Comment permalink

Untitled 1 by Matthew Stitt

p { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }

This is a story that is in process.  I have a clear idea but I am struggling to write it.  I've decided to go back to basics and write it as a blog.  The problem then is translating it into something publishers may like.  Enjoy Part 1...others to follow

Blog Post 1

My name is Erik Towne. I am a Sargent in the U.S. Army and am stationed in Iraq. I stood in the Cradle of Civilization, Bagdad, on a hot April morning. The insurgents had yet to get out of bed when I poured myself a cup of Ready-to-eat coffee. I tossed the rest of the Ready made meal into my rucksack and woke my troops.

Our mission on that fateful Sunday was to patrol a troublesome supply route near the Euphrates river. I had to kick Jones, Steele and Swain out of bed like I always did but other then that things started fine. The adventure started after an ambush that trapped us like gerbils in a cage. Fire from the right and the left. We were left to take cover in a drainage ditch just off the roadway. I called for air strikes but they were more then a half hour away. I decided to flush them out but it was a bad choice. I still spend many nights terrified to death that my troops will take their revenge because I my choice, but that's not why I'm writing this. It is because of what I found then what I did with it.

Only Steele lay beside me. The others had died. The insurgents surrounded us and we crawled on our bellies toward the river. I crawled up the ditch when a sharp pain struck my side. I looked down to find a tree root. Under that root was a fist-sized rounded stone, gray in color. I grabbed the stone and the world went black, a peace fell over me and someone spoke to me.

“You are the guardian of the stone,” it said. “Life begins with this stone.”

“Who are you?” I said but the voice did not respond.

“A sacrifice of flesh is required,” began the voice, “as the sacrifice heals the creation begins.”

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“I am,” said the voice then a flash of light awoke me. Rounds from a semi-automatic burst above me. Steele shouted something about the air strikes but I couldn't get the voice out of my head. “Life begins...”


Blog Post 2

p { margin-bottom: 0.08in; }

Given the creator's stone I was left to ponder my situation within the drainage ditch. The insurgents were inching closer, help was no where to be seen and our ammunition was low. Half out of desperation and or a giant fantastical wish to be free of this situation I wished for a giant sand worm. The worm would be as long as a train but twice as wide. It would have large teeth to hold its prey then swallow it whole and finally it would erupt from the ground to take out the twenty or so men shooting at me and Steele. Then comes the interesting part. The voice, which had taken up the dark dream spoke to me. It instructed me to blow on the stone then place it where the life will begin. I blew on the stone which immediately began to warm, then smoke. My hand burned and pain shot up my arm. I threw the stone like a grenade about to go off and it disappeared above the brim of the ditch. My hand was throbbing and several layers of skin was missing. Blood slowly welled up where the stone had been. Steele, a large man of African descent, stared at me. His M4 resting in his hands.

“What is going on?” he said with a hint of fear and confusion. Instead of planning an escape I had grabbed a stone, passed out for several minutes then threw the stone as if it was a grenade. My palm bled and I was staring at it.

I stumbled for words but noticed the wound in my palm was quickly healing. The ground rumbled and new trouble had just began. Steele coiled back against the ditch wall his M4 pointed tensely toward his front.