Inspire and Be Inspired

Head on over to the new davecenker.com, sign up to be a member of my author community, receive a free award-winning short story and continue the conversation! See you there!

DaveJen-BannerOne thousand days ago (hey, it just sounds better than 2 years, 8 months, and 26 days) I remember sitting down with a guitar resting on my knee.

Those malformed chords I was strumming were messy sounding, but the chord it struck inside me was perfectly in tune. I remember thinking … I should start a blog. It came out of the blue, and I wasn’t sure why I vocalized that thought. I had written less than a total of 500 creative words up to that point in my life.

If someone would have told me way back then that I would be composing this post today, I would have surely let out an involuntary chuckle beneath my breath. It’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted to be here, but I have this way of starting different things (lots of them) only to have them collect metaphorical dust as the initial excitement fizzles out along with my passion for it.

And yet, a thousand days and just a few more than five hundred words later, I compose this post with an anxious yet excited heartbeat. This will be my last post at this blog site. That’s the sad part, for me at least. This little corner of the blogosphere has been a sort of virtual private sanctuary for me to discover and share insights, thoughts, and stories with each and every one of you.

The exciting news – again, for me at least, and hopefully for you too – is that my writing will continue forward with as much, if not more passion than I have had up until this point. Today, I am launching my new author-centric website at www.davecenker.com.

For those of you that have been following along with me on this journey over the past three years, you will know my tagline by heart – inspire and be inspired.

Second ChanceI’ve written personal essays, flash fiction, short stories, and even a novella up until this point. During NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) this past November, I set an ambitious goal to write my first novel, uncertain where that lofty ambition would land me. 50,000+ words and several personal revisions later, I have a draft of my first novel, Second Chance, that I am now ready to pass over to my editor. My plan is to have it published sometime later this year.

In an effort to build an author platform, I have migrated my online presence to www.davecenker.com. Along with promotion and news on the release of my first novel, I will be offering flash fiction, short stories, book reviews, and the occasional dip into non-fiction.

I have a feeling that pressing the publish button on this post is going to be more difficult than any I have pressed up until this point in my writing life. But, if you’re reading this, I suppose that I’ve been successful in overcoming that small hurdle.

I want to sincerely thank each and every one of you for all the reads, the likes, and most importantly, the comments that have helped me to embrace this role as an author. I know it sounds so cliché, but truer words could not be spoken – I simply couldn’t have done it without you.

HomecomingI invite each one of you to visit my new site and continue onward with me on this journey we have started together. As a small token of my appreciation, when you sign up to be a member of my author community, I will send you a copy of a previously unreleased short story titled Homecoming. I would be honored to share this story with you that has received an honorable mention in the 2015 Writer’s Digest Popular Fiction Contest.

You can join my author community by visiting my new site at www.davecenker.com and clicking the Free Story! link in the top right corner of the home page. I’ll still be checking this site for the next couple of weeks, so if you have any problems or questions, feel free to leave a comment here.

And suddenly you know: It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings. ~Meister Eckhart

Let the magic of new beginnings be with each and every one of you. Inspire and be inspired.

 

Milkweed

Author’s Note: Exciting changes are coming to my blog over the next month or so! I am in the process of converting my offering here in the blogosphere over to a complete author website in preparation for my first full-length novel release later this year (Second Chance).

To make sure you remain connected with me through this transition, I invite each of you to subscribe to my author email list. I promise not to spam you, and you always have the option of unsubscribing at any time. I would be honored and privileged to have each one of you follow along and share with me as I continue onward and take the next step towards becoming a published author.

As a small token of appreciation for your active participation in my community, I am offering you a copy of a previously unpublished short story, Impression, upon joining. Also, once I complete the transition to my new website, I will be offering new and current email subscribers another unpublished short story, Homecoming, that was selected as an honorable mention in the romance category of the Writer’s Digest 2015 Popular Fiction Award Contest.

