Exercise 10: Post Here!

[Tamur]

This thread is for participants in the Mead Hall Writers' Society writing group to post exercises from Lesson 10: Plot Smatterings.

After you've posted, you're encouraged to review other entries, and discuss the assignment over in the general discussion thread.

[Prince Cobra]

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Byzantium, Constantinople, 1310
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Summary


The dreams of Nicephorus Doukas had become true. Over a decade and a half after the death of his father he had surpassed him. Now he was one of the most powerful men in the Byzantine Empire.

Nicephorus was tired. The same day he had seen the downfall of several conspirators whose plans were failed with the help of two loyal friends of him: Constantine Matsakes, his bodyguard and steward, and Nicholas Christakis, an old friend of his father who had retired from policy because of his leprosy. He decided to walk incognito in the city. He called his friend Constantine Matsakes and went out with few trusted guards. During the walk he had a strange feeling that he was being spied. He speaks with Constantine Matsakes on the issue and then he decides to return. In a narrow street he almost clashes with his ally Christakis. Christakis is in the carriage and Nicephorus decides not to reveal himself since he wants to keep his “trip” secret. Suddenly, he realises he is in ambush. In the chaos Nicephorus rushes towards the carriage. The leprous nobleman sent his men to help him and went out of the carriage to observe the situation better. Then out of the blue four dogs attacked them and killed the leprous nobleman whilst his men are trying to save Nicephorus Doukas in the chaos. Nicephorus tries to run but he is too slow because of his injury of the knee. As he falls on the ground the three surviving dogs jump on him. Thanks to the interference of Constantine, Nicephorus is saved but the disease is already in his blood. Most of the attackers are dead but the last assassin manages to make his way through the Nicephorus’ guards. Nicephorus is returned to his palace where he reflects on his fate and the end of his career.

Beginning

Nicephorus Doukas, the Megas Logothetes of the Roman Empire dismissed his servants and left alone in his large and lavishly decorated bedroom. He sat on his chair and bent on it. He closed his eyes. Fools, he thought. Alexander Raoul and Christopher Radul made this stupid attempt to destroy him. But what they achieved was their own downfall. The head of Christopher Radul rolled on the ground, Alexander Raoul went in exile but he was not to survive much, because of…hm, the air and water in that monastery. What did they think? He had surrounded the Emperor Andronicus the Second with his trusted men. He had put his trusted man as Patriarch of Constantinople. His guards were numerous. His spy network made him invincible. He had become one of the most powerful men in the Empire if not the most powerful. His father had to watch him beyond the grave with envy. His dreams had finally become true.

And yet he was not as happy as he had thought. Power was responsibility. The Empire was surrounded by enemies: Bulgarians, Serbs, Turks and the cursed Italians who ate the Empire from inside. But he would fight. The Empire resisted the barbarian raids, the Arab arrogance. After Manzikert, during the rule of his incompetent predecessor Michael the Seventh Doukas, the Empire lost Minor Asia. But it survived. Then only a century ago it lost its capital by the Latin knights but also survived. Now it had to fight the Turks again. And with his efforts and sacrifices it had to survive!

But now he was exhausted. And tomorrow he had to meet emissaries and to continue with his hard work on the Imperial bureaucracy, which had fallen in chaos. Many aristocrats tried to seize the power at the expense of the Emperor’s power, some of them even saw themselves as independent rulers of their small principalities. But so far he was coping with the situation. He hoped so.

He opened his eyes. He knew he had to sleep. But it was all the same. The strict rules of the ceremonial, the kind words, the lackeys…few things changed, and even fewer for good. The more time he was on the top, the more envious the men around him were. The problems of the Empire also seemed to have no end. Nicephorus sometimes felt as he was like a bird in a cage. Only the intrigues were giving pleasure to his lonely soul and they only helped him to develop that grain of creativity he had buried with the choice of his career. He was no longer a poet or a naïve youth. He was Nicephorus Alexius Comnenus Doukas.

But it was still hard for him to resist the temptation. He wanted to leave the restriction of his life and he wanted to feel as free as he was before. Before the death of Dyogenus, the man who was his lover, before the death of his brother and even before the death of his father.

Then he rose from the chair and felt pain in his knee. Yes, he thought, and before the death of my wife. These beautiful times would never return, he sighed. He made a step further and then decided to sit. He almost gave up. But his desire was growing. And he called his guards.

