Happy Trails: An Unedited Short

Happy Trails

            The lights were flashing in loud colors of pinks, and purples; the music thumping at eardrum splitting levels. I was sitting in a darkened corner; back against the wall watching the blonde performing on stage.

            For months there had been rumors the clientele at the Happy Trail were getting more than just a show from the dancers, and now after hundreds of man hours of surveillance, interviews, and undercover intel I'd been given the green light to break the case wide open.

            When the dancer left the stage clad in nothing but a piece of crack floss; I stood and discretely followed at a safe distance. I'd have to get through the boss first, and I'd been doing my research. Catching the eye of the brunette sitting in a well guarded corner booth, I nodded my head toward the dancer.

            A man who looked like he should have played football for the Seahawks stalked toward me like a Sherman tank. “Ms. K wants to talk business.”

            “What a coincidence, so do I.” I refrained from breaking his wrist when he put a meaty hand on my shoulder, and I allowed him to lead me to the woman in charge.

            “Frisk her, Fonzo.”

            I was glad I'd left my gun in the lock box of my SUV, and hoped he wouldn't find my credentials hidden in the cup of my bra. When he'd finished his exploration of my body I had the passing thought he should have bought me a drink first.

            “So, you're interested in Marc.” It was a statement, She knew I was or I wouldn't have been there.  “He'll discuss the particulars of any transactions, and any compensation for his time.”

            I nodded. With a flick of her hand the tall man who'd been on the stage sauntered toward me with a boyish grin on his face. I thought that in another time, another place we might have been friends. Unfortunately, my career wouldn't allow much in the way of friendship with a man who was about to get arrested for prostitution.

            “Hello, Marc. I'm Sare. Wanna get out of here?”

            “Sure, but it'll cost ya.”

            “That's fine. I'm good for whatever your price is.”   

            We walked through the club, and out into the darkened alley.

            “How much for the night?” I asked.

            “Depends on what your pleasure is.”

            “Whole night. Everything,” I said.

            “Fifteen hundred.”

             Damn, maybe I was in the wrong line of work.

            “Deal.” I reached into the collar of my shirt and removed my credentials at the same time as the black and whites pulled up. “You're under arrest for the solicitation of sex, and bad taste in stage wear.”

            “You're a cop?”

            “No grass growing there, Marc.”

            “Damn.”

            “It's okay, someday you'll look back at this day and laugh.”

            “Think when that day comes we could be Facebook friends?”

            “Sure,” I said. “Why the Hell not?”

            

On Things I Need.

There are very few things in life I feel like I need in order to be happy. Maybe not survive and be healthy (food, water, air, exercise, etc), but to survive emotionally.

• Snuggles, hugs, and smooches from the Munchkin.
• The sound of the Marine's voice, and the feel of his arms wrapped around me.
• Music
• A good book or a dozen.
• Access to chocolate whenever I need it.

Yep, I'm pretty simple. I don't need a lot of things, or a lot of people. 

A fact that is hard for many people to understand. 

The Marine included.

I've never been a person interested in having a large group of 'friends'. In fact I'm of the belief you can't really be 'friends' with that many people. Friendly, yes. Acquaintances, yes. "Friends", no. 

In order to truly be a friend you need to dedicate time and emotion to them. You need to know who they are deep inside and in return you need to share yourself with them. 

I'm not interested in doing that with every person I meet, or every person my friends meet.

I'm not going to become more than 'friendly' with people if I don't have the time needed to be a true friend. 

I take my friendships seriously. 

I don't split my time, and I'm not a fair weather friend. I'll be there for them through thick and thin, and give them 100 percent of my time and attention when they need it.

When I'm with my friends, I'm theirs. I'm not attached to my phone texting everyone else. I'm not checking my twitter account, or chatting on IM with the friends not with me. 

I find it rude, and to be honest, uncaring. 

The Tweeps can wait. They'll understand, and if they don't... well... too bad. 

Call me selfish if you want, but I call it being a good friend. 

It brings to mind the quote that runs rampant on Facebook. "Don't make someone a priority when you're just an option."

I've been the option before, and as an adult I don't have to be. 

I won't be.

The Marine is always trying to get me to become friends with other Marine wives. 

I'm not interested.

My 'dance card' is all full.

I've got what I need. 

A wonderful husband who loves me.

A beautiful daughter I get to see everyday, and watch grow up into a beautiful and strong little girl.

And a small handful of friends who I share the hidden parts of myself with. 

R.S.

On Neediness

This is kind of a follow up to my post On Things I Need.

The Niece and I had a  conversation the other day about neediness and how some people show it. We weren't discussing any particular people, but just humans in general.

After all, there are so many of them.

Granted, most of the 'needy' people are women, but that could just be our personal experiences talking.

She and I are both similar. We don't believe in overloading ourselves with 'friends', and we don't have a problem with our friends spending time with people other than us--as long as they don't expect us to do it too.

What we wonder, is what makes other people so needy? Why do they feel like they need to fill their lives with 'friends'. Why do they feel they need to make every online acquaintance their BFF and become friends with every person they've ever come across in passing?

Is filling their lives with these 'friends' completing them in some way? Do they think they'll feel better about themselves if they've suddenly got 13 billion twitter followers or Facebook friends?

Do they get a thrill out of trying to snatch the attention and affection of their friends' friends?

What makes a needy person so... needy?

Did I miss a specific 'needy' gene when I was being created, because I just don't understand it.

Insights?

R.S.

Also, speaking of the "needy gene"...aka Damsel in Distress check out this post.

