Winter Musings

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Winter Musing

The trees are bare and ungiving

Like the souls of sick minds,

Their dead leaves floating in the

Wind to a winter of indifference.

 

Among the chaos of winter urges

Comes the hope of a white dove,

Spreading its inviting wings of

Devotion to an ancient Deity.

 

Soon the loveliness of Spring and

Fertile minds will convene again

To delve into the mysteries of life,

The primeval phenomenon of Faith.

Billy Ray Chitwood – Christmas day – 2016

 

Please visit my Website – http://brchitwood.weebly.com – and Preview my 14 books of fiction and non-fiction.

 

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS

 

Though it seems likely you were born in April, the date of December 25 has become the date much of the world has designated as the day we celebrate your birth. Here in the United States, most of our citizens enjoy your birthday as a paid holiday. On your birthday, many of us celebrate by gift sharing with our family and friends, participating in a special tradition of giving for which you are so very well known.

 

We do not know of every word you spoke and every deed that was rendered. Much of your living our historical experts cannot account, but from what has been recorded we know that you were unlike any other person on our earth at that time, that you spoke to the masses in parables for living an honorable and charitable life, that you spoke of God, your Father, and His Kingdom. We know that you were reviled and hated by the Roman rulers and were considered an enemy to their pagan icons and political agenda. At the end we know how you suffered from the stones and thorns of hate, how you carried the heavy cross to Golgotha, there to be fixed by nails to that cross and die a slow and painful death.

 

Some among us doubt your message of faith and the Kingdom of God, your Father. Some doubt that you died there on Calvary’s cross for the sins of humankind. Some even mock your words and arrogantly pronounce all your goodness as mere mythology. But they are few, dear Jesus, and there are a great majority of us who have read of your short time among us, believe in your message, who are not without sin but strive to grow our faith and believe in the miracle of creation – that incredible and meticulous nine months of a child’s birth, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the great order of the universe.

 

Our world today has changed not so much from the world you entered, dear Jesus. We still have those political and iconic problems throughout all parts of our planet. We have our ‘machines’ now that make our lives so easily disposed to sloth and idleness. We have our poor, our wealthy, and our in-be-tweens. We have created a bureaucratic welfare system that keeps so many of our people dependent on a government’s treasury, that makes it more sensible to stay at home and receive other people’s money than to work for it themselves. Yet, we do have those who truly need the goodness and help that comes from the heart, those teachings you passed along to us.

 

We still have famine and wars, so many prophesied in the Bible. We seem to be coming to some end-point, Jesus. We have terrorists who wish to kill us because they believe it part of their religious mandates. It appears we do not learn from the lessons of history. The world seems to be imploding while the good minds among us seek a paradigm for peace and prosperity.

 

So, in celebrating your birth, dear Jesus, I wish this long birthday card was a testimonial to how far we have come in loving our neighbor and honoring all of your Father’s ‘Ten Commandments’. Our knowledge is exploding. There are lots of new machines and toys for living, maybe even some tiny robots that go roaming around in our bodies to extend our lives, but, for good will and love, I fear we have not come so far since that awful day you were nailed on the cross near Jerusalem.  

 

For me, Jesus, I’m trying to grow my faith, endeavoring to be better than I am, wanting that eternal life in that great Kingdom by your Father’s House.

 

Billy Ray Chitwood – Christmas, 2016

 

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Imagine

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Imagine

Imagine the end of corruption, evil, and greed.

Imagine no need for news and sensationalism.

Imagine hearts and minds filled only with love.

Imagine Peace an unbroken global standard.

Imagine Freedom and Liberty uncompromised.

Imagine honesty and integrity never doubted.

Imagine crime and wars words void and unspoken.

Imagine Happiness an implicit way of life.

“Hey, man, you nuts? You can’t have a world like that! How you gonna know what’s good without some bad? We gotta have opposites in life. You know, ‘hate and love’, ‘crime and punishment’, ‘peace and war’.”

“Why are you looking over my shoulder? This is none of your business. Plus, I’m not finished with this, yet. Sure, I’m presenting some kind of ‘Eloi’ scenario here – you know, it was one of H. G. Wells ‘time travel’ stops. AND, I know what you’re saying…how do you get billions of people in that mindset? The Philosophy Professor wanted the class to write a paper on ‘Faith and Spiritual Disparity’ in the world, while offering an idealistic human condition… Now, buzz off, I have to finish this paper.”