End

He felt the pain of his dying body; he still felt the taste of poisoned blood in his mouth. He had met the death while still alive. The physician told him the wounds are deep but they would soon disappear. But he would never be the man he was before. In several years or less, the horrible disease of his father’s ally would appear. He would be doomed to a slow and painful death. And he was to lose everything: the power in which name he had sacrificed everything a mortal man loved and dreamed. He had no family. His wife was dead because of him. His three children felt no love towards him. Two of them even outwardly detested him. And they were right to do so. He was a horrible father. Just like his own father.

His father could not love. He had lost that gift, too. After the death of Dyogenus his heart turned into a piece of ice. And his power could not save him. It destroyed him. Then… everything became an illusion. The illusion he was invincible. The illusion he was the one to save the Empire. He was very wrong. After this accident the truth proved itself. His guards only managed to save his life. But only his life. He lost his health, his illusions, and his hopes and was doomed to wait for his death to return. And maybe she would when he saw everything collapsing before his eyes.

Then he met the eyes of his most trusted servant Constantine Matsakes. He was the only one who had left near his bed. From the day they met, their fates became one. Many things happened since that distant day when Constantine was sent to spy him. They both changed and not for good. But one thing stood constant: Constantine’s loyalty towards him.

“ Mirror!” Nicephorus said with weak voice. Constantine looked surprised but obeyed his master. Nicephorus rose his hand and saw her. It was wrapped in white bandages slightly reddened by the blood of his wounds. He took the mirror and stared at it. He faced his beautiful face. There were only slight bruises on him. Then he put the mirror on his bed. Constantine tried to took it but Nicephorus forbid him with a single look. Anger was growing his weak and sick body. He was used to the image of his face. He knew it was a powerful weapon to influence people. But it was soon to disappear. He threw the mirror on the floor but he could not hear any clinging sound. He heard unpleasant and cold laughter. His laughter. His face was the only thing left from his father. And this last memory was soon to be wiped out. And he found that funny!

[Timsup2nothin]

David Haynes joined the Navy in 1988 and became a Navy SEAL.
He fought in the first gulf war.
He was sent to Afghanistan and Iraq.
In 2004 he was approaching the end of an enlistment and refused to re-enlist, putting his concerns for the direction the United States had taken above his interest in retirement available through one more hitch.
The Navy cited the needs of the Navy and did not let him out for almost a year, only relenting when he threatened to go AWOL and sell his services on the black market.
In 2005 he returned to San Diego California, seeking employment through Veteran Services and looking at first like he would return to a normal life. He was conflicted because taxes on his income would continue to support the United States.
After three months he cashed out his savings and dropped out of contact with all forms of government; moving out of his last known residence with no forwarding address, never opening another bank account, never applying for credit or job using his social security number.
He drifted north, working odd jobs that paid under the table, sleeping in parks and on rooftops, panhandling in a desultory fashion.
He eventually settled in the Antelope Valley, an area in Los Angeles county characterized by a large commuter population.
By observing neighborhoods he learned where to find pure commuter households that would leave their houses empty all day, and established safe houses where he could shower, do laundry,grab a snack, take afternoon naps, access the internet. His cash he split up and secured in their back yards and garages.
Since he needed very little money he did not pursue employment or actively panhandle, but did frequently spend evenings striking conversations in front of gas station mini-marts as a panhandler would, expressing the possibility of dropping out of American society to anyone who would stop to listen.
One night two teen-agers approached him, wanting him to buy them beer, and he refused.
One of the youngsters, son of the wealthy owner of a local car dealership and unaccustomed to being refused became angry, blustering and threatening the 'homeless bum' before being led away by his cooler headed companion.
The two youths returned late in the evening when the mini-mart was quiet, intoxicated and armed with a baseball bat.
In a brief struggle, David took the bat and killed them both.
The two boys maintained a website where they hosted videos of their adventures in 'bum-rolling', 'jig-stomping', and 'bean-bashing', as they titled the sub-sections.
After several months the case fell out of interest.
David created an identity and presented himself to the wealthy father as a private investigator. The father contracted for him to find his son's killer.
After a few weeks David returned, claiming to have identified the person responsible. The father insisted that turning the information over to law enforcement would not really be justice, and demanded that David kill the person responsible for his son's death.
David carefully detailed the events that led to him killing the boys.
The father refused to recognize the boys accountability in the matter, demonstrating the source of his son's behavior.
David kills him too.




