A Custodian’s Duties 4

Posted in Uncategorized on July 2, 2015 by davidburtonwriting

 Custodians may save the world from space/underworld invaders, recalcitrant teachers, and bossy bosses, but sometimes they have to deal with darker dangers, like humans. A good custodian is trusted by both faculty and students.

This is temporarily the last of the Custodian stories.

The Custodian 4

girl_walking yellowFrom a large family group gathered in a park across the street after school, a little girl, maybe eight years old, wearing a red skirt and a yellow top, wanders unnoticed onto the grounds of Grace Glass Elementary school.

The Custodian, wearing his usual khakis and well-filled T-shirt, had just begun his Friday afternoon rounds. He checked for trash in each classroom and emptied it into his roller trash cart. He noticed the girl as she casually walked down a narrow grass strip inspecting the flowers. For several classrooms he kept an eye on her. He also noticed that nobody else was around.

Leaving his cart in one of the rooms, he moved toward the girl. He stopped to take a call from the school principal on his radio.janitor4

“Would you come to my office, please. We have a minor emergency.”

The Custodian scanned the area. Still nobody around. He continued to walk toward the little girl.

*         *          *

An hour later a group of adults, – including The Custodian, the principal, a handsome Hispanic woman, two uniform cops, a detective, and several teachers, have an intense discussion outside the main office.

Not bothering to hide his skepticism, the detective, a solidly built man with some experience on him his face, said to the Custodian, “You say you sent the girl Sandra back to her family before you went to the principal’s office.”

The Custodian nodded.

“But nobody witnessed you doing that, did they?” The Custodian shook his head with slow, confident movements. “So you could have taken her.” The detective tried to stare down the taller Custodian, but had to turn away from the man’s intensely calm gaze.

“Detective,” the principle said. “If the Custodian says he sent her back and he didn’t take her, then he did and he didn’t.”

Between the casual intimidation of the Custodian’s steady gaze that came from his natural being, and the principal’s hard eyed total confidence in him, the detective didn’t stand a chance of taking that line of questioning anywhere. Not quite ready to accept the Custodian’s innocence, he said, “Okay, search the school. Look into every room, closet, cabinet, nook and cranny.

As the group dispersed, the Detective held back one of the uniformed officers. “Keep an eye on that custodian. I don’t trust him.”

As the group dispersed the Custodian looked like he was searching, but he really watched the elecrtic roomother searchers. Seeing what he thought he’d see, he slipped into a door marked IDF. Inside he moved quietly past gray electric breaker boxes and computer equipment. In the back of the room, hidden behind a mass of blue computer network wiring he found a plywood sheet that appeared to be screwed to the wall. It wasn’t.

He entered a narrow space littered with dusty broken chairs and playground equipment. Water pipes ran along the rough block wall. A light switch did nothing. With a small flashlight the Custodian made his way to a rusty file cabinet. Behind the cabinet, more plumbing, and the girl.

Legs taped together, hands tied around a vertical pipe, mouth taped, Sandra whimpered, wide eyes filled with fear.

The Custodian knelt beside her, put a finger to his lips for quiet.

*        *         *

Five minutes later he brushed back a strand of blonde hair and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She gave him a shaky smile and nodded. Freed from her bonds, flashlight and a bottle of water beside her, she hugged knees to chest and watched him go. Before he swung the file cabinet in place he gave her a one finger salute. She returned it as the dark closed in around her.

*        *         *

Sometime later Sandra heard footsteps crunch in the outer space. She wrapped the tape around her legs, pressed the piece of tape to her mouth and put her hands behind the pipe. Heart pounding, barely able to breathe, with total trust in The Custodian, she waited.

The cabinet grated on the concrete as it opened. A flashlight blinded her. Behind the light a dark figure approached. A man knelt beside her. She jumped when he spoke.

“Come on, Sweetheart. I’m your daddy now and I’m going to take you home. It’s way past your bedtime.”

She jerked her hands free as he reached for her.

“Ah. I got here just in time, didn’t I. We’ll save your punishment until you’re home.”

He lifted her in his arms. Holding her tight, he carried her through the dark to the outside door. He paused, listened, slowly opened the door and peeked out, scanning the area. He stepped out. A fist smacked his jaw.

The Custodian caught Sandra as the man dropped. In his arms, she smiles, not afraid at all.

*       *       *

Two cops lead the man, one of the teachers, away in handcuffs.handcuffs1

Sandra’s father hugged her in his arms.

“Your daughter is very brave,” the principal told him.

“Yes she is,” he said. “But I don’t like that she had to wait in the dark so long.”

