29 March 2012

Writer's Block and a Favor From My Followers

Found on google images
If you’ve ever had writers block you’ll probably relate.

Writer’s Block

He sat at his desk and stared at his typewriter. It mocked him. His head was full of tales of daring knights searching haunted castles above rocky beaches and liars stumbling through sentences as they promised more lies, but none of it could spill from his fingertips onto the worn out keys of his typewriter. He’d written a dozen novels, half of which had been published and half of those were bestsellers, but there was something about that paper hanging from the grasp of the type writer; it taunted him.

Goblins and princesses dashed through his head. Dragons reigned terror on unsuspecting villagers. Hordes of barbarians looted countryside towns. Yet the paper stayed white. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder and he could’ve sworn he saw an assassin strike down his dog who was napping in the corner. His imagination flowed like the rivers of Eden, but like Eden, none would know the beauty within.

The sun set as lovers kissed in a cornfield. Daring pilots flew under bridges to escape their enemies in a dogfight. Astronauts met intelligent life while exploring a moon in a distant nebula. Wives were unfaithful. Husbands were abusive. Typewriters were spilling ink onto empty pages throughout the world, but not his.

I know this is supposed to be a fictional blog and well it usually is, but I’d like to share some words with my followers.

I appreciate everyone who reads my work. And if you are among those who are wondering what happens in the Assassin series I promise you I will one day get around to writing it, but like the character in Writer’s Block I can’t seem to get it on paper. I sat down to write it and I pumped out Jazmin: Embedding. Sure you can ask me why, but I can’t explain it.

I know exactly what is going to happen to our three assassins. I have even seen the last sentence played over and over and over in that oh so overflowing imagination of mine. The biggest problem here is that I can’t seem to write the first sentence. So I’m going to ask my readers to do me a favor.

Write the first sentence of Assassin 5 in a comment and leave it in a comment. If I use your sentence all I can offer you is my thanks and give you credit on my blog as nothing I do on the internet is to gain a single penny (yet) so I can’t give you anything.    