I’m both anxious and excited (but, more excited) about continuing this journey towards sharing my love of words and the emotions behind them with each and every one of you. As always, stay inspired … And now, on to this week’s flash fiction offering – a bit of tongue in cheek humor to kick off the new year.


Milkweed

MilkweedA package of bacon, a jar of pickles, and a half gallon of milk. Paul put a checkmark next to each item on his list. It was an odd assortment of items to place on the conveyor belt, but it’s what his mother had written down. He’d come home too many times with the wrong thing to not follow her list to the letter.

Everyone seemed to need milk today. Paul had gotten the last container. Listening to the beeps of the scanner complete his order, Paul dug the cash out of his pocket, handed it to the cashier, and waited for his change. Knowing his mom would ration his intake of milk, Paul opened the jug and took a quick sip.

Grabbing the reusable bag filled with his purchases, he exited the comfortable air conditioned store, emerging into the sweltering heat of the summer evening. That’s odd, thought Paul. He heard the trill of a bicycle bell, the kind he last heard as a toddler on his tricycle.

His choice of words, odd, didn’t begin to shed light on the weirdness unfurling before him. Perched precariously atop the bicycle seat riding past him was a black cow. He had to look twice. Paul rubbed his eyes, but it was still there. The ringing of the bell was followed by a bellowing moo as if to say, “Get outta my way! I’m in a hurry!”

As Paul looked around, no one was fazed. There were humans pushing their shopping carts across the parking lot. They’d stop periodically to wave another bicycle through, yielding the right of way to yet another bovine bicyclist. Paul seemed to be the only one baffled by this sequence of events. He felt his forehead. Maybe it was the heat? Maybe he’d eaten a bad mushroom at dinner?


Earlier that day, on a secret farm over on the far side of town, Bessie sidled up beside Calvin, tail wagging, and asked whether he’d found anymore of the good stuff, that special plant they’d found in the hidden garden behind their master’s shed. It was so good. It made them feel invincible, like they could do anything in the world. Tasted sort of funny with a strange aftertaste, but it was the best stuff they’d ever eaten. They’d become quite fond of it, even if it was in short supply.


Paul sat down on the edge of the sidewalk, trying to make sense of this seemingly surreal world that he was now immersed in. He tried to piece things together logically with no luck. It’s probably just the heat. I just need something to cool me off. The pickles weren’t going to work, so he grabbed the half gallon of milk, opened the lid, and took a few more good swigs.

That’s better, thought Paul, as he wiped the white mustache from his lips. It was the heat. Everything seemed back to normal now as Paul waved the brown cow through the intersection before heading back home.

The Gift

The GiftIt appeared to be the most unfortunate sequence of events possible. In a moment of serendipity, however, I discovered what I had been aimlessly searching for in the emptiness of my world.

I didn’t tell Amanda about my plans. It would be of little consequence whether I told her or not. I had to work late. It didn’t matter that it had nothing to do with what I had been sinking every waking moment of my life into for the past two weeks. I was on the brink of completing negotiations for the million dollar sale of a highly sought after loft on the Upper East Side.

The bottom line is that I wouldn’t be home on time. That was all that was important. Amanda and Emma would be on their own for dinner. I knew that this was our weekly family time, and I did feel guilty about bowing out of my obligation as a husband and a father to my seven year old daughter again, but my hands were tied. I was the only one available.

Phillip had an urgent situation arise at the last moment that needed immediate attention. It was something about his son and wife breaking down on the way to his holiday chorus recital. He dropped off everything I would need in my office before darting towards the elevator.

I begrudgingly made my way to the bookstore around the corner from our office. I cursed this unexpected turn of events under my breath. I should have been etching seven digits into a ledger book in my quest for a successful real estate transaction, not reading about sugarplums and candy canes in this wretched getup.

It was a way for our business to give back to the community. I had successfully avoided involvement for as long as possible, until now. I slipped on the pants, pulled the jacket over the top of my white oxford shirt and tie, and made sure to remove the white semi-curly locks from under the collar.

I stuffed the down pillow under the oversized jacket before affixing the beard that scratched at the natural stubble I had accumulated over the course of a usual day.