“We knew where she was, but not who put her there. We had to wait until he came for her. “

“It was okay, Daddy. The Custodian said I’d be alright.”

The father’s expression showed his skepticism, but he nodded his thanks and walked away.

Over his shoulder, Sandra, gave The Custodian a one finger wave.

He returned the wave and turned to finish his rounds.

Janitor3The End

Trust your custodian.

Soul RetrieversClick here for E-book Pre-order links. Delivered July 10.

Soul RetrieversClick here for the paperback edition.

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Blood on the WaterClick here to read a sample and find buy links.

Website – http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com

A Custodian’s Duties 3

Posted in Custodians, Story Subjects, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on May 16, 2015 by davidburtonwriting

As you saw in the two previous posts custodians can deal with alien invasions and save recalcitrant teachers. But sometimes they have to deal with a more dangerous entity – a full-of-himself school board member.

The Custodian 3

The Custodian, somewhere around forty, wearing his usual khaki pants, dark T-shirt and capjanitor4 pulled low, locked the doors of the boys and girls bathrooms in a small building that stood alone at the edge of the playground across from the rest of Grace Glass Elementary School. He placed a large sign in front that read Restrooms Closed.

While he pushed his custodial cart away to continue on his nightly route a sleek man in a slick suit and his ten-year old son approached in a hurry.

Business_Man1“Hey, you’re the Custodian, aren’t you?”

The Custodian stopped. Nodded at the man. Nodded at the kid.

“Open the bathrooms, will you. We both have to go.”

He looked pointedly at the closed sign then pointedly at the father.Restroom-Closed-Out-of-Order-Sign

“Come on. My son is a student here. You can open it for a minute. We won’t make a mess.”

Lips tight, The Custodian shrugs – what can he do?

The boy said, “Dad, it’s okay. If the Custodian says they’re closed, they’re closed.”

“No, it’s not okay.” The Father raised his long face up to Custodian. He was so used to intimidating people, that when the Custodian’s steady eyes stared him down his face turned red to his shoulders. He almost poked him with a stubby finger, but thought better of it. “Look, I’m on the school board,” he blustered. “The ones you work for. I’m telling you to open that bathroom, right now.”

The Son tugged on his father’s suit jacket. “Dad, it’s closed. We can go in the bushes. Like camping.”

He slapped the boy’s hand away. “I’m going to piss in that bathroom. Are you going to let me in…, Custodian?”

A slow shake of the head was all he got for an answer.

“Then enjoy your last night as a janitor, Buddy.” He attempted to push the Custodian out of his way. That his “employee” didn’t budge and the Father was forced to go around, made him even madder. He jabbed a finger at his son. “You stay here,” he snarled and stalked off across the playground.

Hands in pockets, The custodian and the boy watch him go.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said. “You won’t get fired will you?”

The Custodian ruffled the boy’s hair, then tilted his head toward the bushes.

The boy went and pissed in the bushes.boy pissing A few minutes later the Father stalked back across the playground, chin leading the way. He shook a fistful of keys as he passed. “The Principle knows who she works for. Come on, son.”

“I already went, Dad. If the Custodian says–.”

“I don’t care what he says. He doesn’t work here anymore.”

The Father unlocked the door, threw it open and disappeared inside. The door thumped shut with solid finality.

“Will he be okay?” the Son asked.

The Custodian gave the boy’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

mexwoman1The Principal, a handsome Hispanic woman joined them. “I’m sorry. He said he wanted to open his son’s classroom.”

They stood together – The Custodian legs apart, arms crossed, head down. The Principal behind the boy, hands on his shoulders.

“He does think a bit much of himself, but he is on the board. Couldn’t you–?”

“Ahh. Aaahhhh! Hel–.”

The custodian drew a deep breath. From his cart he lifted out a worn machete and a gouged baseball bat. Spinning the bat and blade to loosen up, he strolled to the bathroom door, unlocked it, and entered.

From the bathroom, mixed with the Father’s cries, came an otherworldly screech of rage.

The Principal said, “Well, after this I hope your father will understand that when the custodian says it’s closed, it’s closed.

“Yes, Ma’am. I hope so, too.

End

Janitor3When dealing with a school custodian, especially at a school as special as Grace Glass Elementary, there’s one thing you should remember, The Custodian knows what’s going on. Best listen to him.

Don’t forget the Soul Retrievers e-book is available for pre-order at one of your favorite e-book purveyors. Go to hell with a beautiful kick-as vampire.

Blood Justice and Blood on the Water are available now. A free short story, An Accidental Vampire, comes with them.

