Upon the shoreline
Pirates buried their treasure
Black X marks the spot
For more prompts like “spot” go here: Haiku Horizons
Parson Slang is a runner along with many other things. I thought I might highlight a passage from the book that showcased this. By the way, there’s a bonus at the end of this section. If you like free stuff, read on.
He closed the door and stepped outside. He breathed in the cold air and looked up at the flakes of snow. The ground already had a small white covering.
Parson looked down at his shoes. “I hope I don’t bust my ass.”
It was brutal.
I mean BRUTAL!
The shins were the first thing to start responding to the cold. They screamed at him as if they were creatures, shin creatures, trying to crawl out of their dormancy from some deep cave. The compression sleeves pushed those shin creatures back into their cave each and every time, but man, they were angry; and their anger showed itself in pain.
The snow picked up in intensity, and the makings of a blizzard were setting in.
The shoes he loved so much, all summer, now seemed to turn traitor as the cold air sucked out the cushion. It was like running on two hard slabs of concrete. Parson was glad he stayed on the roads and not taken the sidewalks. He imagined himself trudging down those sidewalks and then seeing in horror as his legs shattered from the pounding. The asphalt wasn’t that much better, but it helped. Lucky for him, with the weather setting in, the road was about deserted.
Parson was glad for two things on this run today.
The first, when he saw he was at 1.5 miles so he could turn around; and the second, when he saw his home in the distance.
He made his way up to the door and unlocked it. Ghost or no ghost, he didn’t hesitate this time. He opened the door and rushed in with flakes of snow chasing after him.
Good, now here’s your bonus, actually it is two bonuses in one.
If you click here PDF of Parson Slang you can read this entire novel for free (I’m also willing to send you a copy via Email – firstname.lastname@example.org).
I also have a short story attached to it as well. The story is called “The Living Sand,” which is now titled “Evil Beach.”
Thanks again for reading, following, and humoring this author as he tries to get his start.
A bit more of my novel – The Tale of the Golden Pirate: The Parson Slang Adventures.
He arrived on time just like he always did, but there was no sign of Tony. He had kids and a wife. It was to be expected.
Parson leaned over and grabbed his gloves along with his running water bottle. No matter how cold it was, he always carried that bottle with him. Parson had learned that lesson the hard way. While he sat there waiting, he thought about the map and the thoughts that had been running around in his head since he first saw it – could he leave, should he leave, would he leave, could he take a leap of faith, he was comfortable so why mess it up, etc.etc.etc. and blah, blah, blah. The thoughts just kept on a running. When Parson got his brain on something, he rarely let it go. He sometimes had nightmares about a gigantic monster with a flashing sign on its head chasing after him. This sign would just keep blinking the words “Do it now” over and over again. He would wake up in the middle of the night and just do what it was that was bugging him. When he went back to sleep, that monster was always gone.
Find more here: Parson
Thanks for reading and following.
He doubled checked the house. Everything was off and unplugged by the time he stepped out of the front door. He stood there on the stoop for a moment, key poised inches in front of the lock, safe and secure on one side, no safety net on the other.
“Go!” The words of the pirate echoed out from the empty blue sky. They poured into his ears, words of encouragement. Parson made his brain force his hand to push the key into the lock and turn. It clicked into place, and the life he once had here was officially and literally locked and sealed. There was no turning back now.
Down the steps he went, and once again he stopped. He turned to look back at the house and spoke out loud to himself. “You know, Parson. It may not have been much, but at least it was home.”
He turned towards the car and stopped. The pirate was standing there; and, as Parson watched, the pirate evaporated. The door to the car opened, free of hands, inviting, welcoming Parson to take this next step.
“Yeah, I hear you. Message received loud and clear.” Parson walked over and climbed behind the wheel. He turned on the machine and let it idle for a moment. Something caught his eye. He flipped them up to the living room window. There was something wearing black staring back at him. This wasn’t the pirate; this was something different, someone different. Parson blinked and it was gone. “Just nerves man. Get on down the road before you change your mind.”
Find it here: Parson
Thanks for reading and following
I thought this week I might just highlight the opening of the book. I would be curious to know if it grabs you are not. Always looking for some feedback. Each chapter starts off with a bit of poetry in this book. Here’s the poem that opens chapter 1.
Take to the seas
A sailor’s life you please
Do what you do
Man that ship
Man that crew
Here’s the opening:
Parson Slang woke up and opened his eyes. Something was strange about the night. The thick darkness was now invaded with light. No. It wasn’t light. It was illumination. This illumination hung over him, soft, creamy white. It oozed and pulsed as it highlighted his half exposed body, where a cold sweat had started to form.