The Veteran

The town got very quiet after ten o'clock. Commuters, anticipating the two hour morning drive, did whatever they had to do early. Of course, not everyone in the town made the drive to jobs in the sprawl of Los Angeles, but more than enough did, and they had most of the money. Businesses that stayed open late generally found it not worth the effort.

At ten o'clock the security guard, the second attendant, and the girl from the sandwich counter all left the mini-mart. David stood up from the narrow windowsill he had been leaning on and stretched. David was a regular at the mini-mart. He didn't really panhandle, though people did frequently give him change. Mostly he just hung around, greeting everyone who went by with a smile and a friendly word or two. Maria, the late shift attendant, waved at him as she closed and locked the door. Anyone who came after ten would pay through an outdoor slot if they didn't just use a card to pay at the pump. David strolled slowly away across the supermarket parking lot.

Most nights, if the weather was clear, David slept on the roof of the supermarket. There was a maintenance ladder on the back of the building. It had a metal cover locked over the rungs to keep people from climbing it. David considered the cover as privacy and security. After sixteen years as a Navy SEAL the cover was not an impediment for him. His fingers could catch the rungs from behind, and he could maintain a grip on the ladder with his knees. He never went straight from the mini-mart to the ladder, but wandered the streets casually until the supermarket staff had left after the cleaning and stocking they did when the store closed at eleven.

When he first turned off the main street into the quiet neighborhood he knew there was trouble. The Honda that turned in behind him was moving too slow, then sped past, as if the driver suddenly realized that it was impossible not to be noticed. David would have laughed, but he recognized the car. He noted the street two blocks ahead where the car turned off. As he expected, the two teen aged boys appeared at the corner a moment later, peering through bushes in a darkened front yard. David had walked as the point for his team through most of Kuwait, Afghanistan and Iraq. He laughed out loud at the amateur ambush and turned one street before where the boys were waiting.

He knew it was a dead end street. He also knew the house at the end was vacant, had no latch on the side gate, and that the back wall separated it from a house owned by a childless couple who rose for work each day at three AM. When he dropped silently into their back yard they would sleep through, unaware and undisturbed. He wasn't running from the two youngsters. He just wanted to be able to get away in case talking to them went badly. He stood on the curb halfway down the block and waited for the Honda.

When the boys turned the corner they were expecting David to have disappeared, and were blaming each other for the lost opportunity. When the headlights washed across him the driver hit the brakes. "He's waiting for us."

"So? He should have known better. He should have known enough to just get us some beers when we asked like civilized people. This is a dead end street. Turn around before you park. He'll probably run when we go by him, then we can chase him."

David didn't run, he just watched them roll past.

"He could get the license number," the driver complained.

"Quit whining. What's he gonna do? Some broke ass bum. You told your folks we were going to a movie, and I'll swear to it. So let's make a movie!"

The Honda passed David again, then rolled to a stop at the corner. The boys came out of the car, the passenger holding a baseball bat, the driver struggling with a palm sized digital camera. David shook his head and sighed. It seemed very likely that this talk would indeed go badly.
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The rest of the car dealership was air conditioned just enough to hold off the worst of the desert heat, but it was obvious that the owner's office was fed by its own dedicated unit. The tall lanky man relaxed in a desk chair that cost more than most of his customers could offer as down payments. "You found them?" he asked.

"Him. It was just one man. The boys attacked him with a bat."

"That isn't how it happened." There was an edge in the car dealer's voice, an edge that normally compelled agreement. He knew how to coat that edge in honey when he was closing a deal with a customer, but with his hired investigator he did not feel the need.

"Yes, sir, that is exactly how it happened. Your son had the bat. His pal had a digital camera. I've seen their film. I could get it to the cops so they can verify the man's identity if you want him turned in."

"For what? So some bum can claim self defense? So my boy can be made the bad guy? You think that's what I'm paying you for?"

"You wanted me to find out what happened."

"That isn't what happened."

"They met a man in front of a mini-mart. They wanted him to buy them beer. He told them to go home. They followed him and attacked him with a bat."