Website – http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com

A Custodian’s Duties 2

Posted in Custodians, Story Subjects, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on April 25, 2015 by davidburtonwriting

(SP) -The revised edition of my vamp novella Young Blood is only $.99 until May 1. Yeah.

Custodians don’t save the world every day, but there’s always recalcitrant teachers who think they know what’s what…, and mice. A problematic combination. Not to worry. Us professional Custodians are highly trained to take care of any situation. Especially ones specific to our particular school. Like this guy.

The Custodian 2janitor4

The Night Custodian, dark cap pulled low, wearing a well-fitting T-shirt and khaki pants pushed his custodial cart along the outside walkways of the Grace Glass Elementary school. Still daylight, the students had left for the day and only a few teachers remained.

He approached the bullpen, a fenced in space next to the main building where dumpsters, old furniture, pallets and boxes were kept. The chain link gate was open.

bullpen1A woman's short little scream came from inside. Calm, despite the invasion of his area, he looked inside.
With a broken mop handle, Miss Penki, a young teacher new to the school,
poked agitatedly between two dumpsters. Seeing the Custodian, she
dropped the handle and nervously wiped her hands on her skirt as she
backed away.

Oh, there you are,” she said with an annoyingly haughty tone. “I caught a mouse in my classroom on one of those sticky traps. I was throwing the filthy thing into the trash when it squeaked at me. It dropped down there so I pushed it back out of sight.” She shook her hands as if ridding herself of mouse cooties. “Just let the thing die by itself. If you did your job, I wouldn’t have to do things like this.”

Miss Penki shuddered and quickly walked away.

From the gate, the Custodian watched her with a frown and narrowed eyes. He entered the bullpen and dumpsters2peered into the dark between the dumpsters. With the broken handle he slid the trap out. It was torn, and there was no mouse.

He heard a scuttling, claws-scratching-on-cement sound. Alert he looked deep into a cluttered corner. Large, human-sized, beady red eyes regarded him. Slowly they blinked, then whatever owned the eyes turned and vanished. rats3

Thoughtfully, the Custodian folded the trap together, shook his head, and pitched it in the trash, then resumed his rounds.

******

The next day as The Custodian closed his office door a kid stopped in front of him. “Mr Custodian, the Principle wants to see you in her office.”

The Custodian nodded, pointed a strong finger at the boy. The boy touched the finger with his own, tip to tip, smiled and ran off through the outside gate, the last student to leave.

In the Principal’s office he leaned casually against the wall, hands in pockets.

office chair womanLounging in her chair, the Principal, a handsome Hispanic woman, said, “Miss Penki seems to be missing. She was here for fourth period, but didn’t show up for fifth period. Her car is still here. Have you seen her lately?”

The Custodian raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Apparently she had some uncomplimentary words to say about you yesterday. Not doing your job?”

He hung his head, but didn’t mean it. Their eyes stayed connected.

Do you have any idea where she might be? Or do I need to call the police?”

Frowning, thinking, he stared at the floor. He had a thought.

What?” the principal asked.

A minute later they stalk toward the bullpen.

And she just pushed it away? Fool.”

It was late in a cloudy day and the bullpen was shaded, a bit spooky. He moved a couple pallets and boxes from where he saw the red eyes. Behind them he found a two foot diameter hole in the wall. Picking up the broken handle, he spun it like a martial arts Bo-staff as he studied the hole.bostaff

Still casually, yet expertly, spinning the broken mop handle, he led the way to a storage closet. The Principle waited as he found a half-filled plastic jug and a large flashlight. Together, they moved to a blank door with no number or name. The Custodian handed her the jug, opened the door with his key, and cautiously entered.

Wary, they made their way down a dark, narrow, dusty passage littered with old boxes, old equipment, and old furniture toward a muffled, keening cry for help. At the end, in a small open space covered with gravel The Custodian’s flashlight revealed Miss Penki, hands, knees, and face awkwardly stuck to a giant sticky trap.

Little mice scrambled out of the beam, giving a wide berth to a two foot tall rat. The big rodent growled a warning through long, pointy, unrodent-like teeth. Its red eyes simmered.rats2

Eyes on the rat, otherwise unperturbed, The Custodian poured a yellow liquid from the jug around Miss Penki’s knees, feet, hands and face. As she came loose from the trap the rat made a grab at her foot with human-looking claws. She yelped and scrabbled across the gravel while The Custodian beat the creature back with the handle.

The Principle helped her to her feet. Miss Penki opened her mouth to speak.

Not a word, Miss Penki,” The principle said in her no nonsense principle voice. A very unrat-like roar sounded behind the women as they stumbled toward the door.