28 March 2012

Jazmin: Embedding

Jazmin: Embedding

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“Too ugly. Too tall. Too fat.” Lord Marikh walked in front of a row of slave girls, he was followed by his scribe Tryll. “Ahh! Why is this one even here? I’ve seen at least fifty girls and only one has been worthy so far.”
“M’lord,” Tryll said, “the seller has one with him. She is, uh.. exceptionally beautiful, but I think that um she might be a bit too costly. I heard him say, well uh, he called her Jazmin.” Tryll looked to the ground when Marikh turned to him.
“Take me to Hahg now. We are buying slaves for the Almighty Ga’ash; it is possible that one of these girls could join the Harem; we will spare no expenses. And what did I tell you about saying that word, 'um,' it makes you sound stupid. And lift your chin, you look like a sissy. None employed by the palace should look like sissies.”
“Yes Marikh.” Tryll looked at one of the slaves and was compelled to wipe her tears away, but Marikh would surely have him lashed for such kindness.
Tryll presented his lord to the slaver named Hahg. Hahg pushed the lowly scribe from his view of the potential buyer. “Aha Marikh,” Hahg greeted his old partner. “I can’t believe you’re working behind those walls. You should sneak me in there sometime, I might find some valuable merchandise. I’m expanding my business to the black market. I’m getting too old to be trekking slaves through deserts and stolen merchandise won’t try to escape when I'm sleeping.”
“You’re scum Hahg. Any priest would have me without a head for bringing you into this city. The City of Gold is only a two hour ride from these gates, you can stay there.”
“Get off your damned pedestal Marikh; you are employed by a man who fancies himself a god.” He paused. “Hell, I guess you’re here for the merchandise.”
“Where is she?”
“In the wagon. Follow me.” Hahg looked to his assistant before leaving his post and said, “Let the common folk in to buy now; the lords and ladies have had their turn.”
“Why’d you leave a slave alone?”
“She’s different Marikh, she knows her place and to put her with the common rabble would be a disgrace to the goddess Victoria.”
“How dare you speak of false deities while in the shadow of the City of Gods.”
“Whatever, Marikh. Your mother would have had you over her knee for such talk when we children.” Hahg held the wagon door open allowing Marikh entry. “She’s in here.”
“You’ve come to buy me,” Jazmin said. Her back was to the men. She was robed in thickly weaved fine silk from head to toe and her hair was made as if she were attending a summer’s ball. There was a necklace with a black stone hanging from it laced around her neck.       
“Why do you have a slave dressed in such lavish attire Hahg?”
“She has three pairs believe it or not. She came to me only a month ago as I was leaving Nord.”
“I can speak for myself slaver,” Jazmin said as she turned around. “The goddess Victoria came to me in a dream. She said I was to be a slave in the sea of sands. She would only call me Rousa. I am obedient to my gods and my goddess has told me to serve your gods, and so I will. I found the first slaver traveling to Dest and told him he could have my price if he took me there. I’m not a slave yet, not until I leave this wagon with you.”
“Very well, and what makes you think I’ll buy a free woman? I am not in the business of making slaves. I only buy and sale.”
“You never would’ve entered this wagon if you weren’t going to buy me. And would you want to disappoint the Almighty. If you don’t purchase me, somebody most certainly will and don’t you want to be the lord that presents the Almighty with the most beautiful slave in all of Dest.”
“She sure is a conceited one isn’t she, haha,” Hahg joked.
“Strip,” Marikh demanded.
“Excuse me, you are speaking to a free woman sir,” Jazmin said. She bit her bottom lip, it was a nervous habit, but any man who ever knew Jazmin couldn’t see it as such.
“Three hundred,” Hahg said.
“Are you out of your mind? Every other girl out their only runs between twenty and fifty gold shillings.”
“Lady Adira has already offered five hundred; the other lords have all offered between one and two fifty. I’m not going to sell her to that old hag if I can help it, but if you can’t offer three hundred you leave me no choice. And as I recall from my last visit to your pious little city that woman was repeatedly out showing you.”
“Fine take the bag.” Marikh dropped his coin purse into Hahg’s greedy hands. “Strip slave.”
Jazmin let the robe fall to the floor and took the wooden hairpin from its place letting her dark hair fall to the middle of her back. Jazmin asked, “And what will you have me wear?”
“Don’t speak unless told to slave. I own you now. Hahg will provide you with rags suiting to one of such a low status. You have one minute to meet me outside; the whip is the punishment for tardiness. Don’t make me remind you.” Marikh exited the wagon and joined Tryll.
Jazmin covered her chest by crossing her arms. “Thank you Hahg. When you get back to Nord City make sure my brother is safe and see to it that he treats Melisa as our father treated our mother. It will be a long time before I am likely to see any of you again.” She hugged Hahg and kissed his cheek. “Now give me those clothes. I plan on staying a virgin for as long as I can.”
Hahg handed her a set of sandy-brown ‘poor-man’s’ clothes, they were more cloth and rag then clothing though. “You better hurry, and I promise this will be my last time selling slaves. Whoever isn’t bought today will be taken to Miriam City to be set free. Thank you for opening my eyes. And gods be with you.”
“I had to, for the sake of Valc.” Jazmin touched Hahg’s hand softly one last time before she exited the wagon. A single tear escaped and she let it run its course until it settled between her lips.

15 March 2012

Assassin Part 4*

Art By: Hyuckshin Kwon found on digital-art-gallery.com

Assassin Part 4

“Who the hell are you?” Captain Gray asked shouting and pointing his sword back and forth between Sergio and Scott completely ignoring Aiya as a possible threat.

“We’re just three unfortunate travelers sir,” Sergio answered. “I thought we were goners until you showed up.”

“Captain that one killed Rodyer,” one of the guards said pointing at Scott.

“He was attacking my cousin, guard.” Shifting to a less defensive stance Scott said, “I kind of would like to know why your guard, Sir, attacked my cousin and not those things.”

Captain Gray sheathed his great sword. “Rodyer, rest his soul, knew better than to attack those which protect us in this forest. Are you and your kin not Ra worshippers?”

“No we’re not. We’re Mak worshippers,” Aiya spoke wiping dirt from her robe. “As you can clearly see we have our reasons not to worship those murderous creatures.”

“A feisty one,” Gray laughed.

“You dare allow these subjects to speak of the Greater Ones as such.” The emissary walked around Captain Gray; she was playing with her sword. She had an athletic body type, her satin top pressed against her arms, chest, and stomach, but loosened around her thighs where it came to a shredded end. Her stockings crisscrossed up her legs.

The tone of the emissary’s voice was very powerful, yet somehow seducing. Her eyes were dark green, like the forest just before the sun sets. Her mascara was running, probably due to the humidity and heat from the now dwindling fire. “Gray,” She said, “The Almighty would say it would be against the will of the Great Four to kill them, but he’s not here. If they are Makian they know too much.”

“Your husband is paying me Lelya, not you,” the captain countered. “I can’t just go about killing my own people. They’ll belong to the Almighty soon enough. They’ll come with us. If they prove trustworthy we’ll employ them, otherwise we’ll enslave them.”