"No. I keep telling you no and you keep telling me bullshit."

"What do you want me to say? Your son's friend started out trying to film it. I've seen that film. I know what happened."

"No one else can see that film. It would be misleading. You don't know what happened."

"I do. The film shows what happened. They had a website where they posted films just like it, except they had better luck with choosing their victims."

"Can the cops connect that website to my boy?"

"Probably not. They probably wouldn't try."

"The killer would walk."

"It was self defense."

"I want justice. I want him dead."

"So did your son, because he refused to buy him beer. Your son is dead. That is justice, the beginning of justice anyway."

"How dare you! Do you have any idea who you are talking to here?"

"It's funny, that's exactly what your son said when I wouldn't buy the beer. I know who I'm talking to. Do you?"


The secretary found him in his cool office, in his three thousand dollar chair, with his neck broken.


~finis~

[Tamur]

Keeping open for a possible late submission... since I'm running late, it's only fair

[Tamur]

from MountainTroll:


Summary:

Dillon moved to the Midwest when he was 12. Suddenly his summers are punctuated by tornado sirens and they terrify him. He moved around a lot earlier in his life, and a house means stability to him. Seeing the destruction a tornado can cause sends shocks of fear through him. He wrestles with issues of fear and how unpredictable life can be.

When he is 16, he starts his own ham radio show (with a girl Sheila) to broadcast weather reports, after feeling frustrated with the mainstream news reports. The bulk of the story would be built from interviews with different locals, each with a story of fear or uncertainty in their life.

Finally when a tornado strikes his town, and knocks out traditional forms of communication, it is Dillon who is able to help co-ordinate relief efforts with his radio.
It would end with him not becoming unafraid, but simply moving foreword despite the uncertainty, feeling empowered by the survival of the stories of others and knowing that he can make a difference so that someday he will be remembered in a story.


Opening:

Out in the front yard, Dillon froze. It was unbelievable. Not again.

The heavy afternoon air was broken with the wailing of the tornado siren. It faded in and out, spinning around somewhere in the center of town, sending its signal in all directions.

He ran inside his house, the screen door banging behind him. His mother and younger sister were already rushing down the stairs from the second story floor. “Hurry!” His mother shouted. “Get in the basement!”.


Closing:

Dillon set down his microphone and flipped the switch off. Sheila laughed at the shocked look on his face. “Didn’t think you’d ever be interviewed on your own radio station, did you?” she asked. “That was a good interview. People had a right to know how you felt.”
He just stared at her, and gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad it’s over. I can just be me now.” But as too who that was, he wasn’t exactly sure.
He strongly suspected he wasn’t the same as the boy who froze at the sound of the warning siren. With any luck, his contact with local fame would get him a date with Mabel’s granddaughter. At any rate, it felt good to know he could handle success or rejection with by choosing his response. Somehow he’d passed nature’s test.
Sheila grabbed his hand and pulled him along. “Let’s go get some ice-cream. I’ll bet Mabel would love to hear how the interview went.”
Finally smiling, he realized that the forces of nature were small compared to the forces of female matchmaking. He chose to willingly submit to the prevailing winds, again testing the fates, knowing he could survive what they offered.

[Tamur]

Opening for comments... mine only until Tuesday when my editor friend will be able to finish comments. I'll edit her comments in and post another note in here then.

[Tamur]

Stephen Asen


--------
Byzantium, Constantinople, 1310
------

Summary


The dreams of Nicephorus Doukas had become true. Over a decade and a half after the death of his father he had surpassed him. Now he was one of the most powerful men in the Byzantine Empire.

Nicephorus was tired. The same day he had seen the downfall of several conspirators whose plans were failed with the help of two loyal friends of him: Constantine Matsakes, his bodyguard and steward, and Nicholas Christakis, an old friend of his father who had retired from policy because of his leprosy. He decided to walk incognito in the city. He called his friend Constantine Matsakes and went out with few trusted guards. During the walk he had a strange feeling that he was being spied. He speaks with Constantine Matsakes on the issue and then he decides to return. In a narrow street he almost clashes with his ally Christakis. Christakis is in the carriage and Nicephorus decides not to reveal himself since he wants to keep his “trip” secret. Suddenly, he realises he is in ambush. In the chaos Nicephorus rushes towards the carriage. The leprous nobleman sent his men to help him and went out of the carriage to observe the situation better. Then out of the blue four dogs attacked them and killed the leprous nobleman whilst his men are trying to save Nicephorus Doukas in the chaos. Nicephorus tries to run but he is too slow because of his injury of the knee. As he falls on the ground the three surviving dogs jump on him. Thanks to the interference of Constantine, Nicephorus is saved but the disease is already in his blood. Most of the attackers are dead but the last assassin manages to make his way through the Nicephorus’ guards. Nicephorus is returned to his palace where he reflects on his fate and the end of his career.