Fighting noises, growls and grunts, gravel scrabbling and handle whacking, follow them out the door. Twin red beams of light burn gouges in the cement walls.

Outside, Miss Penki collapsed on the grass. “Oh my God! What was that thing? What happened to me?”

Still in principle mode, the Principle said, “There is no thing, Miss Penki. And nothing happened to you.”

What? But…?”

Miss Penki, in the unfortunate event you have to kill a mouse around her, do it quick and clean. Do not shove it under a Dumpster to suffer and die of thirst or hunger. Do you understand?”

The teacher’s eyes grew wide. She looked to the bullpen then the open door then the Principle. “You mean…?”

Yes.”

The Custodian closed the door. He carried the sticky trap folded together. Blood spattered his ripped shirt and pants. The broken handle dripped blood. He nodded to the Principle.

She nodded back. “Put in a damage form. The school will buy you a new shirt and pants.”

The Custodian nodded, shot Miss Penki a hard look, and headed for the bullpen, twirling the bloody mop handle.

END

Janitor3We know what we’re doing. Be glad.

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A Custodian’s duties.

Posted in calamities, deal with the Devil, Uncategorized, Writing with tags , , , on April 5, 2015 by davidburtonwriting

I haven’t posted for quite awhile, so with a new book, a new novella and a much revised short story out I thought I’d make it hard on myself and start my What If? Blog again.

We’ll see how that works out.

As some of you know, besides being a writerclick here to check that outI’m also a night Custodian (that’s Janitor to those uninformed about the proper nomenclature, you, of course, knew that) at a High School. Now you might think cleaning toilets, mopping floors, and picking up trash is mundane, yucky work. janitor5woman

Well, in can be, but, every time you go into a student bathroom that was sparkly clean twenty-four hours ago it’s an adventure. You never know what you’ll find!

janitor4However, us dedicated custodians do have other duties. Even those at a grammar school. Here’s a short little story to illustrate. What If? man?

The Custodian

The Custodian checked his blue cart in the custodial closet of Grace Glass Elementary School. He secured a trash can on the cart’s front platform, checked for trash bags, paper towels, rags and a couple spray bottles. Besides the usual supplies he set a paper bag with a heavy package inside on top of the cart. He flipped off the light and rolled outside into a quiet evening, students long gone.

Covered walkways accessed all the school’s classrooms. He collected trash from the teacher’s lounge, and the work room. Stopping outside the administration offices, a door opened and Principal Sanchez, a pretty middle-aged Hispanic woman, came out.

He smiled and nodded.

She returned his smile. “Have a good night.” She regarded the paper bag. “Is that…?”

Smile gone, he nodded again.

She gripped his well muscled arm. “Be careful.” She walked out the main gate, and he locked it behind her.

The custodian trashed the offices and the classrooms beyond then worked his way through the classrooms of two other long, single-story buildings. Beyond those were four square buildings with four classrooms each. In room 7 of D building, he blocked the door open and flipped on one set of lights. After dumping the trash, he retrieved a stepladder from an interior hallway and set it up in the middle of the room.

From the cart he brought the paper bag and set it on top of the ladder. He mounted the ladder and slid one of the ceiling tiles aside.

At the edge of his vision he noted a hint of movement. He ignored it. Closer, another hint, joined by childish chitter-chatter. Closer, from another direction, childish whispers. “Stop him. Bad man. Don’t do it, Mister. Hurt him. Stop.”

The Custodian ignored the voices and pulled a homemade bomb out of the bag and set it inside the ceiling.

No. No. Stop him. Hurt him.”

The ladder shook for no discernible reason. He steadied himself until the shaking stopped. ladder2

Ladder returned, he turned out the lights, shut the door. In the trash he noticed a comic book. Its title, Invasion from Space!” He shook his head and rolled his eyes at the absurdity of it. Flipped it into the trash.

The next night, another trash run and another paper bag. Inside Room 8, more chitter-chatter and excited laughter. He set up the ladder, slid aside a ceiling tile and placed another bomb. He jerked his hand out. A scorpion hung from his hand by its stinger. Ignoring the chittering laughter, with only a slight wince, he plucked it off and tossed it back into the ceiling.

Next night, Room 9, another bomb. He descended the ladder and stepped on a large stuffed animal that wasn’t there when he went up. He fell backward, barely missing a teacher’s desk. A computer monitor moved with jerky movements to the edge and fell. The Custodian caught it inches from his face.

Monitor replaced, he continued on his steady rounds.

