We talked more after that, but not much worth repeating.
What can you say that tops, “I’m an alien on the run from my people who, by the way, commit genocide as a hobby, and might stop by any day now?”
Near the end of lunch, I got a text message from Daniel. It said, “Dad says come by any time.” Continue reading Turning Eighteen: Part 4
I thought about that. “Uh… Is there anything you’re likely to do that would put the human race in danger?”
Lee took another piece of pizza. “Anything that I’m likely to do? No. I’ve been keeping my head down for a long time now, but sometimes I’ve been known to take a risk. Now I take less.”
“I’m assuming that you’re hiding from your people, whatever they are… What happens if they catch you?” Continue reading Turning Eighteen: Part 3
If you’d asked me beforehand what kind of lunch you have when you’re turning eighteen, and you’re about to receive potentially life altering secrets from an immortal friend of your grandfather, I wouldn’t have had the slightest clue.
As it turned out, the answer was pizza.
After months of eating undelivered “mistake” pizza from Travis’ and Haley’s family’s restaurants, I shouldn’t have wanted any. Fortunately, Lee let us choose the toppings. It was a small thing, but it made all the difference. It’s nice to have a little control over your life.
We ate it at a picnic table in Veterans Memorial Park right next to the beach. Continue reading Turning Eighteen: Part 2
I turned eighteen a few days later.
It had been an odd few days. After the fight, the police came, taking Ray and Gina away in a Box. They questioned Mom about her kidnapping too, and she went to the police station to answer questions without us.
Dad brought her home late on Thursday afternoon. Continue reading Turning Eighteen: Part 1
I’m sure you’ve probably noticed them in the sidebar under superhero fiction, but take a look at:
The Last Skull: The author just finished a major chunk of the story.
Zephyr: New website with much better usability than the old one.
Flyover City: A one shot novel about a guy who’s a superhero fan in a world with lots of heroes.
“Are you crazy? Don’t you see a difference between killing a guy because he’s trying to kill you, and killing him when he’s practically dead?”
“He was a killer, and I stopped him. You weren’t going to. I did what had to be done. What were you going to do, hand him over to the cops? He’d only escape again.”
“I don’t know what I was going to do. All I know is that you didn’t kill him because you think the system doesn’t work. You were going for revenge.” Continue reading The Executioner: Part 11
Ray hit the power lines hard, ripping two from the crossbar in a shower of sparks, and hitting the utility pole with his back.
His strength made it worse.
When you’re falling, the most natural thing in the world is to reach out, and grab the nearest thing you can as hard as you can.
He grabbed a power line. Continue reading The Executioner: Part 10
She kicked up a lot of sand when her feet left the ground, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I was too busy watching where she’d land.
That would likely be low on any list of “Smart Things to Do When You’re Being Chased.”
Here’s why: If I would have run, I’d have likely made it partway across the street, possibly all the way across, and into the forest.
As it was, she landed within arm’s reach of me. Continue reading The Executioner: Part 9
The door shattered.
I stumbled, and nearly fell as I dropped to the sand behind the house. Between my rush to leave and the stealth suit’s additional strength, I’d overshot the steps.
I nearly hit the grill of the white, Ford Bronco parked in the driveway. Dodging it, I twisted, and turned left into sand and knee-high, dune grass. Continue reading The Executioner: Part 8
Mom’s arms were on the other side of the chair from where Rachel and I stood, but if she were hoping to get away, those ropes had to go next.
Glancing near the legs of her chair told me no more ropes lay on the far side.
I thought she might be waiting for a better chance, but then I realized that this was it. For the first time since I’d arrived, no one held a gun to her head. Continue reading The Executioner: Part 7