Tuesday, July 16, 2013


Snow lay in heaps on the ground, and still the fat snowflakes descended.
They fell on their white brothers and sisters, they lay, all nestled together on roofs, yards, and the asphalt street.
A single streetlight illuminated the white and black night.
Mounds of flurry snow climbed up around the lamppost, like children pile round a good storyteller, eagerly expecting a treat.
The golden radiance of the lamp pierced the darkness, like a beacon it shone to show the gingerly falling snow where to land.
'Come', the light beckoned, 'Fall here, with your beautiful, cold family. Rest beneath my halo of brightness, I will keep you safe.'
And they fell quickly, thickly to the gleaming shine of the light. 

Monday, July 15, 2013

Thank You Lord

Thank you, Lord, for lamentation turned to joy,
Thank you, Lord, for inspiration, some humble some coy,
Thank you, Lord, for the sensation that words give to the lives that we live.

Thank you, good Lord, for spite turned to light,
For midnight to be bright.
And thank you, sweet savior, for a pen to write,
A lamp to light, and a swiftly moving hand,
To portray each and every sight.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Webster (No, not the dictionary)

A teen aged boy stumbled into the road, and, as if he couldn't take another step, he sat down and wept bitterly. A car hurtling towards him tried to stop, but the front hit him, knocking him flat on the cold asphalt. His head throbbed with pain as he lay, crying his heart out, underneath the oily engine of a Toyota Hybrid. A car door slammed and a man knelt over him, 'Are you alright?' 
The man scooped him up in his arms and repeated the question, louder this time.
Feebly he shook his head 'no' and went limp in the man's arms.
'Oh my God!' a woman screamed.
'Somebody call an ambulance for this boy!' The man yelled at the forming crowd.
Several people grabbed their phones and dialed 911.
Minutes later an ambulance, sirens wailing, sped down the road and skid to a halt in front of the man holding the boy. He was lifted onto a stretcher and put in the back of the ambulance and rushed to the hospital.
The ambulance driver and his assistant wheeled him into the emergency room, where a doctor surveyed the damage. The teen had a concussion, and would need to stay at the hospital for a day or two. The doctor order a nurse to wake him and keep him awake.
'Marsha,' the doctor said to his secretary, 'I'm going on lunch break, I want you to get this boy's parents up here before I get back, understood?'
'Yes, sir.' the young woman replied.
When the doctor got back from his lunch break he asked Marsha, 'Where are his parents?'
'Well, Mr.Collins, the boy doesn't seem to be registered.' Marsha said.
'Oh? That's odd.... I'll go ask the boy who he is then.' The doctor said, and strode off.
The boy was awake when Dr.Collins entered the room.
'Good afternoon, son, are you feeling any better?'
Instead of answering the boy stared at him with reddened eyes.
'What's your name, son?'
'I'm not your son.'
'Do you have a name, boy?'
The boy's face clouded and his brow furrowed. 'I don't know.'
'Why, everyone's got a name! What's yours?' the doctor pressed.
'Why do you wanna know?' The boy muttered darkly.
'Because you've been in an accident and we need to summon your parents.'
'I'm an orphan.'
'Oh? What orphanage do you stay at?'
'I don't.'
'Come, come, you must have a name, what is it?'
The boy sighed, ' You can call me Webster.'
'Webster? Sounds like a last name.. Do you have a first name, Webster?'
'No, it's just Webster.'
'Alright, Webster, you'll be here for a while, your body needs rest and treatment after that accident... How old are you?'
'Seventeen.' Webster said.
'Hmmm... Well you get some sleep, Webster and I'll check your wound tomorrow.'
'Marsha, look up Webster in all our files, will you?' the doctor asked.
'Will do, Dr.Collins.'
The next morning Dr.Collins went strait to the secretary's desk, 'Well?' he asked.
'No Websters matches his description, sir. Oh and your late for an appointment.'  Marsha said. 'Which room?' he asked.
'Room 385, Mr.Langton.' 
The doctor stomped off without so much as a 'Thank you' to Marsha.
A cocky looking young man strode up and asked Marsha, 'Which room is Webster in?'
'Are you a relative?'
'We are relatively close.'
'Come on, doll, let a guy see his friend.' the man pleaded.
'Alright, he's in room 386.' Marsha said.
'Thanks a million, cutie.' the man smiled at Marsha and strode off down the hall.
'Knock, knock.' The young man said as he entered room 386.
'Hello, Webster.'
Webster stared at the man levelly but his eyes portrayed a frightened light.
'What do want, Thompson?'
'Mr.G wants you back at base, now.'
'Look, I finished the mission and I'm hurt, I need some time off.' Webster said.
'No, you're coming with me.'  Thompson said coolly, grabbing Webster by the arm and dragged him out of bed.
'Say goodbye to rest, friend, it's time to work.' Thompson pulled Webster out into the hallway and shoved him into a wheelchair.
'Who are you? And where are you taking that patient?' Dr.Collins asked stepping out of room 385.
'We just got back from a stroll out in the courtyard, right Webster?' Thompson asked.
'Yeah, right.' Webster muttered.
'Well, I was going to give him a check up so I'll wheel him back to his room now.' Doctor Collins said, taking hold of the back of the wheel chair.
 Thompson smiled wickedly, 'We'll continue our chat later. See ya around, Webster.'
'What was that all about?' asked Dr.Collins once they were in Websters room.
'You don't expect me to believe that, do you? When he said, See ya around, it sounded like a threat. Who was that?'
'So, do you and everyone you know go by last names?'
'Something like that.'
'It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that that man has evil intentions, so, either you tell me all about yourself and I'll help you, or I'll get the police involved.
Which one will it be, Webster?'
Webster sighed and said, 'I'll tell you, but if I do you've gotta swear not to get anyone else involved. Deal?'
'Sure thing, Webster.' Dr.Collins agreed.
'Ok, every name in the project is a last name, so that we cannot be traced or linked to anything or anyone. Now, I can't tell you who is in the project, but the project itself I can, and it's a miserable business. We lie, cheat, steal, even kill, if necessary, to put Mr.G on top. It's sorta like the mob, fighting to keep one man in power... it's nasty work. And I wanted out of it. After this last mission I tried to resigned, but Mr.G said he couldn't let me go, so I quit. Of course he hated that, thought I crossed him and was working for somebody else... He ruined my life. He killed everyone close to me, he crushed every asset I could have used...
And now he wants me back....' he sighed and said, 'That's why I cried in the middle of the road.'
'Oh.... I'm so sorry, Webster... The only way for me to help you is to involve the police-' Dr.Collins began.
'Then I don't want your help, Doc.' Webster got out of bed and took his clothes from the nightstand, he slipped his jeans on under his hospital gown then pulled the gown on and put on his t-shirt. 'Gimme my shoes and I'm outta here.'
'There under the bed, Webster.'
Webster pulled on his Toms and walked to the door, he hesitated and turned around, 'Hey, Doc, my name is David.'