The Season of Change

Standing atop the dunes of the Indiana lake shore, I stand alone like a beast of the wild, surveying the emptiness before me. The cold bite of winter is long gone, but her fading teeth marks are still felt upon my fiery cheeks. The waves crash with the rhythm of war drums, drowning out the caws of gulls that fight on the lakes edge over a meal of rotted meat. With the keen eye of a hawk, I watch the day wave good bye against the backdrop of the Chicago skyline across the lake. The setting sun brings me no magic, no majestic picture painted just for me by the hand of god, and no lilac and lace mixed with hues of gold and crimson—–no, on this day the sun sinks like a rock onto my heart; matching the block of cement deep within my chest.

The wind rages against me, and sand tears at my flesh, trying to steal a piece of my soul. My eyes swell with tears of pain, or maybe it is just the agony of a lovesick heart trying to break free from its cage—I know not which. In either case, I weep. More



Phillip Kendall woke in the darkness in a cold sweat, as the thunderous crack of the storm jolted him from his tormented sleep.  His rugged features now strained and worn glistened to the rhythmic beat of time as the blue indigo lights on the radio flickered in the darkness of the bunker .

His frantic pulse pounded in his head like drums of war as he tried to get hold of his thoughts.  How long had it been he thought—had it been hours, days, or even weeks since he took refuge in the bunker of the abandoned ranch house that once belonged to his father.

He struggled to his feet and released the hydraulic cylinder of the two-ton blast door, and he headed to the surface.  He stood in horror as he gazed toward the city just a few miles away.  The sky was burnt ash, and glowed eerily as flickers of destruction illuminated the sky of the burning city.  Phillip fell to his knees as the pale wind of August brought with it the stench of decay.  He threw back his head and his body clenched as he cursed the harbinger of death that had brought with it only destruction.

It began to rain, and as these heavenly tears fell  from the sky they washed away his fear and his body went limp, as if to say, I give up.  As he lay there, he heard a glimmer of hope crackle from the bunker below.  The radio hissed, and in a broken voice, the announcement came:  To all survivors, make your way e-st, to gr-nt-wood, there will be shel-er, fo-d, medical -sstanc….  Phillip hadn’t caught all the message before the radio fell silent, but he knew he must head east, he must find others, and he must find a way to help.

Phillip was a scientist, and he knew the government was going to need his help fighting the thing that came from the sky.

Terry A. Elkins  (whyguy)

This is another story I have been working on, for now, just a taste.

Warning: Exotic Meditation

I love meditation tapes, especially the ones that take me on a mental walk to exotic places.  I recently got one such tape free from lime wire, but it was not exotic—it was erotic. Kinda More

Twenty Three Steps to Goodbye

Martha Brentwood stood stoic against the first arctic gale of the season, as she waited for the number-seven to carry her to Saint Ann’s Cathedral for the sixth time in two years. A trip she never got used to. The harsh breath of winter bit at her as rabid flecks of crystalline powdered snow threatened to bury her where she stood. Her mourning-black Cashmere coat was faded by time, and it did nothing to cover her bare hands, but she didn’t shiver, she didn’t blink, and she didn’t move. Her heart was warmed by the precious memories of Anna, as she recalled their first encounter at the fourth street USO where they both worked so many years ago…Lost in her memories she hadn’t heard the number-seven slide to a halt in front of her—she was somewhere in time.

A barrel chested man bounced off the bus with the grace of a younger man. His chiseled features, leather skin, and gray hair—all marked by time, gave him the look of distinguished charm, contrasted only by his simple black slacks, and weathered pea coat. Blinded by the snow he stumbled to a halt mere inches from the statuesque beauty before him. Her soft-powdered-pale skin was nearly lost in the backdrop of winter’s fury. But her sea-green eyes and luscious ruby lips cast a luminescent glow like a watch keepers lantern meant to guide lost sailors home. He knew this beauty, and rusted memories of a love long past broke free from their moors as he recalled a four day furlough, a sailors first kiss, an enchanted honey moon, and a sobered divorce sent first class mail from Normandy.

“Martha—Martha, are you ok dear?” Martha was pulled back into the ferocity of the storm as her memories faded back into the shadows of yesteryear.

“Excuse me, do I know you?” Martha asked.

“It’s me, your ex-husband, John Brentwood.” As frozen tears of remembrance welled in her eyes, John asked, “Where are you going, Martha?”

“I’m going to say good bye to an old friend at Saint Ann’s.”

“Me too,” John said, “but why are you standing here?”

“I’m waiting for the number-seven to take me there,” Martha said with a tremble in her voice.

“Martha, honey, you’re standing in front of Saint Ann’s.”

Startled by this revelation, Maratha’s knees buckled and John reached out to her. As they clasped hands, the cold-cheap -gold bands they had given one another over half a century ago were reunited. But this reunion was cut short by the somber chimes of funeral bells.

They turned, facing the marble steps of Saint Ann’s, solemnly remembering why they were there. It was Anna who had introduced them all those years ago, it was Anna who had brought them together on this day, and it was Anna they were going to see. Arm in arm, walking silently, they faded into the storm as they climbed the last twenty-three steps to good-bye.

Suavey Sexy

After starting the Atkins weight loss program, it wasn’t long before I had dropped the pounds, leaving me with few clothes and oversize underwear.  I had started getting  a lot of wedgies from  those underwear, and since I don’t really like  anything up my butt  I decided  to throw them all out.  That left me with a grand total of zero.  So I decided to go to Walmart and buy some new ones, along with a few other items I needed.  This trip would be one that would leave me embarrassed, and teach me  a valuable lesson on checking myself thoroughly before leaving the house. More

The Child Within

I often seek guidance from my oldest and dearest friend.  We often spend hours together playing, laughing, contemplating the mysteries of the universe, or sometimes, we just sit in silence enjoying each others company.

My friend is still a kid in many way, he sees the world through child like eyes–-the eyes of a dreamer they say.  The difficulties of life have not hardened his child like out look on life.  And, his kind heart allows him to see nothing but the good in this world.  He has no time for worry, no time for regrets, and no time to wallow in his sorrows.  No, he’s too busy for that.  He’s always rushing around exploring, playing, laughing, dreaming, and living life to its fullest.

He truly is a dreamer.

I envy his energy and spirit, and this is why I call upon him now and again to remind me not to take life so serious.  He nudges me with a wink and smile, as he finds ways to bring back the magic that is sometimes lost in my life.  He is the truest of friends, for he can be nothing but.  He is the child within my soul.

Have a wonderful day my friends, may you always find time to spend with your inner child on the playground of life.

Terry (whyguy)

Care Package

Dick “the prick” Vaughn was a “no good rotten son of a bitch.”  That’s what his mom said about her boy.  But,  it wasn’t his mother who called the police after the first anonymous package arrived, it was his  little sister, Lisa.  Dick had crossed the wrong somebody this time, and that somebody was exacting revenge one piece of flesh at a time.

This is an idea for a story I have been working on.  It’s a work in progress, so a taste is all you get.  :0 )

Terry (whyguy)

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