“Hello,” Scott said sarcastically waving his hand, “you must be out of your mind. Who the hell-”

Captain Gray looked at one of his men and pointed at Scott. The guard hit Scott in the back of his head sending him to the ground. “How dare you talk back subject,” the guard scolded.

Scott jumped up and charged the guard. Sergio tackled his ill-tempered cousin as the guards and soldiers stood ready. Sergio whispered, “This is our only chance now. We can’t screw this up.”

Three of the guards began stripping the assassins of their weapons. “Let them keep their possessions for now, they’re our guests,” Gray ordered.

“First mistake,” Aiya whispered to herself.

“What was that, girl,” Lelya snapped at Aiya; suddenly the seductive tone in her voice seemed absent.

“I said, thanks mate, we talk like that in our country.”

“Ha!” Captain Gray laughed, “I like that girl.”

Lelya looked at Aiya almost jealously. Once they got back on the trail it became clear that the number of Destian soldiers protecting the emissary was in the hundreds. They walked northwest for about twenty minutes when eventually they came to a series of meadows housing thousands of tents. Whatever this camp was it seemed almost permanent.

At least now the assassins didn’t have to sneak in. A fiery smile grew on Aiya’s face and Sergio knew why, the only time she ever got that look on her face was while she was contemplating an assassination.

Lelya left Gray’s side and talked with what appeared to be high ranking Destian soldiers. “Put her with the other girls,” Lelya ordered one of the soldiers. “Have those two questioned. Don’t let Gray know.”

“Yes Empress. How do you want us to keep that from the Makian Captain he asks a lot of questions when he’s here.”

“Leave that to me. I didn’t marry a god, because I was shy. Now go.”

Aiya, Sergio, and Scott walked through the camp towards a tent that an officer of the Elite Guard told them they would stay in when three soldiers approached them. “Is there a problem boys?” Sergio asked. Aiya slowly reached for a blade, but suddenly her mouth was covered from behind. Over a dozen soldiers quickly subdued the three assassins.

Aiya watched as Sergio and Scott were blindfolded while she was carried away. She couldn’t fight. Her mouth was gagged stopping her from screaming and whoever was carrying her was built like a rhinoceros. Eventually the cloth was taken from her mouth and she was thrown into a huge tent with about two hundred other women.

“The prostitutes,” Aiya said to herself, smirking. She grew accustomed to talking to herself during countless hours of solitary training as well as hiding in empty houses for days on end waiting for her target to return home. “Hi I’m Aiya, what’s your name?” She asked one of the girls.


Sergio and Scott were bound to each other by the wrists with their backs against each other. After about an hour of silence the blindfolds were taken off. “My boss thinks you guys are a little bit too in touch with your combat skills to be common travelers. So why don’t you let us what you’re doing in this part of the forest.”    

“We were hunting, this is still our country. Even you of the sand should understand that,” Sergio replied. “Captain Gray said we were to go unharmed, and that we could keep our weapons. He seemed eager to talk with us; you wouldn’t want him to find out about this now would you.”

“Who do you think ordered this?” A deep voice came from shadows. Its speaker showed himself. He was as huge as the man that carried away Aiya, maybe it was him. He clenched his fist and struck Scott in the stomach.

“Now why don’t we try this again,” the first soldier spoke. “What are you doing up here? You better be honest or Beast here is going to start hurting you.”

“He told you, are you deaf or something,” Scott snapped. “I swear it I’ll kill you myself when we get out of this. I don’t forget names Beast.”

Beast grabbed Scott’s neck with one hand. His thumb and finger connected at the back of Scott’s neck. “I could snap your scrawny neck with one hand son.”

“You’re not going to do that Beast,” Sergio said with a calm demeanor. “If you started snapping necks you wouldn’t get any answers.”

“Stick to punching them Beast,” the first soldier ordered.


Captain Gray washed his face with water from an ivory bowl and a clean towel. A slave cleaned the captain’s body. Lelya entered the captain’s tent. Her face had been clean and her mascara was reapplied.

“Leave slave. Go back to your tent I’m sure you’re needed for something of a more carnal nature,” Lelya slapped the girl as she exited the tent.

Lelya walked to the bathing bowel and wetted the towel. She began cleaning Captain Gray’s chest. “You are important Gray,” Lelya said as she wiped around his neck. “A slave for you is too low.” She kissed his chest. “You showed mercy today, many would call that weakness.”

“You think me a fool Lelya,” Gray said stepping back. He robed himself. “You’re the third wife of a man-god. I like my head where it is and I’m sure you do as well. Let’s not forget the meaning of these meetings. I’m already betraying my king I won’t do the same to a god. And if you think that a slave is too low for me why don’t you order one of your men to go fetch me that girl we rescued.”

