few blocks to go, so she started running.
Just before turning the corner onto her own street, two men jumped out from behind a dumpster and blocked her way. She glanced back and two more men seemed to have appeared from nowhere.
“Please, just take it,” she held out the five dollar bill that was her change from buying the medicine. “It’s all I have.”
The four men laughed as they closed in on her.
“Please,” she repeated, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Oh, we don’t want any trouble,” one of the men snickered.
“We don’t want your money either,” another said, and with that the four men rushed in and grabbed her. They picked up Cassandra, and carried her back the way she had come.
They hissed at her to stay quiet, but one of them had his hand firmly over her mouth anyway. Soon after turning down a dark alleyway, they entered an abandoned garage.
Tears were already streaking her face as they threw her down onto a large piece of cardboard on the cement floor.
“Please,” she whispered, “please, my grandma needs medicine. Please let me go.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” the apparent leader said as he stood over her. “We’ll go and take care of your grandma. But first, we’re just gonna have a little party.”
They all laughed again.
“A party?” a voice said from just outside the garage. “Now, why was I not invited?”
The four thugs and Cassandra all looked as a young man entered from the alley. He was oddly dressed in green denim jeans and a green long-sleeved shirt.
“Who the f*ck are you?” the leader barked.
“Billy Crimson’s the name,” he said.
“Well, get the f*ck outta here!” the leader said as he pulled a .38 special from the back of his pants. “This here’s our neighborhood!”
“I have discovered that neighbors are wherever you find them,” Billy replied.
Before any of the thugs could mentally process his statement, Billy burst forward, instantly closing his fingers around the barrel of the gun and redirecting it back toward the leader’s gut. The gun went off and the leader’s eyes went wide with surprise.
With very little effort, Billy pried the gun from the bleeding leader’s hand, dumped the remaining bullets out, and tossed the gun through a broken window pane and into a shrubbery. The leader collapsed onto the cement.
Meanwhile, two of the remaining thugs drew switchblades, while the third restrained Cassandra.
One of the knife attackers raised his blade over his head and swung it downward. Billy blocked the swing with his left arm and delivered a lightning fast strike of his palm against the attacker’s nose, completely crushing it. The attacker flew backward into a wall and then slumped to the floor.
The other knife-man was already charging toward Billy while making a straight thrust with his blade. Billy seized the man’s wrist and used his momentum to swing him forward, while twisting his arm so that his elbow became hyper-extended and locked. A swift chop against the man’s elbow broke it with a loud crunch, causing him to immediately fall to the floor where he vomited and blacked out from the pain.
The last thug had abandoned Cassandra and bolted for the door.
Billy stepped out into the alleyway and called after him, “What about the party?”
Billy then picked up a broken piece of brick and threw it after the fleeing brute. The brick hit him squarely in the back of the head, and the man fell face-first into the gravelly asphalt where he lay still.
Cassandra had already appeared in the doorway by the time Billy turned around.
“Why did you save me?” she asked.
“I hope someone would stand up for me if I was under attack,” he answered.
“Thank you,” she smiled.
“Will you let me walk you home?” Billy asked.
She nodded, and after checking that she still had her grandmother’s pills, followed Billy back onto the street.
They walked silently for awhile, but soon Cassandra could no longer contain her curiosity.
“I’m Cassandra,” she began, “Cassandra Jackson.”
He smiled.
“Are you from around here?” she asked.
“No.”
“What did you mean when you said neighbors are where you find them?” she asked.
“We are to love and protect anyone we find along our path,” he answered, “and so where we were born, or where we lay our heads to rest, matters not.”
She marveled at his words and wondered aloud, “Are you a Christian?”
After a moment he answered, “I am.”
‘Me too,” she said.
They reached her doorstep and she drew out a key from her pocket. They looked at each other in silence for a few moments more.
“Go to your grandmother,” he said as he took a step backward and motioned toward the door with his hand.
“Thank you again,” she said after a deep breath. “I wish there were more people like you in this world, Billy Crimson.”
“There are,” he answered, “yet most of them still slumber.”
Cassandra turned and looked in the direction of a rustling noise down the street. When she turned back toward Billy, he was gone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)