On The Nautical Wench...or How I Met Karie

           The other day I read a blog post a friend of mine posted. It reminded me of short stories we wrote several months ago about the fictional way we met each other. This is how I met her...sort of. 

           In the eighteenth century the high seas were terrorized by a vile sea captain known only as the Douche Pirate Adam. He sailed the seas pillaging and plundering unsuspecting ships sailing along the Isle of Kalandra. Every ship Captain knew the tales of this man's heinous deeds, but few believed them.

            It was a balmy night with calm seas when the Saoirse came upon the Douche Pirate Adam, and his crew of morally corrupt, mentally confused scofflaws. The Saoirse's captain, Marc O'Reallious, knowing the stories, plotted with his First Mate.

            Captain Marc, along with his First Mate, and the rest of his crew boarded the enemy pirate ship; scaling the sides under the cover of darkness. Mysterious fog was beginning to roll in as they converged on the wasteful and wanton men lounging around the deck.

            The battle was over before it had truly begun. While Captain Marc went in search of Adam he sent his First Mate to verify whether there were any hostages on board before he gave the order to sink the ship to the bottom. It would after all, be a fitting ending for the former captain and crew to join the silent world of Davy Jones' Locker.

            Deep in the bowels of the ship, locked behind a rusted door of iron bars a woman struggled with the shackles that bound her wrists. Her long brown hair was fashioned into a crude braid, and her face was marred with filth. The rags she wore did nothing to hide the royal way she held her head when the First Mate opened her prison.

            Her biting words, and scathing remarks brought a smile to the First Mate's face. “Hello, Princess, I believe there are people looking for you.”

            “What would you know of that? You're nothing but a pirate hussy.”

            “Do you kiss your subjects with that mouth?” The princess said nothing, just glared at the First Mate. “Besides, I prefer the term, nautical wench—but you may call me First Mate for as long as you're aboard the Saoirse.”

            “That won't be long. By rules of the sea you're to return me to the Kingdom of Ezmaha. For my safe return you'll be greatly rewarded.”

            “Or we'll be hanged,” the First Mate said, unlocking the chains that bound the princess. “It's up to Captain Marc to decide your fate.”

            “My fate is no one's to decide but my own,” she said head held high, eyes flashing fire.

            “As you wish, Princess. Let's not keep the Captain waiting. Shame to be on board when he sinks it to Davy's Locker.” With a quick tug the princess was dragged out of the cell and tossed unceremoniously onto the decks of the Saoirse.

***

                Princess Karie stayed on board the Saoirse for the remainder of her life; choosing the Pirate life we afforded her, rather than returning to the dull, mundane life she was expected to live in her kingdom.

            That folks, is how I met Karie, one balmy evening as she spit fire and venom at me. It wasn't long before she too was preferring the term nautical wench... but that is a story for another time. 

On An Open Letter to Tim Greaton

If you haven't done so yet, go to Amazon.com and check out Bones in the Tree and the Santa Shop, both are amazing stories from author, Tim Greaton. I sat and read them in a single sitting and hours later still found myself reflecting on them.

Tim,

When I first stumbled upon you on Twitter I did the usual, checked out the blog and your featured titles.

Recently, life has been hectic and busy so I didn't have much of a chance to sit down and read, but the other day I finally managed it.

I started with Bones in the Tree and I understood exactly where your main character was coming from. Having gone through a divorce myself I remember the difficulties I had with phone calls from the ex. What I wouldn't have done for a place without cell service--and a friend like Bones to share the silence with.

Now, I remember reading about how your work is considered "dark" fiction, and I can both see and understand that--but I don't get that from reading either Bones or the Santa Shop. 


There might have been dark moments, but there was always a light at the end of the tunnel.

Maybe that is because my childhood wasn't full of happiness and joy, but I'd like to believe it's because your writing shows that even in darkness there can be light.

The Santa Shop touched on my emotions in a way I'm not often comfortable admitting. There were a number of times where I contemplated reaching for a tissue. Not because I was worried about what Skip would decided to do, but because I felt his pain.

Standing on that dark bridge on Christmas Eve, with the frigid air blowing around him, and his whole world torn apart--I felt.

I was right there listening and watching...waiting for him to reclaim his life.

That's good writing.


Thank you for opening your heart and your imagination to us.


R.S.


Check out Tim on his blog or on twitter: @timgreaton

On Date Night with the Marine

Why, yes, my favorite color is green. How'd you know?

Last weekend when the Niece had off, the Marine and I had a date night. Nothing extravagant--we didn't get dressed up or go to an expensive restaurant.

We went to a movie at the theater on base.

It was the first night in a long time we got to just be together without worries.

The Niece stayed home with the Munchkin, and the Marine and I enjoyed a couple of mindless hours watching Green Lantern.

Have I mentioned how awesome my husband is?

He didn't even complain when I drooled a little.

What could be better than a night with my Marine and Ryan Reynolds in skintight green?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

R.S.

On the First Line of My New Short Story

Hello, My name is Tavin Chauncy. Nice to meet you.

"Tavin Chauncy had stumbled into bed at the ungodly hour of after-a-bottle-of- Jack o'clock, and now his head was pounding its displeasure like a toddler on an out of tune grand piano." 






I just finished the first draft of my Contemporary Fantasy Short Story... I'd share the title of it, if I actually knew what it was.


One step at a time, right? 


It was a lot of fun to write, and I'm looking forward to doing the revisions and taking the steps to publishing it. 


What are the first lines of your WIP or finished MS?




R.S.