“Ho, ho, ho,” I uttered monotonously and sarcastically.

“C’mon, Drew. Show a little holiday spirit. This is for the kids, after all.” The elf dressed in pointy shoes and a green felt costume was in a much more festive mood than me. I recognized her as an intern from the accounting department.

With hot cocoa in their hands, the pack of children congregating in the back corner were waiting for Santa to begin reading the Christmas story. I could be more useful to kids, and Emma in particular, if I could ink that deal still sitting on my desk. This certainly wasn’t the ideal way for me to help provide for my family’s well-being.

I put on a façade, enough of one at least, during the reading of the Christmas story. Now for the tough part. It was the children’s opportunity to come sit on Santa’s lap and express their deepest wishes for Christmas morning. The diminished distance between the children and me would make it infinitely more difficult to feign jolly tidings for the season.

The line of twenty or so children seemed to continue on forever. After about forty-five minutes of the same requests – PlayStations, iPhones, puppy dogs, and Barbie dolls, everything changed.


“How about some pizza, sweetheart? Daddy has to work late tonight.”

“Sure mommy, can I get extra cheese?”

“Absolutely, dear.”

They frequented the small mom and pop pizza parlor too many times to count. It had become their stand-in whenever Drew was otherwise preoccupied helping to support their luxurious lifestyle.

Amanda watched as Emma pulled the gooey cheese farther and farther away from her lips. Her arms weren’t long enough to prove victorious over the playful ploys of that extra cheese.

She smiled, watching the innocence of youth, before reaching over and helping to put an end to the struggle between the young girl and pizza slice.

“How about a chocolate chip cookie?” Amanda didn’t need to ask twice, and she didn’t need a verbal answer as Emma’s eyes opened wide and the smile spread across her face.

Amanda knew that The Book Nook was known for their freshly baked cookies. It would be the perfect treat to take Emma’s mind off her dad’s absence yet again.

After taking the first bite from her second gooey concoction in as many hours, Emma noticed the line of other children. Curious as always, she craned her neck and stood on tiptoes to get a better view.

“Mommy, mommy! It’s Santa! Can I get in line? Please?”

“Sure, honey,” Amanda replied as she wiped the excess chocolate that was left at the corner of Emma’s mouth.


I couldn’t believe my eyes. What were they doing here? Amanda was focused on her coffee. I assumed it was her usual double mocha latte. The young boy presently sitting on my lap didn’t receive full attention as I tried my best to grab Amanda’s.

Her eyes finally locked on mine. I could tell by her confused look that Amanda didn’t know why Santa was shaking his head while looking in her direction. She finally did recognize me as Emma began trotting towards the elf and hopping up to sit on my lap. It was a place that she hadn’t been for far too long. She seemed to be more comfortable on Santa’s lap than my own.

“Ho, ho, ho!” I bellowed in as disguised a voice as I could muster. The smile on this little girl’s voice was so genuine. I hadn’t seen it in such a long time. No, I guess that’s not the right way to put it. I hadn’t recognized it, buried in my own self-absorbed pursuits.

“What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

I already knew she wanted the new bike with training wheels we had looked at a few weeks ago. I also knew that she had several books lined up on her Santa list. She was an avid reader for a seven year old.

It should have been easy for her to express the contents of her list to Santa. She had been talking about it nonstop. But still, Emma sat there on my lap with a perplexed look on her face, deep in thought about something.

“Santa, you are magic, right?”

Uh oh, I didn’t like the direction this was going.

“Santa always tries his best,” I replied.

“Well, I already sent you my list. But, I’d like to change it. If I still can.”

Okay, this was magic that I could certainly handle.

“What would you like, sugarplum?” I became distracted by what might be forthcoming, probably the more expensive bike that was three price points above what Amanda and I agreed would be appropriate for her age. No matter, I’d find a way to make it happen. I always did.

“I was wondering,” Emma continued, “if you could get me a bottle of minutes.”