Another night. The Custodian lounged in his tiny office eating a sandwich and reading a gun magazine. Principal Sanchez peeked in the open door.

Have a good night. Be careful.”

Their eyes connected with hidden meaning. He nodded gravely. Waved one finger.

Lips tight, she nodded back and left.

On his usual trash rounds he noticed a flickering light in classroom 8. Wary, he opened the door.

One interior wall contained a ten foot diameter black hole. Deep inside, as if in a curved, downward slanting tunnel, reddish light cast vague dancing shadows.

The chitter-chatter became more excited as the light brightened and the clank of weapons increased. “Yess. Yess. He comes. Finally, he comes. We will rule. We will kill. We will eat.”

In the tunnel, the silhouette of a huge, grotesque creature marched up the wall. Janitormonster1

The Custodian breathed deep, nodded, and closed the door. Walking away, he took a cell phone from his pocket. With his thumb, he dialed a number. Hit send. There was a faint sound of a cell phone chirp.

BOOM! The interior of classroom 8 flashed a blast of white light, the explosion totally contained inside. Mixed with the blast, an unearthly scream of pain and anger.

Lips forming a minimal smile of satisfaction, the Custodian continued his rounds.                                 Janitor3

See, it’s not all scraping gum or setting up chairs.

Cheers.

Recycling is Dangerous

Posted in Bad Laws, Novel writing, Recycling, screenwriting, Short Story Writing, story ideas, Story Subjects, Uncategorized, Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 9, 2014 by davidburtonwriting

Sorry I haven’t posted in so long, I know you’ve been worried, but I’ve been on the run for a few months. Hiding out in friends’ basements, sleeping in homeless shelters, under bridges, making contact with other recyclers. I tried to cross the border, but they were watching. border1

I had to keep moving. They’re relentless! They stop at nothing. The fate of the people who have helped me is unknown. They’ve vanished! But I’m tired of running without telling my side of the story to the public.

Okay, I’ll admit it, I did the deed. I couldn’t help it. It was just laying there on top of the trash, calling out to me, “Recycle me. Mister, please recycle me. Don’t throw me out with the other trash to slowly and painfully deteriorate for a hundred years or more in some stinking landfill.”  I admit I felt sorry for that No. 1 plastic bottle.water bottle2

It knew the right thing to do. So did I. So I took it, and damn the draconian rules against recycling at my work place in a camouflaged office building tucked into a far corner of Area 51, right next to Area 52,area 51 1 that state, for no logical reason that I’ve heard, “Do not touch recyclable plastic bottles or aluminum cans. They are trash, worth money and environmental points, but you deprive them from their place in the landfill AT YOUR PERIL!”

So, yes, I took it.  I was weak. But I took that one lonesome bottle and stashed it in my roller trash cart. Sure I was scared, but it felt damned good, doing the right thing, helping a plastic bottle, and not even one of those ubiquitous  flimsy little water bottles – it was a full-size Gatorade bottle –gatorade large to it’s rightful environmental place.  I was a proud Green Warrior, defying the nonsensical proclamations of those on high who drive gas guzzlers, take long, hot showers,  never turn off the lights when leaving the room, and deny Global Warming.

That courageous feeling lasted until the next afternoon when Sir called me into his office. Without a word he tapped a key on his computer and played a video of me holding the bottle in my hands, squaring my shoulders and putting the bottle in a bottom pouch of my trash can. “You’re under arrest for recycling,” he said, pronouncing “Recycling” with the same tone he’d accuse one of murdering his mother.

I was busted. What did I have to lose? “You’re a smart guy,” I said. “You know that the Ban Recycling Decree is, as everyone I’ve told has responded, ‘A stupid idea.’ Right?” I followed his glance out the window. Two burly Recycle Agents, or as they’re colloquially called, the Plastic Police, strode toward the office door. I didn’t have much time to decide what to do.

“That’s the law. It’s my job to enforce them, not question them.”

I stood up. Leaned on his desk. “Your laws go against Federal, State and City environmental and waste reduction programs. When this gets out, and it will, it will be you running from the Storm Troopers. stormtroop2I hope they make you all dig up all the tens of thousands of bottles and cans from the landfill, and the thousands of dollars you forced us to throw away are used to repay us for our pain and anguish at having to follow such a crazy law.”

Sir cocked his head and squinted at me. “Running?”

The front door slammed and I heard the hobnail boots click – clack on the tile floor. I grabbed a half-full water bottle off his desk. “Running.” Then I spun around and dashed out the door. I had no idea where I was going. All I knew was I had to stay free and expose this travesty of misuse of power to all the good people of the land. So now you know what’s happening here. I beg you, please, for the sake of all the plastic, numbers 1-7, and aluminum cans big and small that yearn to be recycled, speak up, question, demonstrate. Don’t let one more bottle or can linger for hundreds of years in an anonymous landfill.