Beginning

Nicephorus Doukas, the Megas Logothetes of the Roman Empire dismissed his servants and left alone in his large and lavishly decorated bedroom. He sat on his chair and bent on it. He closed his eyes. Fools, he thought. Alexander Raoul and Christopher Radul made this stupid attempt to destroy him. But what they achieved was their own downfall. The head of Christopher Radul rolled on the ground, Alexander Raoul went in exile but he was not to survive much he did not survive long, because of… hmm, the air and water in that monastery. What did they think? He had surrounded the Emperor Andronicus the Second with his trusted men. He had put his trusted man as Patriarch of Constantinople. His guards were numerous. His spy network made him invincible. He had become one of the most powerful men in the Empire if not the most powerful. His father had to watch him beyond the grave with envy. His dreams had finally become true.

And yet he was not as happy as he had thought. Power was responsibility. The Empire was surrounded by enemies: Bulgarians, Serbs, Turks and the cursed Italians who ate the Empire from inside. But he would fight. The Empire resisted the barbarian raids, the Arab arrogance. After Manzikert, during the rule of his incompetent predecessor Michael the Seventh Doukas, the Empire lost Minor Asia Asia Minor. But it survived. Then only a century ago it lost its capital by to? was the capital attacked by Latin knights? the Latin knights but also survived. Now it had to fight the Turks again. And with his efforts and sacrifices it had to survive!

But now he was exhausted. And tomorrow he had to meet emissaries and to continue with his hard work on the Imperial bureaucracy, which had fallen in into chaos. Many aristocrats tried to seize the remove power at the expense of the Emperor’s power, some of them even saw themselves as independent rulers of their small principalities. But so far he was coping with the situation. He hoped so.

He opened his eyes. He knew he had to sleep. But it was all the same. The strict rules of the ceremonial, the kind words, the lackeys… few things changed, and even fewer for good. The more time he was on the top, the more envious the men around him were. The problems of the Empire also seemed to have no end. Nicephorus sometimes felt as he was like a bird in a cage. Only the intrigues were giving pleasure to his lonely soul nice line, very descriptive and they only helped him to develop that grain of creativity he had buried with the choice of his career. He was no longer a poet or a naïve youth. He was Nicephorus Alexius Comnenus Doukas.

But it was still hard for him to resist the temptation. He wanted to leave the restriction of his life and he wanted to feel as free as he was before. Before the death of Dyogenus, the man who was his lover, before the death of his brother and even before the death of his father.

Then he rose from the chair and felt pain in his knee This seems disconnected from everything else, explain more?. Yes, he thought, and before the death of my wife. These beautiful times would never return, he sighed. He made a step further and then decided to sit. He almost gave up. But his desire was growing. And he called his guards.

Good sense of hesitancy in the actions - the sigh, the step, the sitting, etc
End



He felt the pain of his dying body; he still felt the taste of poisoned blood in his mouth. He had met the remove death while still alive. The physician told him the wounds are deep but they would soon disappear. But he would never be the man he was before. In several years or less, the horrible disease of his father’s ally would appear. He would be doomed to a slow and painful death. And he was to lose everything: the power in which name he had sacrificed everything a mortal man loved and dreamed. He had no family. His wife was dead because of him. His three children felt no love towards him. Two of them even outwardly detested him. And they were right to do so. He was a horrible father. Just like his own father.

His father could not love. He had lost that gift, too. After the death of Dyogenus his heart turned into a piece of ice. And his power could not save him. It destroyed him. Then… everything became an illusion. The illusion he was invincible. The illusion he was the one to save the Empire. He was very wrong. Before you said this, I guessed it - you might consider not even saying it since it's fairly obvious After this accident the truth proved itself. His guards only managed to save his life. But only his life. He lost his health, his illusions, and his hopes and was doomed to wait for his death to return. And maybe she would when he saw everything collapsing before his eyes.