In a more confused tone than Santa should probably have in his voice, I offered, “What do you mean?”

The imaginative seven year old, wise beyond her years, continued with her Christmas wish.

“My daddy works so hard. Every time I ask him to play with me, he always tells me ‘give me a minute’.”

She paused before continuing. “I thought maybe if I could give him a few minutes, he’d be able to play with me more.”

Santa is supposed to be jolly. He isn’t one characterized by tears. This one came close to tears upon learning of this little girl’s Christmas wish.

“Santa will do his very best.” It was the only response I could come up with in the moment.

The look of elation and hope on Emma’s face as he hopped off my lap and bolted back towards Amanda was heartwarming.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Emma,” I shouted out to her.

She stopped in her tracks and turned around.

“You know my name?”

“Ho, ho, ho! Of course I do. Santa knows everything. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Santa,” replied Emma with a look of wonder and amazement on her face.

The last time I remember sitting on Santa’s lap was as a ten year old boy. I was convinced, however, that I had just been fortunate to visit with him once again in the form of a seven year old girl.

Maybe Santa didn’t know everything, but this particular one knew more than enough now.

First Class

first-classRachel watched as raindrops trickled down the pane of glass. The left one took a shortcut, veered to the right, and raced to the finish line at the bottom. These were the games of a bored six year old.

The temperature had spiked unexpectedly. The pristine blanket of snow that began falling on Christmas Eve was being slowly eroded by gloomy showers in the area. When the rain subsided to barely a drizzle, Rachel’s begging to play outside was met with little resistance.

She imagined herself as a frog, hopping between puddles, towards the safety of the next lily pad in search of prince charming. She always found the silver lining in everything. Everyone else saw the rain as a nuisance. Rachel playfully bounced through it. When she came to that coveted spot in the front yard, her cheerful smile transformed into an anxious furrow on her brow.

On the ground, in the same mound that she remembered depositing it a few nights ago, was the oatmeal. Rachel remembered Grandma telling her the reindeer liked it that way. It was easier to eat when it was in a pile. She scooped up the soggy flakes and scampered into the house.

“Mommy!” She screamed with dismay.

“What is it dear, what’s wrong?” Her panic subsided as she saw her daughter’s hands.

“Mommy, the reindeer must be sick. They didn’t eat anything at all.” Rachel held out her hand as pieces began to slip through her fingertips and fall to the floor.

“I’m sure they’re okay, honey. The neighbors must’ve put out extra this year. They were probably just full when they got to our house.”

“How do you know? They always eat. We should send them more, just in case.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Let’s do that.”

Grandma also said that oatmeal had magic powers that only reindeer could extract. In the right amounts, those oats would give them sustenance to last the entire time between their annual December journey.

Rachel’s mom pulled down the box of oats. Rachel retrieved the measuring cup. One quarter cup for each reindeer. An extra quarter cup for Cupid because he was Rachel’s favorite. They wrapped it up, and addressed it to the North Pole.

“Hurry mommy, he’s here!” Rachel ran outside.

Trotting behind her, Rachel’s mom called out, “Excuse me, we have a package.”

The mailman grimaced as the pestering rain dripped from the brim of his cap.

“Reserve oats. For the reindeer,” Rachel’s mom offered with a grin.

Upon inspecting the recipient’s address, the mailman promptly pulled the stamp from his pocket and branded the package with the words ‘First Class’. A proud smile appeared on Rachel’s face.

The two adults in Rachel’s presence couldn’t help but smile too. The drizzling rain caused both of them to blink. She found it odd that they blinked with only one eye, but Rachel was just happy to help those reindeer when they needed it most. Little did Rachel know that she was helping those adults even more.

Secret Rendezvous

secret-rendezvousReilly had become a little too laissez faire with his correspondence concerning the matter he was trying to keep secret. He used to wipe the history clean from his phone after every message. It was getting too laborious to keep up with it. Besides, Kelli was never the techie type anyway. She could barely navigate the internet, let alone dig through his message log.