BTW – If someone can arrange a clandestine trip out of the country to an anonymous location (preferably tropic) free from pursuit, I might know a thing or two about what really happens in Area 52. Just saying.  

IDEAS

What if there was a logical, from their point of view, reason to put the plastic in the landfill?landfill1 Maybe Area 52 was a special landfill keeping alien worms captive and they only ate #1 plastic. These wormsworm1 were telepathic and the Feds were experimenting on them to learn how to be  telepathic. And maybe if someone was on the run and hid under the tarp he might make a deal with the worms – He helps them escape to their hidden ship and they will make him telepathic – a useful ability for a man on the run.

What If plastic was a rare commodity in the galaxy? And after we almost exterminated ourselves by ignoring Global Warming, Earth was discovered by aliens and they found the rich deposits of plastic in our old landfills. Then, they either enslaved the surviving humans to mine the plastic, or they ignored the pesky survivors who asked them for help. Then, what if another alien race, no friends of the first, discovered the precious deposits. Maybe, in the ensuing Plastic War, the humans took advantage, helping the aliens destroy each other, allowing the humans to appropriate their technology and head for the stars with ships full of plastic wealth.

space ship2

What If in some future world a powerful wizard was being hassled by the Powers That Be (PTB). To get even, get revenge, get free, get power, the wizard makes a golem out of ancient plastic found only in the Abandoned lands. Maybe he needs an apprentice to help him, or a soldier, or a guide. Of course Golemsgolem2 have a reputation of being unpredictable.

So, please speak up against onerous anti-recycling rules. Hiding in strange basements and sleeping in boxcars is only fun the first time. I’d like to go home.

Just got a great review from Vampireforums.com for my book Blood Justice. Check it out – http://vampireforums.com/blood-justice-book-review/

For links to my latest mystery novel, Passion Street, please go to: http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com/passion-street

Or, go to: http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com  to find all my books and stories.

What was that? Oh, man, I got to g….

 

 

My Earth, All Mine

Posted in calamities, Destruction, Disasters, Disasters, End of the world, Loners, Losers, Novel writing, screenwriting, Short Story Writing, solitary life, story ideas, Story Subjects, Uncategorized, Writing, Young Adult book with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on December 24, 2013 by davidburtonwriting

“Happy Holidays?”  Had enough merriment and good cheer? Tired of  “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays and Happy New Year?” Too much generosity and good cheer for you? How about some doom and gloom? This is the time when loners feel their lonesome the most. Give them a little love.

So there’s loners and there’s LONERS. What if you were in the latter group and you didn’t want to be just left alone in your cabin in the woods or your little apartment in the city. You wanted to be the only human on Earth. How would you go about it?earthmine

You’d want to consult with Gaia first. I’m sure she’d be glad to be rid of the human pests, but you wouldn’t want to piss her off by screwing with her plans for us, would you?

I’m not talking about evil super villains who want to have all the money and rule the world.  They need people to lord it over. The same with religious fanatics. They need people to listen to them preach doom and gloom, fire and brimstone, and you’d better have sex with me or God’s going to be mad at you. And political despots. They need somebody to enslave, harangue, and be paranoid about. Without people they’re just crazy dudes ranting at themselves.

The main problem of eliminating humans from the planet is getting rid of them without killing yourself. What good is having a planet of your own if you’re too dead to enjoy it? Inciting a nuclear war probably isn’t so easy now days. And if you could, say, obtain the launch codes for all the missiles in the US or Russia and set them all off and create a full on nuclear winter killing most everything that lives, that doesn’t sound very agreeable. If you’re going to be alone, having warm, secluded beaches or pleasant woodland walks would be a necessity. Whether 8 billion people crowd the planet or none, what difference would it make if you’re shut in your bomb shelter for the next 1000 years?

Mosquitoes are your friends. They inhabit all the earth except Antarctica. They infect hundreds of millionsmosie1 and kill millions every year. All you’d have to do is cook up a big batch of a human specific virus or bacteria, infect  a few million mosquito eggs, and distribute them around some of the busiest airports. Within days of hatching, your personal little pandemic would have spread throughout the world. Then, all you’d have to do is sit back with your beach towel and umbrella in hand and wait for the beach to clear out. Assuming you thought to immunize yourself against your private plague.

