Fiction: Fiery The Angels Fell, Part 3

This is the most recent thing I have written for this story; that is, the following parts were written before this. This scene didn’t come to me right away, it came to me at 2 in the morning, I stubbed my toe, accidentally kicked one of my sleeping dogs and groggily jotted down the notes while nurturing my toe and apologizing to my confused dog.

I’ve been reading Terry Brooks Genesis of Shannara series. Brooks spends a lot of time on setting, and he does a great job of it. Thing is, when I’m reading I have a tendency to gloss over these passages once I have the jist of it. My mind seems to wonder when I come across long passages of setting. I start thinking about my own stories and I often end up putting down the book to go jot a note down in my creative journal. Consequently I think my own writing lacks sufficient setting. I don’t like spending a whole lot of time on it, I prefer to focus more on the characters, action and moving the plot forward than describing how the perspiration is running down the outside of a glass of cold water or the specific pattern on a couch throw. Maybe it’s because I don’t feel I’m all that good at being poetic about it. Maybe it’s just my style of writing.

Fiery The Angels Fell, Part 3
by AJ Beamish

February 21st 2016
Location: Prefect Colony Mining Station

     Samuel noticed him immediately. The bar’s red neon signs declaring their undying support for various brands of liquor glinted briefly off his eyes and turned his white hair a pinkish hue as he entered through the digitized saloon doors.
     “Another, Sam?” Egbert pushed his glass towards him.
     “You’re cut off. Go to your bunk Eggs. Sleep it off.”
     “Awww, come on. One for the road?” Eggs slurred, gripping the bar rail tightly for support. Sam was no pushover though. He gave Nicekz a quick look and the massive bouncer limped over. He’d hurt his leg in a mining accident just two weeks into his employment. That was a year ago and it had been the best thing to ever happen to Sam’s bar. There hadn’t been a bar brawl in all that time.
     “Trouble?” Nicekz asked stiffly, his face scared and hardened and his posture rigid as he loomed over them.
     “No.” Sam said gently. “Take Eggs back to his bunk for me.” Sam leaned over the bar and motioned for Nicekz to lean closer. “He lost his son defending the 115 asteroid two days ago. Get him to his bunk safely, okay?” Sam whispered.
     Nicekz nodded solemnly and a gentle smile graced his scared face. “Come on Eggs,” he said curling his arm under the inebriated man and guided him off the stool.
     Sam scanned the crowd for the white haired stranger he saw a few moments ago. Strangers were trouble and there was something in this one’s eyes that screamed hellfire. A determination. This one was looking for something. Someone. And Sam didn’t need to think too hard on who that someone might be.
     He deftly activated the panic switch next to the register and Rasta Billy Skank’s hit, Smeg the Smeg Out of Her, began playing on the jukebox. Several patrons looked up from their drinks and Sam placed the well whiskeys on the shelf behind him. Two patrons repositioned themselves at either end of the bar and ordered drinks. Others disappeared into the darker corners of the establishment.
     When Sam turned around the white haired man was standing in front of him on the other side of the register. He met Sam’s gaze with a cheeky, subtle grin evoking a chill that slowly ran up Sam’s spine, like a drip of ice cold sweat defying the station’s artificial gravity.
     “One minute.” Sam said and placed an odd glass in front of him.
     “Take your time,” came the calm and confident response.
     Sam tended to the other two patrons and walked casually back.
     “What can I get you?”
     “Information.”
     It was the way he said it–matter of fact like–that made Sam suddenly feel qualmish. He wasn’t asking if Sam had information, he wanted the information he knew Sam had. Bad time to send Nicekz away, he thought, bad, bad time. Sam stiffened and thought a moment. Quick and to the point; company man. Sam turned and took a deep breath. He grabbed the expensive cognac and placed it on the bar.
     The white haired man’s smile grew wider and his eyes briefly acknowledged the two patrons sitting like bookends at the bar, their hands hidden under it. “Stand down gentlemen. This is a fight none of you want.” He proclaimed loud enough so that everyone in the bar could hear. His eyes never left Sam. He straightened himself on the stool and poured some cognac into the odd glass.
     “Expensive.” He said to Sam as he took a sip and stared curiously at the brown liquid swirling around the glass. Sam nodded. “I just want information Samuel.”
     “Who are you?” Sam tried desperately to belay the fear and anxiety he was feeling but somehow he knew the gentleman in front of him could sense it. Even the most skilled company men traveled with contingents of security, bullies in a crowd of fanatic, sycophant supporters. Even so, you could always sense their sniveling weakness. This one was different. No security escort. No backup. Alone and confident in enemy territory. Too confident.
     “My name is Roy and I want to talk to Fletcher.” The smile disappeared from Roy’s face and Sam swallowed deeply.
     “I don’t know a Fletcher.” Sam said shakily. The bookend patrons stood off their stools, energy rifles quickly trained on Roy. The grin returned, more sardonic, more malign.
     Roy disappeared under the bar so quickly Sam had to blink twice to make sure. Just as quickly, so did the patron to the left of Sam. Roy re-appeared in his place with the energy rifle leveled at Sam. The shot singed Sam’s side burn, left a burn on the other patrons neck and slammed into the jukebox behind him. Rasta Billy Skank sang no more.
     “I,” Roy began to say as he slowly lowered the rifle, pausing a little as though his thoughts confused him, “I, dislike that song,” he said frankly and rested the rifle on the bar and held up his hands in mock surrender. “No trouble gentlemen, I just want to talk to Fletcher.”
     “Fletcher never comes in here,” Sam started to say.
     “We know he communicates to his terrorists through this establishment Sam.” Roy cut him off and sauntered back to his glass of cognac. “We don’t know how.” Roy stopped in front of Sam and took a prolonged sip from the glass.
     “I just run a simple bar, what my patrons do is their business,” Sam gulped.
     “Samuel, you can obfuscate all you want, but rest assured, I am not be leaving here until I have spoken to Fletcher. I have a message for him.”
     Sam felt his body go limp, this was a battle he could not win. This thing in front of him was better than human. This was one of the new andies he’d been warned about. Sam resigned himself with a deep breath and expelled it. He glanced over at the empathy box near the now defunct jukebox and looked back at Roy.
     “Really?” Roy quipped.
     Sam nodded reluctantly.

