Archive for the 'The Free-ebook Project' Category


Part 3 Free-ebook project

Continuing Chapter 1

Or click as it were. David even gave a theatrical jump as if a bullet had really passed through his Medulla Oblongata. He fell back onto the bed, dissatisified with the experiment. His ability to carry out his own assissination could never be proven beforehand. That was the problem with all models. They really didn’t prove much. They just made people–mostly labratory-bound scientists–feel secure and smart. Like prophets. He hid the pistol under the mattress. The phone rang.


“It could get worse”, said Andrew. He dropped a magazine from his assault rifle, pulled a fully loaded one from his battle vest and stuffed it into the mag well.

“I really fucking hate it when people say that.” Trindle Drake stopped firing just long enough to glare at Andrew, both of them huddled like rabbits in a hole. Their hole happened to be surrounded by sandbags, their only protection against the withering fire that had kept them pinned for two hours now. Trindle returned to firing at the figures some 100 meters away behind a rock outcropping. “How the hell could it get worse?” He squeezed off a burst, then snapped on the mic on his helmet. ” Space Superiority Ship, Hoden, this is Reaper Eight, do you copy, over?” He leaned his head down near the damp clay at the bottom of the hole so that he could hear any reponse from Hoden’s crew.  Andrew was firing again.

“Tell them I’m running out of ammo,” said Andrew over his own gunfire.

Hoden, do you copy?” He could only shake his head. The Russians were already too close. It was only a matter of time before they’d pull a suppress and flank manuever. Trindle was surprised he and Andrew hadn’t caught a spiker grenade already. He removed his next to last magazine from its pouch and slammed it into his rifle. “Single shots. Go to singles. We’re purely defensive now.” He watched Andrew flip the fire selector on his rifle then go back to a supported position.

“This is Hoden, Reaper Eight, we copy. What is your grid?”


Continuing the Free ebook Project

Continuing Chapter 1

It was a test of his willingness to end it. To end the pain, the humiliation. Shove his fist up the rear of those that doubted him, that hated him for no reason. It was an escape from guilt, and stress. No more bills, no more targeting packages at The Cave. No more sex, no more coffee. No more damn cats…

The world would be shocked into loving him. He’d slap them in the face as quickly as his gray matter slathered itself on the ceiling tiles, and they’d just adore him. The world loves dead people. That must be, David considered, why humanity is so good at making people dead; more to love.

The gun metal tasted just as David thought it would. The smell of lubricant and its accompanying flavor made his sinuses tingle, then burn. With his right thumb, he reached up and cocked the serrated hammer. He reflexively squinted when the hammer locked into place. Then he placed his thumb inside the trigger guard, and began, ever so slightly to increase the pressure. He began to gag a bit, the barrel of the weapon nudging his dangling uvula, his tongue rolling back into a ball to expel the instrument of David’s destruction.

Where did his will begin? Where was David’s complicty, here? His tongue rejected death. What part of David would not? Where was the line, that could be found under a scientist’s microscope, that clearly defined what was David, and what was instinct?

Onrushing death made one so philosophical. And philosophy changed nothing. Only actions moved the world. Never thinking. Don’t think; just do.



The Free-ebook Project

Let’s experiment. I’m going to write, and hopefully someone’s going to read. I’ll publish a bit at a time, on this blog, of a book which I’ll craft one blog post at a time. No outlines; barely an idea of what it’s about; little researching. Only me entering what I can only call a transandental state to see things I can’t dream, know things that aren’t true, and hopefully entertain someone along the way.

John Cheever once said, and I paraphrase (I think): I may be bad at writing, but I’m worse at everything else. One chapter at a time, from the nothingness in my head.


This is a story of two wars, one long, one forever. This is the tale of two men, one strong, one trying to be. This story is not today, but reaches just beyond tomorrow to a barely discernible future of what may be, but probably won’t.

It is a terrible and to some, unbearable truth, that living beings, who have will and intelligence will kill in order to remain themselves alive. Some will kill for baser reasons. And some will kill–and even die–for the lives of others.

Then there are those who fall into the ever-widening gray chasms of modern philosophy. They fight because it is all they know. They fight because to live without danger and without the ultimate distractions of battle would  allow them enough time to sink into nihilism. So they choose to be near death as much as possible, and numb themselves with the smell of burning cordite, the screams of the dying and the chills that crawl along spines when they and their comrades conquer the enemy,  defend the weak, or detonate 50 lbs. of C-6, just to see how big a boom it can make.  

Chapter 1

He press-checked the pistol’s chamber to make sure it was empty. It was. He sat hunched, on the edge of his bed, wearing briefs and a white tank-top. The sheets lay mounded in the middle of the mattress. The overhead fan spun and hummed as if trying to call to him, to wake him from a dream. He tapped his kneecap with the butt of the pistol to make sure he was indeed awake. He was.

Angela would not be home for a couple of hours, at least. He looked at the ceiling, considering the damage he would, or could do there, from where he sat. His wife would have to live in this house after he was gone, and she’d lay in this bed and stare at a ceiling, maybe as another man made love to her. The hole made by his .45 caliber pistol would be plastered over, but the subtle difference in shading would be seen. She’s remember the husband that’d left her a widow, because he was so weak. This world had been too much for him, even though he hadn’t experienced a spoonful of its horrors, compared to some of the other men that he worked with. There were no excuses for this weak husband. Women only liked weak puppies and weak children. Weak spouses meant a lack of security,  and security was one of the fundamental needs of every human being.

His upper body began to rock a bit, though David didn’t notice. He barely noticed when the barrel of the gun entered his mouth. Only the blued metal clicking against his incisors made him remember what this little test-run was about.

To be continued…


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