Then he met the eyes of his most trusted servant Constantine Matsakes. He was the only one who had left stayed, or remained near his bed. From the day they met, their fates became one. Many things happened since that distant day when Constantine was sent to spy him. They both changed had changed and not for good. But one thing stood constant: Constantine’s loyalty towards him.

“Mirror!” Nicephorus said with weak voice. Constantine looked surprised but obeyed his master. Nicephorus rose raised his hand and saw her it. It was wrapped in white bandages slightly reddened by the blood of his wounds. He took the mirror and stared at it. He faced his beautiful face. There were only slight bruises on him. Then he put the mirror on his bed. Constantine tried to took it but Nicephorus forbid him with a single look. Anger was growing his weak and sick body. He was used to the image of his face. He knew it was a powerful weapon to influence people. But it was soon to disappear. He threw the mirror on the floor but he could not hear any clinging sound. He heard unpleasant and cold laughter. His laughter. His face was the only thing left from his father. This paragraph was confusing until this line, but it's clear after some thought And this last memory was soon to be wiped out. And he found that funny!

It's a very tragic story, which is great. I think the difficulty will be to tell it so that the reader will have some sympathy for Nicephorus. Right now he seems to be a brutal, self-serving fellow who deserves what he gets in the end. Will Constantine be someone the reader can care about? The other difficulty I can see is that it's very introspective -- most of the text is the character thinking about himself and his situation. This can be excellent for showing character but can also be very claustrophobic for a reader who wants to see more of what's happening outside the walls of his brain.

[Tamur]

Timsup2nothin

David Haynes joined the Navy in 1988 and became a Navy SEAL.
He fought in the first gulf war.
He was sent to Afghanistan and Iraq.
In 2004 he was approaching the end of an enlistment and refused to re-enlist, putting his concerns for the direction the United States had taken above his interest in retirement available through one more hitch.
The Navy cited the needs of the Navy and did not let him out for almost a year, only relenting when he threatened to go AWOL and sell his services on the black market.
In 2005 he returned to San Diego California, seeking employment through Veteran Services and looking at first like he would return to a normal life. He was conflicted because taxes on his income would continue to support the United States.
After three months he cashed out his savings and dropped out of contact with all forms of government; moving out of his last known residence with no forwarding address, never opening another bank account, never applying for credit or job using his social security number.
He drifted north, working odd jobs that paid under the table, sleeping in parks and on rooftops, panhandling in a desultory fashion.
He eventually settled in the Antelope Valley, an area in Los Angeles county characterized by a large commuter population.
By observing neighborhoods he learned where to find pure commuter households that would leave their houses empty all day, and established safe houses where he could shower, do laundry,grab a snack, take afternoon naps, access the internet. His cash he split up and secured in their back yards and garages.
Since he needed very little money he did not pursue employment or actively panhandle, but did frequently spend evenings striking conversations in front of gas station mini-marts as a panhandler would, expressing the possibility of dropping out of American society to anyone who would stop to listen.
One night two teen-agers approached him, wanting him to buy them beer, and he refused.
One of the youngsters, son of the wealthy owner of a local car dealership and unaccustomed to being refused became angry, blustering and threatening the 'homeless bum' before being led away by his cooler headed companion.
The two youths returned late in the evening when the mini-mart was quiet, intoxicated and armed with a baseball bat.
In a brief struggle, David took the bat and killed them both.
The two boys maintained a website where they hosted videos of their adventures in 'bum-rolling', 'jig-stomping', and 'bean-bashing', as they titled the sub-sections.
After several months the case fell out of interest.
David created an identity and presented himself to the wealthy father as a private investigator. The father contracted for him to find his son's killer.
After a few weeks David returned, claiming to have identified the person responsible. The father insisted that turning the information over to law enforcement would not really be justice, and demanded that David kill the person responsible for his son's death.
David carefully detailed the events that led to him killing the boys.
The father refused to recognize the boys accountability in the matter, demonstrating the source of his son's behavior.
David kills him too.