“Aren’t you going to check that?” asked Kelli from across the table. They were enjoying a meal at their favorite restaurant in the uptown district. Everything had been perfect up to this point in the evening. A few glasses of merlot, an oak grilled bacon wrapped filet, and a succulent pair of lobster tails shared between the two of them.

Reilly distinctly remembered his instructions not to call or text him at this hour. It was too risky. “Nah, it’s probably just someone phishing for me to come back into the office.”

As the lead prosecutor on the team of lawyers at the firm, Reilly was often called in for advice on lesser cases, but he knew that wasn’t the case this time around. The double chime originating from the phone in his left pocket was different from the single ding for all other senders.  Reilly knew it was her.

The signature chime beckoned again from his pocket. “Excuse me, honey.” Reilly stood up and retreated to the lobby of the restaurant and checked his phone. The message read “Meet me tomorrow, usual spot and time.” The second message had read, “Actually, an hour earlier this time.”

Reilly punched at the keys with aggravation, “Don’t text me anymore tonight. She will pick up on it eventually. Will see you tomorrow.” In haste, Reilly pressed the send button to quell any hint of suspicion from Kelli in his absence. To be safe, he deleted the message thread before quickly returning to his seat.

The message that arrived on Kelli’s phone before Reilly returned was unexpected to say the least. The message itself was disturbing, even more so when she realized the sender was her boyfriend, from the lobby.

As Reilly arrived back at the table, Kelli kept her cool. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just as I thought. Someone from work. The nerve of people, right? On our one date night each month.” Reilly seemed irritable over the disruption. Kelli thought that perhaps he was unsettled for the wrong reason.

The next day, Kelli feigned sleep before sneaking out to tail Reilly on his route to work. If he was cheating on her, she would catch him red-handed. She had no reason to doubt him, but that message, it was damning.

Kelli watched from across the parking lot as Reilly rapped his knuckles on the door of room 312, peering left and right down the corridor with a suspicious look on his face. The brunette who answered the door let him inside. It wasn’t even three minutes before Reilly emerged from the room, got in his car, and drove away.

Kelli peeled across the road, came to a screeching halt in front of the hotel, and waited. When the brunette emerged, attaché in hand, Kelli confronted her.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Do I know you? I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t since my boyfriend just walked out of this room. You obviously know he’s already committed, or so I thought, based on the messages you two have been sending each other.”

The woman sighed with remorse as she realized their little secret was out of the bag. “You don’t understand, I …”

“I understand perfectly well, you promiscuous bitch. I should level you right here, right now, before I go give that deceitful excuse for a man a little piece of my mind.”

“You’d better think twice before doing anything else.” The woman reached into her attaché and withdrew her business card. “Here,” she sighed as she handed it over to Kelli. “My name is Gina Stewart. I was hired by your husband, yes. I flew in from the other coast because he heard I was the best. To custom design your engagement ring. It was supposed to be a secret.”

“I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t mean to …” Kelli stuttered, looking for words that would help her backtrack, to rescind the occurrence of the previous two minutes. There were no words to excuse or conceal her jealous rage.

“Don’t worry,” Gina said. “Just know that you have a good man. There aren’t many guys who would go through as much as he has. Reilly obviously thinks the world of you.”

Kelli couldn’t help but feel the guilty weight pressing down upon her shoulders. The surprise that was forthcoming from her future fiancée was replaced by surprise at her own indignant temper.

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking for the courage to ask the unthinkable. “Please. Don’t …”

“I won’t say anything,” smirked Gina. “If your future husband is entitled to a secret, I suppose you are too. This little one will be ours.”

Exposure

exposure“C’mon mom,” urged the young boy. “It’s only five bucks. I’ll pay for it with my allowance.”

Alister’s mom threw him a suggestive glance. “You mean the allowance that will buy me my next coffee because the grass is still three inches high?”

The eclectic items on display at the estate sale were spread before them. She redirected her gaze to the man behind the table. “Three dollars.” It’s part question, part statement. He nods in affirmation. As she hands over the three bills, Alister’s mom addresses her son, “No pictures until the grass is cut.”

