Showing posts from September, 2011

The Darnell Demon

“ S tart Chase Collingsworth as fullback”, the mural on the wall growled. “Chase Collingsworth?” questioned Coach Roberts, with more than a little angst in his voice, and keeping constant vigil lest someone catch him talking to a wall. “But Collingsworth’s got no drive. He’s a lazy do-nothing!” “Start Chase Collingsworth as fullback!” the mural repeated sternly. “As you say!” said Coach Roberts. And he scratched the change into his list of starters. C oach Justin Roberts was the head coach of the Darnell High School football team, otherwise known as the Darnell Demons. The mural on the wall was the Darnell Demon. C oach Roberts had been the head coach at Darnell High for seven years, and for seven years he experienced frustration trumped by consternation as he watched the Demons win just enough games to keep him employed, but always – ALWAYS losing the big one; the game that would clinch a spot in the State playoffs. Coach Roberts was born in Darnell, as was his father

A Law Badly Named

Please be advised - this is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. I just killed two men. And now I sit locked in the back seat of this police cruiser, fighting the urge to vomit and wondering what comes next. Actually that’s not entirely true. I didn’t really kill two men; I killed two boys! Anthony Brown, age 17 and Charles Washington, age 18 died just fifteen seconds after entering my home. The chaos was overwhelming as these two invaders charged through the door from the garage, and into our front hall - a hall that leads straight to my bedroom. Spartan and Trojan, the killer Chihuahuas that sleep at the foot of our bed sensed the danger a few seconds before I was aware of anything unusual. And it was their reaction to the sound of the overhead garage door that alerted me, starting the whole sequence of events. Eleven seconds - that’s how long it took me to spring to life, grab my handgun from the nightstand and lunge t

Private Barefoot

Kidneys, intestines, lungs, stomach, but oddly, not the heart... And nothing else, except what must be buckets of blood and a set of dog tags on a broken chain, wrapped around what appears to be the liver. “This is obviously the remains of a human being and not the gut pile of a muntjac deer left behind by a local hunter,” Warrant Officer Kenton thought to himself, as he picked up the dog tags and read aloud, confirming what he had been told, “Private First Class Gerome Maxwell Barefoot, Protestant”. It was November 1967 in South Vietnam and Warrant Officer John Marshall Kenton was deployed to CID, the US Army’s criminal investigative unit responsible for enforcement of military law involving US personnel. Illegal drug activity among the troops was the business of the CID, and business was brisk! Warrant Officer Kenton had seen stranger sights in these war torn jungles of Southeast Asia; various body parts, bodies with missing parts, soldiers tortured by the enemy, and even so