The Veteran

The town got very quiet after ten o'clock. Commuters, anticipating the two hour morning drive, did whatever they had to do early. Of course, not everyone in the town made the drive to jobs in the sprawl of Los Angeles, but more than enough did, and they had most of the money. Businesses that stayed open late generally found it not worth the effort. Good scene setting.

At ten o'clock the security guard, the second attendant, and the girl from the sandwich counter all left the mini-mart. David stood up from the narrow windowsill he had been leaning on and stretched. David was a regular at the mini-mart. He didn't really panhandle, though people did frequently give him change. Mostly he just hung around, greeting everyone who went by with a smile and a friendly word or two. Maria, the late shift attendant, waved at him as she closed and locked the door. Anyone who came after ten would pay through an outdoor slot if they didn't just use a card to pay at the pump. David strolled slowly away across the supermarket parking lot.

Most nights, if the weather was clear, David slept on the roof of the supermarket. There was a maintenance ladder on the back of the building. It had a metal cover locked over the rungs to keep people from climbing it. David considered the cover as privacy and security. Nice character detail, I surmised here that he was ex-military or undercover. After sixteen years as a Navy SEAL the cover was not an impediment for him. His fingers could catch the rungs from behind, and he could maintain a grip on the ladder with his knees. He never went straight from the mini-mart to the ladder, but wandered the streets casually until the supermarket staff had left after the cleaning and stocking they did when the store closed at eleven.

So far I know only a little bit about David but I already like him, and wonder how he got to be in this situation.

When he first turned off the main street into the quiet neighborhood he knew there was trouble. The Honda that turned in behind him was moving too slow, then sped past, as if the driver suddenly realized that it was impossible not to be noticed. David would have laughed, but he recognized the car. He noted the street two blocks ahead where the car turned off. As he expected, the two teen aged boys appeared at the corner a moment later, peering through bushes in a darkened front yard. David had walked as the point for his team through most of Kuwait, Afghanistan and Iraq. He laughed out loud at the amateur ambush and turned one street before where the boys were waiting.

He knew it was a dead end street. He also knew the house at the end was vacant, had no latch on the side gate, and that the back wall separated it from a house owned by a childless couple who rose for work each day at three AM. This is shocking. It made me wonder if some completely unknown person knows that about my own house. When he dropped silently into their back yard they would sleep through, unaware and undisturbed. He wasn't running from the two youngsters. He just wanted to be able to get away in case talking to them went badly. He stood on the curb halfway down the block and waited for the Honda.

When the boys turned the corner they were expecting David to have disappeared, and were blaming each other for the lost opportunity. When the headlights washed across him the driver hit the brakes. "He's waiting for us." The change in voice here - from 3rd person David to 3rd person teenagers - took a moment of adjustment. It's not a major problem but something to be watchful for.

"So? He should have known better. He should have known enough to just get us some beers when we asked like civilized people. This is a dead end street. Turn around before you park. He'll probably run when we go by him, then we can chase him."

David didn't run, he just watched them roll past.

"He could get the license number," the driver complained.

"Quit whining. What's he gonna do? Some broke ass bum. You told your folks we were going to a movie, and I'll swear to it. So let's make a movie!"

The Honda passed David again, then rolled to a stop at the corner. The boys came out of the car, the passenger holding a baseball bat, the driver struggling with a palm sized digital camera. David shook his head and sighed. It seemed very likely that this talk would indeed go badly. Again, the voice switch takes adjustment but it's not a major issue. I think it might become an issue if it continued for many pages switching back and forth.
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The rest of the car dealership was air conditioned just enough to hold off the worst of the desert heat, but it was obvious that the owner's office was fed by its own dedicated unit. The tall lanky man relaxed in a desk chair that cost more than most of his customers could offer as down payments. "You found them?" he asked.

"Him. It was just one man. The boys attacked him with a bat."

"That isn't how it happened." There was an edge in the car dealer's voice, an edge that normally compelled agreement. He knew how to coat that edge in honey when he was closing a deal with a customer, but with his hired investigator he did not feel the need.

"Yes, sir, that is exactly how it happened. Your son had the bat. His pal had a digital camera. I've seen their film. I could get it to the cops so they can verify the man's identity if you want him turned in."

"For what? So some bum can claim self defense? So my boy can be made the bad guy? You think that's what I'm paying you for?"