Giving Thanks…

• I’m thankful for my beautiful, caring and loving wife without whom I’d have died a long time ago.
• I’m thankful for Gina, who is still going strong. And for Stanley, who has taught me a lot about myself since he came into our lives; the world is a scary place little man but we got each other.
• I’m thankful for the short time God let me have with Graham and the indelible memories he left me with. I’m thankful for all the memories I have of Oliver (and I’m sorry I let him die alone.) I’m thankful for all the pets we’ve had; Lister, Fawn, Shamoo, Kaz 33, and Fat Fat. Without them my life would have been incomplete.
• I’m thankful for my mother and I’m sorry for any pain I have caused her.
• I’m thankful that my younger brother(in-law) has grown into a fine young man and has surrounded himself with good friends and family that truly cares for him and each other. And I’m sorry I wasn’t a better older brother to him when he was younger.
• I’m thankful to all the men and women that have served our country in the Armed Services (note that this DOES NOT include the CIA.)
• I’m thankful to Occupy Wall Street for trying to shed a light on the shenanigans of the corrupt financial sector and the growing inequality across the globe. Stay strong and stay focused my brothers and sisters.
• I’m especially thankful for the handful of subscribers and readers of this blog and anyone who has ever taken the time to comment here. Being an introvert, you all do not know how much a few kind words of encouragement mean to me, you all do not know how something so simple, so mundane (in this web driven social society,) can make a person carry on for a bit longer. I hope you and your families are all doing well and wish you all the best. Special shout outs to Alex, Eric, Sonia, Bon, Madison, Quo (you still out there?), Peench and all the fellas at PGL, and my Black Ops friends in Brazil.