On the ride home, Alister examined the camera. “How does it work, and what’s this door? Is it for batteries?”

“It’s for the film. It’s how people took pictures before the digital revolution.” She could see the curiosity and sense of adventure radiating from Alister. “I know where to get some. You’ll have twenty-four exposures so use them wisely.”

Alister’s mom looked out the window as her son darted across the yard. Her three dollar investment was paying off huge dividends. The grass was being cut, and Alister was excited about something.

“Done!” shouted Alister as he burst into the kitchen.

“Wash up.” Five minutes later, he was hunched over the counter with a damp head, watching his mom load the film. She explained how to take a picture and advance the film.

As he flung the worn strap around his neck, Alister bolted towards the door. “Stay in the yard,” shouted his mom. “Yep,” he called back as he closed the door and disappeared into a new universe of possibilities.

The mailbox. A dandelion. An ant meandering across the sidewalk. He burned through the roll in ten minutes. “How do I download these?” he asked. That’s when she had to explain the process of developing, and patience. The ensuing two days moved at a snail’s pace for Alister.

He ripped open the envelope like it held a million dollars. He sifted through the photos with admiration.

“It’ll be a treasure trove for you, your first photos.” His mom smiled as Alister carried the collection to his room. Arranging them in chronological order, sliding each one into a sleeve, Alister noticed something. A small number was superimposed on the corner of each photograph. Must be something with this ancient technology, Alister thought.

“Where is it?” whispered the secretive man as he rifled through the items on the table with no display of respect. “The camera, where is it?”

“Don’t know,” came the voice from his partner as he searched the boxes below the table.

The elderly man behind the table, the one who didn’t speak, uttered a minimum number of words in a foreign accent. “Sold to young boy and mom. Three dollars. I did good job, that piece of junk.” He smiled with pride.

“Dammit!” The man pounded his fist on the table in disgust. The map to Montezuma’s Treasure had eluded their grasp, like dandelion petals floating on the breeze, yet again.

Jealousy

jealousyAuthor’s Note: This is the second part of a two part short story. If you would like to read the first chapter, please visit Mailbox.

Each day, like Pavlov’s dog, the two boys would race to the curb and pull open their respective mailbox with the hope of finding a letter. And each day, both Josh and Billy shuffled through the assorted flyers and coupons in search of an envelope that simply wasn’t there.

November 6. Billy would remember that afternoon. As if arriving at the mailbox first would cause a letter to materialize, Josh yanked open his mailbox a split second sooner than Billy. Still hopeful, Josh carefully slid the junk mail out of the way, but again found nothing. Billy, carrying out the same routine just a few short seconds later, filtered through the same assortment of junk mail. Shifting the flyers to the side, Billy saw something new – a stamp. It was on the corner of the envelope peeking from beneath the pile, just begging to be revealed. He could tell this was it. He pulled it out, raised it in the air and yelled, “Got it!”

Looking over at Josh, Billy could sense the feeling of aggravation and dejection written all over Josh’s face. And in that short moment, he suddenly felt sorry for Josh. This was silly – a competition over who could get a response from a girl first. The initial look of jubilation on his face disappeared as he brought the envelope down from its position above his head. His victory didn’t feel as good as he thought it would. And then, it got worse.

As Billy looked at the address on the front, he noticed that there was something amiss with the perfect penmanship in purple ink on the front of the envelope. It wasn’t addressed to Billy. It was addressed to Josh. Billy never liked roller coasters, especially ones of the emotional variety. He was on one now, plummeting into the depths of a deep abyss that had no perceivable bottom.

“It’s for you,” Billy said simply under his breath.

“What?” responded Josh, not recognizing the reality of the situation quite yet.

“The letter – it’s for you, not me. They messed up the address.” Billy plodded the few paces over his crunchy brown grass and into Josh’s lush green yard – a color that was figuratively all over Josh’s face just a few short moments ago in the form of jealousy. He handed the envelope over to its rightful owner.