Or, you might want to learn how to sail before hand. Once you let the little monsters loose a long cruise into the ocean while the sun, bacteria, insects, and animals dispose of the dead would be nice. If you’re smart, and watched too many horror movies, you made sure that the dead stayed dead.  It wouldn’t do to come back to shore and bezombieblog2 greeted by a few billion hungry Zombies. That could be just as bothersome as a few billion regular folks. Vampires could be a problem. There’re already dead and they’d be really hungry. Better stock up on holy water, silver bullets and learn how to use a svampblogword.

Of course, with humans gone the world will start fixing all the damage we’ve done to it. This includes the return of wildlife. I imagine Bigfoot will sigh with relief not to have all those little humans stalking him with cameras. With small wildlife expansion comes the revival of the big predators; bears, big cats, wolves and the like. So, while you relax on that empty beach best keep an eye out. Those big cats only respect you for your food value, not your desire for solitude.catsblog4 wolfcatsblog2

IDEAS

What If? there really was (there probably is, tucked away in some government vault)  a virus/ bacteria that was capable of wiping humans from the planet? Then some group in a simple steal it/ransom it operation successfully steals it. But, just before they were to get their millions, one of their own, a stealth religious fanatic, steals it from them for his own highly misguided, God, Jesus, Mary Magdalene-told-me-to- do-it  cleanse the earth scheme. Suddenly the bad guys and the good guys have to work together to save all of humanity. Of course the good guy leader is an attractive woman, and the second in command bad guy is an attractive man (or vice versa) and they have to work together, close together.

What If? somebody did wipe humanity from the planet and  was enjoying their solitude when he/she came across a group of aliens intent on taking over the Earth. Well, he went to a lot of trouble to depopulate the world so now he has to fight the aliens for the planet.  He wins and once again enjoys his solitude when a group of astronauts who have been on a long space journey returns. Our single inhabitant sighs, “Can’t a guy get a little peace and quiet on his private beach?” A series for sure.beach2

What If? you were in a group of astronauts returning from a long mission and you found the only survivor of the Great Plague that wiped out humanity. You fight him at first, but he/she kidnaps one of your people and finally decides you can stay. But, the nasty bug is still around and the only way you will survive is if he gives you the vaccine, but it’s across the country and you may or may not have time to get there. Who will survive the journey? Surely not Adam and Eve – that would be too cheesy.

So, whether you’re a loner alone or a loner in a crowd find a bit of Christmas spirit and don’t vanish humanity, at least until after New Years.

Check out and share my first attempt at a book trailer for my story Heartbreak – http://youtu.be/NNLTJNUgYHs

My website (such as it is) with information on my books and stories is: http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com

Feel free to comment and Please share.

dcburtonjr@gmail.com

Nowhere

Posted in Book Release, Novel writing, screenwriting, Short Story Writing, solitary life, story ideas, Story Subjects, Uncategorized, Writing, Young Adult book with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2013 by davidburtonwriting

Pulling the idea out of nowhere, I think a blogger is supposed to put all their promotional material at the end of the blog. Probably because by the end you, the reader, are supposed to be so enthralled by the brilliant writing and incredibly useful and timely information that you’ll buy whatever their selling or go wherever they want you to go with a smile on your face and your heart and wallet wide open. But what if you, the mightily intelligent and astute reader that you are, doesn’t (gasp!) read to the end? Not this blog, of course, but those other ones. You’d miss all the clever calls to action they got from a list touted on some other blog. What then? Think of all the opportunities and cleverness missed and/or wasted! To that end (wouldn’t want you to miss anything) – Go to. Click on. Buy! Jump! Buy! Share. Like! You’ll be amazed how much smarter, how psychologically stable and emotionally cleansed you’ll feel after you Buy!, and read these incredible (may be based on real persons) e-stories. And if you (deeply generous person that you are) share these links with others, why in no time, Overnight! you’ll have thousands of likes, friends, followers, money, happiness and success. I promise. You trust me, don’t you? So just to help you out, here are —- The first two stories in the Ancient Mariners Story series:AM Heartbreak final cover 2

Ancient Mariners serieshttps://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/9146

 Heartbreak

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FNWB8LA

Smashwords – http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/363624

Beth, 14, and Silas, 42, have lost their families to violence. Now, sailing together, they have found a home and a new family in Mexico. But Death has other plans for them – This is the first step on a journey to revenge that will set them free.AM First Kill cover

First Kill

Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FP1Q6PM

Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/364885

“I thought we were spared for the events fourteen days after my sixteenth birthday. When I killed my first man.” – Beth, 16. — Beth and Silas enjoy a beautiful tropical night aboard some new friends’ yacht. Until it goes bad and Beth has no choice but to make her – First Kill.