So, Bon–isn’t that a fracking cool pen name?–Steele over at The Process was given the Liebster Blog award and, in turn, decided to grace me with one as well. Liebster is a German word meaning dearest and the award is given to up-and-coming bloggers with less than 200 followers. Bon says I “strip off the BS and hand your heart back to you.” I’ve had a lot of things said about me (just ask the conservative trolls on the Huffington Post forums) but never something so nice… I think. To think, someone thinks I’m “up and coming.” If I wasn’t banging away at the keyboard here I’d say I was speechless.

Thank you Bonnie Steele for your kindness and congratulations on your own Liebster.

If you haven’t noticed my posts here have been few and far between of late. Let me address the elephant in the room and say something outright that I don’t like to share (even though I have hinted at it) because it is a sign of weakness that people tend to pounce on. I suffer from depression, ever since I was a child. I “self medicated” for years never truly understanding the depths of my disparity and I do not do this anymore but without health care I don’t have access to any aid so it beats the crap out of me at times, forcing to me to turn inward and revel in my solitude and self loathing.

I started to feel like I was turning this blog into a whine fest and I’m just not the misery-loves-company type. So I’ve taken a lot of time lately to keep things to myself. My depression, like my writing, has always been a solitary thing to me and while I’m trying to coerce my psych to unshackle my creative juices and share them with you all, the negativity that seems to be genetically encoded in me was slipping out as well. And it’s not right for someone like me to impose those feelings on others. So I apologize if I ever came across like that, it was never my intention.

I’ve got a few gaming posts I’m working on and the next installment Blade Runner fan fiction just needs an edit (the first draft was terrible, I mean TERRIBLE…) Once again, thank you all for taking the time to come here.

The state of things…

Gina seems to be doing fine.

Much to the dismay of conservative trolls on the forums at Huff Post, OWS is picking up a lot of steam. Cain and Perry (and all of Texas for that matter) are providing comics worldwide with plenty of material.

More importantly, Eric Swett is hacking away like mad for National Novel Writing Month. Less importantly, I’m a bit uninspired of late. Just writing down ideas and no substance; nothing to report here, move along now. The encouragement a few of you gave me regarding the fiction I recently displayed sure put a smile on my face.

I have this weird thing going on with my right arm, it hurts when I raise it parallel to my body above my head and sometimes my right hand hurts when I make a fist. Old age? I’ve stopped working out for a couple of weeks because of it and it feels a little better. But the lack of physical activity has had an adverse effect on my mental state. I have to start up again next week to fight this back and I’m dreading it.

I hopped onto Black Ops last night for a few hours and had fun. Apparently all the douche bags are playing MW3 now. I remember hopping onto MW2 a few months after Black Ops came out and it was horrid; every one was noob’tubing and it didn’t help that I decided to prestige for shits and giggles. Black Ops was a little more serene last night. I wasn’t sucking in every other game, but that’s more a result of all the really good players having moved on than any sort of testament to my skill level! And, seriously, no douche bags.

I don’t think I’ll be investing in the new multi-player shooter releases. I’m sure they are fine games, I’m just not willing to invest that much time into a game to get good and I don’t need one more thing in life telling me how much I suck at something! More so, playing with general population gives me grade/high school flashbacks, memories I’d just as soon forget. I don’t feel I’ve gotten my money’s worth out of Black Ops, I bought the last multi-player map pack and stopped playing and so I’ll be playing Black Ops for a while longer. I’m also digging the folly of Bioshock 2′s multi-player and I am looking forward to the next release in the series. Which reminds me, I need to rent a copy of Bioshock 1 to play.

I downloaded Magic 2012 because I needed something more cerebral. I’ve been having fun unlocking all the cards (on easy, versus the easiest opponent.) I’m not sure how I feel about having to unlock items and abilities in games anymore. On one hand it helps you learn the game. On the other hand, it often takes far too long to do. It becomes more of an issue when you want to go on line and play because the people that have unlocked these items have an advantage over the ones that don’t. You can always pay extra to unlock these features but paying for virtual items that should be included in the price of the game is foolish. I digress, playing Magic 2012 has been helping my analytical thought process a bit. I’m ready to crank up the difficulty and I plan on trying the multi-player soon. I doubt the Magic crowd is full of douche bags. I’ll keep you updated. If you get it, I found this stellar FAQ to help you.