A smile of victory began to spread across Josh’s face. As he confirmed what Billy already knew, he began to chant and partake in a victory dance, “Oh yeah, who da man? That’s me – uh huh.” As ungraceful as it was, Josh didn’t seem to care. He was top man on the totem pole now. Billy didn’t stick around to give Josh an opportunity to gloat any longer. He turned around and retreated to his corner.

As he was walking back up the steps to his front door, one of the flyers in his hand dropped to the ground. As he reached down to pick it up, he could see the reflection of Josh in the side view mirror of his dad’s station wagon. It had been knocked off by a kid riding his bike on the street some two months ago, and they didn’t have the money to fix it. Positioned just perfectly, it revealed Josh glaring over in the direction of Billy. Josh was watching him wallow in defeat. And although Billy was upset, he wasn’t sure that it was because he had lost this competition. He thought it had more to do with how he thought he would feel upon winning, and how he actually felt when he thought he had. The teenage hormones were running rampant, and he wasn’t sure what or how to think right now.

As he bent down to retrieve the pizza coupon that had fallen to the ground, the welcome mat – missing the O in welcome – revealed a hidden gem of its own. Sticking out from the corner of the mat was something pink. As he peeled back the corner of the mat, Billy saw his own name written across the front of the envelope. There was no stamp. This letter was hand delivered. As he flipped it over to open it, he noticed the lipstick impression where the envelope was sealed. Written around it was a message – “Sealed with a lick because a kiss wouldn’t stick.”

Josh was still looking over at him. Billy had won after all. But, this victory had nothing to do with receiving an envelope first. He glanced up at Josh, winked, and smiled. He pushed the door open and proceeded to close it behind him – making double sure it latched so no cold air from the outside could get back in.

Author’s Note: Thank you, as always, to all who take time out of their day to read and comment. It is sincerely appreciated. I will be releasing my very first original piece to the Amazon Kindle store on Monday, June 15th. The story is one of my personal favorites, and you can read the short synopsis at Impression. I will also be publishing an excerpt of the complete story here on my blog Sunday evening, June 14th to whet your appetite 🙂

As a humble sign of my appreciation, the complete short story will be available for free from Monday, June 15th through June 17th. If you find the story enjoyable, I would sincerely appreciate any feedback on the Amazon site so that other readers have a better chance of discovering it. Thank you once again to each and every reader who makes it so much more rewarding to be a writer – inspire and be inspired.

Mailbox

mailboxThe rumble of the mail truck rolling away from the curb sent the two of them in motion. Josh raced out his front door. The large ornate knocker cracked against the wood as he slammed the door shut to prevent his Dachshund puppy from following him. He ran across his family’s perfectly manicured lawn, and past the bed of thorny roses. He arrived at his silver mailbox a nanosecond before Billy next door. The chill in the air had nothing to do with the reading on a thermometer.

Billy’s mailbox used to be silver, but it was more rust colored now with the paint peeling off and accumulating on the ground beneath it. While Josh’s jaunt across his yard was effortless and quiet, Billy’s was characterized by the crunchy sound of dying grass. It took him a split second longer to reach his own mailbox – not because he was slower – but, rather because he had to pull the door shut tightly and double check it. The latch had never worked quite right since they had moved in.

Josh and Billy lived next door to each other. And yet, they lived worlds apart. They were friends, you could say. They were both fourteen years old – the only two teenage boys in a three mile radius of this small rural town. How they became friends was not much of a mystery – it was a relationship of convenience, maybe of necessity. The reason why they remained friends – now, that was more mystifying.

The two boys did not have anything in common save for one thing – the spirit of competition. Josh was the star pitcher on the high school baseball team in the next town over. Billy was nicknamed motor-mouth at the same school. This may have sounded derogatory to most teenage boys, but to Billy it was a compliment. He had earned this moniker due to his uncanny ability to solve math problems in his head and rattle off the answer before any of his classmates could even announce their name.