YOUNG BLOOD – An Accidental Vampire Serieshttps://www.smashwords.com/books/byseries/6017

 Young Blood cover

Smashwords-http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/362496

Young Blood is the third story (a 29,000 word novella) in the An Accidental Vampire series. 

In 1648 France, Simone Gireaux, a Young Blood vampire, is persuaded to help find the truth behind a Duchess’s murder.

Okay, got that out of way. You wouldn’t have wanted to miss that, right? Right? I’ll take that as a, “No. Of course I didn’t want to miss all that, even though there wasn’t much cleverness to it.” Now, where was I? You’re probably thinking – Nowhere. Ha.

Speaking of Nowhere, where is nowhere? Does it exist? Everything is somewhere relative to something. Even in space. You may be 2.68 parsecs from the planet Gigglbot surrounded by Dark Matter and nothingness, but you’re somewhere, even if you don’t know exactly where.

There is Limbo, which is, depending on the story you’re writing, either a dark void or, like in my sometime forthcoming novel Blood on the Water, a white room with no entrance, no exit, and no time that exists but doesn’t exist. It makes that old saw – “You can’t get there from here,” a true statement.

Maybe the only real Nowhere is in your mind?

“Where are you in your investigation?”

“Nowhere.”

“Where are the car keys you’ve been looking for for half an hour?”

“F&%$*@ing nowhere.”

“Hands on the wall, scumbag. Where do think you’re going?”

“Nowhere.”

Speaking of nowhere, Limbo, and space stations, Nowhere is where the occupants, vampire and mortal, of the space station Haven hope the Sunvamps who have taken over Earth think they are. Orbiting 400 miles over Earth is not nowhere, but, “Out of sight, out of mind,” works for the people of Haven – until it doesn’t.  — Down Home is a An Accidental Vampire Series novella waiting for a second draft.

Lost in limbo, consigned to oblivion, stuck, ennui, neither here nor there = Nowhere… unless… something out of your control happens and gives you hope that in your mind or physical being you can change nowhere, whether self-imposed or circumstance-imposed, to somewhere. (See Down Home)

“Can’t get there from here”  works the other way, too. Once you get to nowhere it can be hard to get back, mentally or physically. Physically, magic helps. Just ask Teresa of Blood Justice and Blood on the Water. Mentally, a goal to focus on can pull you out of your ennui and get you back on the road to SOMEWHERE. (See Down Home)

IDEAS

What If someone or something you wanted was trapped in Limbo, or the like, and the only way to get to them was by magic, but you didn’t happen to have a witch or sorcerer in your social circle?  Where would you go to find one to help you? Maybe that homeless guy who for some reason nobody messes with and never seems to get wet in the rain or cold in the winter and has that I-know-something-you-don’t look. Or that palmist in that little rundown house on the edge of town your friends swear is dead accurate? Or maybe there’s something in that old book your uncle everybody said was wizard (yeah, sure, ha ha) left you. And where would that journey lead you?

What If you were nowhere in your mind? Lost, confused, discombobulated, having done something BAD but now with nowhere to go and no way to get there? You were just walking, when – “Hands on the wall, scumbag. Where do think you’re going?” – “Nowhere.” – So they put you in jail (somewhere!) on suspicion of murdering somebody who needed murdering. But, of course the cops wouldn’t see it that way even though they agreed he/she should have been killed in as long and painful way as possible. Cops got to do their cop thing.  In the next cell is a strange person who calls him/her self a Journey Agent. This agent promises you a wonderful life journey if you do something for him/her.  Not caring, you agree. Maybe you do his task (that didn’t seem too bad) right away or maybe later. In any case you lead a wonderful life – great spouse, kids, house, job. If you haven’t done the task maybe it comes due. Maybe you have to choose between doing something bad or losing your family and happiness. Maybe you end up sacrificing your life and end up dying by lethal injection – it was all a dream. (Lame) Maybe you figure it out and find a workaround, do the task but live. (Better) Maybe you find the Journey Agent and…? (Best)

What If there really is a Middle of Nowhere, and it’s in the ocean a thousand miles from land (been there, missed it) and you sail right into it and find yourself in Nowhere Land an amazing  place of….

What If what happens in Nowheresvile stays in Nowheresville? Maybe you die and go to an alternative Vegas where the winner of the big Poker Game of Life gets to return to life and try again. Of course you’ll be playing for high stakes against people who will do anything to get back to Somewhere.

 So don’t be a nowhere man, be on http://dcburtonwriting.wordpress.com for links and excerpts of other books and stories.

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