A sharp gust of wind cracked the window causing Parson to jump and he knew what you may or may not already know. Something was standing by his bed waiting for him to turn and see. To see what, Parson wasn’t sure. The mind raced with possibilities. Anything and everything could have crawled up out of the dark and formed while he slept. With hesitation Parson turned, turned to see the horror that had awakened him from his dreams.
Standing beside the bed was the ghost of a pirate. This pirate stood about six feet tall, and he was decked out like a pirate from head to toe. He had long dread locks for hair, a shaggy black beard, and a red feather sticking out of his hat. He wore pirate clothes and boots the color of gold. If you wanted a cliché pirate to look at, then this guy was your guy . . .
If you would like to read more of this book – click here: PARSON
I’ve also set up a newsletter so you can keep up with me and receive a free copy of “Trilogy of Terror.” Click here to sign up for new releases and promotions: Newsletter
I’ve always enjoyed this part of the book. I thought it might be a good one to post for this Wednesday. Thanks for reading. Thanks for following.
“You want me to take your stuff. You want me to do what it is that needs to be done so we get paid. The plane is the best thing for it.” Carson tapped the side of Sweet Pea after he said this.
The man didn’t reply.
Carson turned back to Parson. “Hey Parson, would you give me a hand back here?”
Parson was frozen in his seat, stunned; this wasn’t the adventure he was hoping for when he left his sleepy little town. He wanted to cry, he wanted to pee, and he wanted to just be back in the comfort of his home. He wanted to be anywhere, but here. This was too much for him.
“Come on Parson! The sooner we do this the better!”
Parson unbuckled and walked over to Carson, who instructed him to stand on his left side. Parson did as requested, but he still couldn’t see the men. All he could see was the right side of one of them. On this right side, attached by a strap, was an Uzi, and Parson was sure it was cocked and loaded just like the gun in Carson’s holster.
Carson slung the first canvas bag to Parson who caught it and nearly dropped it. “You got it?”
“Yeah.” Parson put the bag on the floor and waited for the next.
Carson grabbed the second bag with his left hand while his right hand reached for the gun in the holster.
It happened in a blink, a blink of an eye.
Carson slung the bag back to Parson as he pulled out the gun, lightning quick. He emptied the clip into the men and didn’t hesitate. The shots rang out into the night as blood splattered the boat and the world around it . . .
If you would like to read more – click here: PARSON
I’ve also set up a newsletter so you can keep up with me. Click here to sign up for new releases and promotions: Newsletter
I plan to start dedicating Wednesdays on this blog to my novel “The Tale of The Golden Pirate: A Parson Slang Adventure.” See book cover below.
What I want to do is post a paragraph or two from different parts of the book. Something to generate a little buzz about it, which if you are an Independent Author like myself you know you need lots of to get anywhere in the writing business.
Today’s post comes from somewhere deep in the bowels of the book. Let me know what you think about it in the comments section below. If you so desire.
It was all over them. This milky slimy haze covered all the windows. It was like looking through snot, mucousy, running nose, heart of a cold snot. The kind of snot that is all chunky with various pieces of yellows and greens mixed into it.
“It’s some kind of membrane,” Parson replied.
“There’s something else.” Angie had noticed something new this time. “Do you hear anything?” The plane was silent, but they were still flying. “Take your hands off the controls Carson.”
“I don’t think you’re flying this plane.”
Carson looked down at his hands and then released them from their duties. The plane continued on its forward path and it didn’t take an immediate nose dive.
Angie continued, “Take a look out your window, farther than the window pane. Look at the propellers.”
Carson looked out his window as Parson crowded into Angie’s space so he could do the same. The propellers were jammed like they were trying to move, but couldn’t. They were shaking violently and appeared to be on the edge of an explosion as they tried their hardest to spin, to do the job they were meant to do. Carson shut them off on an instant, and the shaking stopped. The plane was now moving forward through the gelatinous ooze, like it was floating on a river. They were going wherever it was taking them, and they were powerless to stop it.
As they stood there, needless to say, dumbfounded, the light of the world beyond this membrane was drawing closer.
“Strap him in, Angie. When we reach the edge of this thing it is going to birth us out; and we won’t be flying. I’ll have to hope I have time to get the engines started before we crash head first into the water.”
Click here if you want to learn more about Parson Slang and his adventures Southward.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for following. It is appreciated.