It’s was the glue that kept this friendship together – the rivalry of one boy outdueling the other in their own convincing way. They began to tire of the arguments of how a ten strikeout performance could compare to the swift and accurate process of successfully solving an advanced trigonometry problem – without pencil or paper. That was how this little competition that they mutually designed came to fruition. It was something on the minds of all teenage boys – teenage girls.

The moonlight ball was three weeks away. It was a school dance planned annually to take place on the last full moon of the semester before winter break. It was held outside in the school courtyard by the light of the full moon. The twinkle lights adorning the trees added atmosphere to the already enchanting mood. There was a twist to this engagement, however. You must arrive as a couple. And in order to be granted access into the school courtyard, the couple was required to provide two letters – one invitation letter and one acceptance letter. It was Ms. Hutton’s way of slipping the art of letter writing into her tenth grade English class. And it worked – hook, line, and sinker.

They had agreed that each would compose a letter to their invitee and drop it in the mailbox on the corner – on the same day at the same time. In that way, neither Josh nor Billy would have an advantage. The person who received a letter back first would be the victor. It was silly. It was misguided. It was unsuitable grounds for a competition. But, these were teenage boys, and to them – it was perfect. Almost.

Author’s Note: This is the first part of a two part short story. The second installment will be published next week. Thank you for reading and providing your thoughts – best wishes for an inspired day!

Wanderlust

Wanderlust Adventure
An enticing choice
We often dream about
But seldom resolve to engage

Hampered by the fog of uncertainty
The venturesome road
Leads nowhere
And everywhere

Cocoons give birth
Fluttering in our stomach
A barely audible whisper carried on wings
Nudges us forward

Encouraging us
Throw caution to the wind
Do something bold and daring
Unexpected

Into the darkness we plunge
Unaware and nescient
The initial fear dissipates
As the spark within intensifies

A seed is planted
We watch it grow
Ample sunshine and water
In the form of faith and love

Step by step
We trek forward
Hoping to discover
Meaning and truth

Wandering aimlessly
We stumble upon
The key to happiness
And contentedness

The decision to wander
Away from the comfort of familiarity
Carries us along a path
With many twists and turns

Accosted by fear, despair, and misery
We are rescued by faith, hope, and love
On an enduring journey
Back home

Author’s Note:
This poem is inspired by the short story with the same name. Wanderlust is now available in the Amazon Kindle Store. And for three days (Wednesday, May 27, 2015 through Friday, May 29, 2015), it is free to download. Experience the wonder of self-discovery as you follow the trail of adventure with Damon, Gryffin, and Jo. Included is a short passage from the author detailing the inspiration and thoughts behind the composition of this story.

Many thanks to my beautiful and talented wife for providing the stunning cover art for this story. Her photographic prowess has added depth to my words that I could not possibly have accomplished on my own.

If you found this short e-book enjoyable, I would sincerely appreciate any feedback in the form of a review at the book’s site on Amazon. To download the e-book, please visit the Shop link at the top of this page to see all books available by me, or visit Wanderlust. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment, and best wishes for an inspired day!

Abandoned

abandoned

A black space
Where the door
Is supposed to be

A cloudy film
Layered on the windows
Obscuring the view inside

The splintered planks
From the facade
Evidence of neglect

Used to be filled
With effervescence and love
Now but an empty shell

Memories encrusted
In the weathered roof
And soot lining the chimney walls

Stationary
Unable to move
Begging to be noticed

She has no audible voice
To speak for herself
Not one that can be heard

Too many travel this road
Never giving
Even a passing glance

With time slipping by
She settles into
The depression in the ground

If only
Someone would shine a light
Inside that dark hollow

A hidden space
Would be revealed
Like a treasure

First
Just a glint
A tiny sparkle

Growing into
A luminous beam
Of warmth and fulfillment

The worn and tattered exterior
Dissolving in the radiance
Overflowing from within

Spilling through the crevices
Sealing the cracks
Irreparable damage reversed

Rescuing
A beautiful world
From abandonment