"You wanted me to find out what happened."

"That isn't what happened." This is where I firmly settled on the 'jerk' label for the dealership owner.

"They met a man in front of a mini-mart. They wanted him to buy them beer. He told them to go home. They followed him and attacked him with a bat."

"No. I keep telling you no and you keep telling me bullshit."

"What do you want me to say? Your son's friend started out trying to film it. I've seen that film. I know what happened."

"No one else can see that film. It would be misleading. You don't know what happened."

"I do. The film shows what happened. They had a website where they posted films just like it, except they had better luck with choosing their victims."

"Can the cops connect that website to my boy?"

"Probably not. They probably wouldn't try."

"The killer would walk."

"It was self defense."

"I want justice. I want him dead."

I really like the short, choppy back-and-forth here. It does a lot build up the tension.

"So did your son, because he refused to buy him beer. Your son is dead. That is justice, the beginning of justice anyway." Chilling

"How dare you! Do you have any idea who you are talking to here?"

"It's funny, that's exactly what your son said when I wouldn't buy the beer. I know who I'm talking to. Do you?" Ha! Good rejoinder


The secretary found him in his cool office, in his three thousand dollar chair, with his neck broken.

I 100% side with David as a character, even though he's sneaking into people's houses, because he is created towards the beginning as a decent fellow with a quiet attitude. So, no matter what sort of mischief he gets into, I'll probably still like him. He's very interesting because of the complexity that could be developed -- gentle but able to kill, totally anonymous in a society that thrives on advertising databases, etc. Nice work.

[Tamur]

MountainTroll


Summary:

Dillon moved to the Midwest when he was 12. Suddenly his summers are punctuated by tornado sirens and they terrify him. He moved around a lot earlier in his life, and a house means stability to him. Seeing the destruction a tornado can cause sends shocks of fear through him. He wrestles with issues of fear and how unpredictable life can be.

When he is 16, he starts his own ham radio show (with a girl Sheila) to broadcast weather reports, after feeling frustrated with the mainstream news reports. The bulk of the story would be built from interviews with different locals, each with a story of fear or uncertainty in their life.

Finally when a tornado strikes his town, and knocks out traditional forms of communication, it is Dillon who is able to help co-ordinate relief efforts with his radio.
It would end with him not becoming unafraid, but simply moving foreword despite the uncertainty, feeling empowered by the survival of the stories of others and knowing that he can make a difference so that someday he will be remembered in a story.


Opening:

Out in the front yard, Dillon froze. It was unbelievable. Not again.

The heavy afternoon air was broken with the wailing of the tornado siren. It faded in and out, spinning around good image somewhere in the center of town, sending its signal in all directions.

He ran inside his house, the screen door banging behind him. His mother and younger sister were already rushing down the stairs from the second story floor. “Hurry!” His mother shouted. “Get in the basement!”.


Closing:

Dillon set down his microphone and flipped the switch off. Sheila laughed at the shocked look on his face. “Didn’t think you’d ever be interviewed on your own radio station, did you?” she asked. “That was a good interview. People had a right to know how you felt.”
He just stared at her, and gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad it’s over. I can just be me now.” But as too who that was, he wasn’t exactly sure.
He strongly suspected he wasn’t the same as the boy who froze at the sound of the warning siren. With any luck, his contact with local fame would get him a date with Mabel’s granddaughter hehe, good way to bring it down to a simple motivation. At any rate, it felt good to know he could handle success or rejection with by choosing his response If you've written the story as you plan, you shouldn't need this line as it should be evident to the reader that he's learned this. Somehow he’d passed nature’s test.
Sheila grabbed his hand and pulled him along. “Let’s go get some ice-cream. I’ll bet Mabel would love to hear how the interview went.”
Finally smiling, he realized that the forces of nature were small compared to the forces of female matchmaking. He chose to willingly submit to the prevailing winds, again testing the fates, knowing he could survive what they offered Great ending, nice way to wrap this up.

What you've written of opening and closing doesn't give a full feel for the story, but I think you'll have a great opportunity with the "framed tales" of the stories he tells on air compared to his own story rolling along. This is a great mechanism to both focus the story on a difficulty when it needs the focus, and lighten the story with some off-the-wall tale when it needs lightening.