“She may not be a slave now, but soon enough.”

“If that’s the case, why’d you have her put with the morale?”

“I did no such thing.”

“Don’t lie to me Lelya. There’s very little you can get past me. This may be your outpost, but it is, for now, still in my country. I was going to have them questioned too; I was just going to go about it a bit differently. I guess a few bruises won’t kill them.”

“Fine I’ll have her fetched.”

“No don’t worry about it. Like you said, she’ll be a slave soon enough. But for now she’s not to be touched. Do you understand?”

Lelya exited the tent for a few seconds then reentered. “She’s being sent after and taken to my tent Gray.”

“Now let’s get to business. I have charts here,” Gray said as he pulled some maps and documents from a pack. “The dragons are being gathered next month from our, Mak’s, daughter countries. My King is doing whatever he can. The king does not want to be known as the king that lost the oldest country in the world to his desert neighbors.”

“We can get to this later Gray, I want you.” She unrobed and gently removed the map from the table.

“Stop it Lelya. You might do this to your husband, but I won’t to my wife and daughter. Don’t make me put my armor back on.”

“Don’t you want an Empress?”

Gray nearly laughed. “What I want is for the emissary in front of me to robe and finish this meeting so I can get back to the city by tomorrow night.”

Art work by Marat Ars found at http://digital-art-gallery.com/picture/5013 ********

Aiya was fighting off a lonely soldier when Lelya’s runner showed up. “Back off or I’ll cut it off damn it,” Aiya protested.

“Leave her be Esgard. Empress Lelya sent me to get her. She wants her unharmed.”

“Not fair, she’s the only one in this tent that hasn’t been had by the infantry.”

“Lelya will be expecting you sober during duty tonight. I’m not covering for you again Esgard.” The runner turned his attention to Aiya and said, “Let’s go, before I let him have you.”

Aiya was taken to a lavishly decorated tent. Lelya’s runner stayed with her. He remained silent just watching the girl.

“Do you know where they took my brother?”

The runner remained silent.

“Hello I asked you something.”

Lelya entered the tent, “Don’t answer that soldier. You’re dismissed; I can handle myself until your replacement gets in. Report back in the morning.”

“Yes Empress,” the runner complied.

“So you’re a hunter,” Lelya stated.

“Aye, that’s true,” Aiya lied.

“Where’s your bow?”

“I’m not very good with a bow. I can throw a knife straighter than I can shoot a bow. They don’t travel as fast, but I can throw five or six by the time any archer can nock a second arrow. Now my brother, Sergio, he’s good with a bow. He can nock an arrow in the time it takes for me to only throw two knives. Speaking of Sergio, where is he?”

“You don’t beat around the bush do you? The Almighty would like that,” Lelya attempted to get off subject again. “You know the Almighty hasn’t had a tenth wife in about twelve years.”

“Yeah I’ve heard the stories. Her name was Jazmin right? I heard she killed two wives before finally leaving the Almighty as you like to call him. I hear he favors himself a god. I prefer to call him Ga’ash; it is his real name after all. Speaking of wives, my brother has one and she would probably like to know where he is; tell me where he is.”

Just as Lelya was about to respond a knock sounded on the post just outside of the tent. It was probably the runner’s replacement.

“Enter,” commanded Lelya.

It was Esgard. “Empress,” He said. “Muhtmel said they broke one of them. He said you better come take a look.”

“Hunter huh,” Lelya laughed. “Esgard stay with this one. Don’t let her out of the tent.”

“You can beat a lie out of man,” Aiya yelled to Lelya as she left the tent.

“You shouldn’t speak to the Empress with such a tone, her husband is a god.”

After a few short seconds Aiya noticed Esgard was looking at her the way he was when they were back in the morale tent. Aiya slowly loosened her belt and stood up. “You’re right I shouldn’t. I know what I should do though,” she said. Her robe opened revealing her bra. She walked to him. “Grab me,” she said.

He complied pulling her close. His eyes widened. He had to feel many of the knives that were attached to the inside of her robe. Aiya pushed him down and kneeled over him. She put her mouth to his ear. “Good night,” she whispered as she released her spring assisted blade into his temple.

She put herself back together and snuck out of the tent and eventually caught up to Lelya. She kept a safe distance from her target. Lelya stopped to talk to a man outside of a tent. Aiya couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the man kept pointing to his arm and Lelya looked as if she were growing increasingly madder with every word he spoke.

Aiya cut a large slit into the back of the tent and silently slid in. In the dark she managed to see two figures bound together, back to back. Aiya cut the rope that was binding the assassins. “You guys-”

Beast appeared almost out of nowhere. His huge fist came smashing down towards Aiya. She grabbed his hand with both of hers and was still sent to a knee. Sergio unsheathed the scimitar from Beast’s belt and in one quick move he liberated Beast’s head from his shoulders. Scott reached out catching the massive head by the long wavy black hair and slowly put it down as Aiya and Sergio quietly lowered the body.

Scott’s left arm appeared hurt. He kept it held against his chest. “Are you okay?” Aiya whispered to her cousin.

“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”


Idea for Lelya. Art by Marat Ars

09 March 2012

A Mother's Last Poem

A Mother’s Last Poem
            According to her parents the first word she ever uttered was ‘book.’
            Kelli always wanted to learn to write like her mother did. She had many journals piled up in corners and stuffed in drawers. Some journals contained written love stories, some held memories, others held stories of monsters and heroes, and many were stained with coffee and tea. Thousands of pages of paper cluttered her bedroom. She had poems tacked to walls, her favorite quotes were written on sticky notes that now framed the room, a few romantically erotic shorts were hidden in a shoe box under her bed, and her favorite diary entries dangled from her slow revolving ceiling fan. A flash fiction story of two hundred words was framed next to a picture of her and her mother during a camping trip nearly thirteen years ago; Kelli was sixteen.
            The picture was taken a week before the car crash. The crash killed her mother nearly instantly, it left her father in a wheel chair before he died of complications four short months later, and Kelli walked away from it without so much as a broken nail and so did the drunk driver that hit them. Her mother was writing poem at the time of the crash. Every Saturday her mother would write a poem. Some were simple. Some were complex. All were beautiful.
Found on https://angelnjuly.wordpress.com/
            Her mother often wrote of flowers in spring and weathered light houses outlasting a storm. Sometimes she’d write a poem about their golden retriever named Charlie and their horse named Buck Roger. Though, mostly she wrote about her husband and her daughter.
            Behind that framed picture of the last camping trip Kelli had taken were the beginning stanzas of her mother’s final poem. She’d always wanted to finish it; her father had asked her to. She had written millions of words, but none, in her eyes, seemed fitting to be her mother’s last words. Tonight, she said would be the night.
            It was the thirteenth anniversary of the fatal crash and Kelli knew she needed to write something or it would haunt her forever. She sat at the desk and unframed the poem from behind the picture. She read it. It told of whispering winds, of the calm found at the creek’s edge, it testified to the kiss of the forest’s mornings, and the embrace of the night’s campfires. She began to cry; a tear fell onto the poem, it wasn’t the first.
            Kelli put the pen to the paper. She wiped tears from her eyes. She wrote. She told of drowning in the tears of the night’s stars, of the morning’s mourning dew, she testified to the comfort from her mother’s kiss, and to the warmth of the embrace of her father’s arms. And it was beautiful.     

05 March 2012

Tommy's Letter

Tommy’s Letter

Mickey held the gun firm in his left hand, a pen loosely in his right. He paced furiously. The cigarette, nearly out, was stuck to his bottom lip. He spit the burning cigarette butt to the floor and stepped on it. His feet were bare. He went for his pack. It was his last cigarette. He lit it and put it to his mouth. The pile of books on the table didn’t stand a chance. They flew wildly across the room. The cigarette was the best he’d ever had.

The hotel room's plaid wallpaper ran with water stains. Mold was in every corner. It was a nonsmoking room. It came with three ash trays. There was no bathroom, just a crapper and a hose port above a drain. It was a decorated jail cell with more porn glued to the walls than in any wooden hooch in Afghanistan. The smell seemed toxic. Mickey wouldn’t even use the crapper.

Mickey sat down at the desk. He was frustrated, angry, depressed, drunk, and in tears. He pressed the barrel of the gun to his head. Weak, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t time yet, there was still Tommy. He sat the pistol down next to a weathered journal. He tore out a piece. He wrote:
By Slim45hady
Found at http://slim45hady.deviantart.com/
Dear Tommy,
            This aint right, but it never was. Not any time since we came to Mexico. We never should’ve left Puerto Rico.
There’s a briefcase with 10 grand in the mattress. Flip it over you’ll find it. I’m sorry Sarah didn’t make it. I wish it’d been me instead. I love you little brother.

Mickey stood up. He paced a few more times. He tossed his cigarette into the half eaten bowl of cereal. The door began to open, Tommy stepped through. Mickey put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Click!

I hope you enjoyed the post. Please leave comments and feedback. Criticism is always welcome just please keep it in good taste. Oh and don’t forget to Subscribe and become a Fictional Escapee.