“Okay, pal, but you’re writing that ‘Imagine’ stuff about Heaven or a parallel universe Utopia.”

“Well, now, you are the bright one! That’s exactly what I’m doing… Now, go, and bring back McDonald’s Big Macs, French fries, and coke – to be more exact, Coca Cola!”

Flash Fiction by: Billy Ray Chitwood – 7/26/16

Hope you will check out my books which cross different genres – mystery, romance, suspense, memoir, thriller. I humbly submit they are ‘fun’ reads, and some are inspired by true events.

http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

Other Links:

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://twitter.com/brchitwood

http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

http://amazon.com/author/billyraychitwood

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven + blog award nominations

 

Where The Dreams Are

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Where The Dreams Are

There on the horizon
Where the clouds
Where the Sun
Where the mountains
Bring shimmering shadows
On the placid surface
Of the deep blue sea –
Dreams live in all
These converging elements
From the melodious music
Of hungry souls,
Those who somehow
Know that the thief of night
Cannot for long defy the
Precious treasures that
Await us in that dazzling
Merger of colors out there
On the horizon

Where the dreams are.

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Billy Ray Chitwood – July 2, 2016

I’ve written thirteen books in the genres of mystery, suspense, thriller, romance, and memoir, some of which are inspired by true life events…hope you will preview the books on my website: http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3 . My JUST RELEASED romance novel, PHOENIX FIRE, was a real joy for me to write. and I’m betting (praying, really!) that readers will enjoy this book immensely…with one caveat – keep the tissue handy. I know tissues were needed when I wrote it. So, please give it a read and leave an Amazon and Goodreads review = reviews are the life blood of authors. But, then, you’ve heard that time and again. Here are the BUY SITES for PHOENIX FIRE: 

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Amazon US: https://goo.gl/StvwLq 

Amazon UK: https://goo.gl/jq2MkS

Amazon Worldwide: https://goo.gl/wwImBq

Amazon Canada: https://goo.gl/yeFQtH

MORE LINKS TO AUTHOR:

http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3 Website

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http://goodreads/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

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Proud member of #ASMSG – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven plus blog award nominations

 

 

The Cardinal

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The Cardinal

Taking a break from writing I stare at the beautiful fake cardinal in front of me. It sits on a big tome in a niche above the TV entertainment center. It is one of my frequent diversionary tactics to avoid putting my mind to work for writing.

Unlike the image above, the cardinal is actually staring at me as well, and it’s getting just a bit weird because I see the lovely guy fluttering, jerking his head around and about, shaking his feathers. He then cocks his head, stares again at me, and suddenly flies over to the arm of my chair.

Now, look, think what you might – ‘the guy in the chair is daffy, losing his freaking mind’. That’s okay. That kind of thinking is perfectly legitimate.

However, if you think a stuffed cardinal flying from his niche to the arm of my chair is daffy, get ready for some real craziness.

He starts squeaking to me, and I feel a bit like Mark Twain because I’m understanding his squeaking. Yeah, he’s talking to me…like in, ‘You talking to me’?

He’s asking/squeaking me questions, like, ‘Hey, I got nothing to do all day but watch you type away on that black gadget you got there – laptop, you call it. Occasionally, I see your wife bringing you snacks. It’s okay she doesn’t bring me anything because you – somebody! – made it impossible for me to eat. So, I’m curious. Before I got ‘stuffed’, I flew around a lot, visited many places, and settled here because I like your grounds and your cute but silly chatter to me and my feathered friends. What I’m curious about is, something strange is happening, and I’m not just talking about climate change here – which is likely ‘bunk’. I’m talking about the craziness of your world. Why all the hatred and inane behavior? I mean, it’s filling the air my still-flying friends have to breathe.”

“Is it okay if I just stroke your feathers? You are so beautiful. I’ll be gentle.”

“You’re avoiding my question, but go ahead if it will make you open up to me.”

So, I stroked the little guy’s feathers. “Look,” I say, “there’s nowhere in our history when we’ve been sane. We’ve fought our dumb wars, made our stupid mistakes, and Science/Technology has not come up with a pill or implant or whatever to make up for all of our differences – the language barriers, different intelligent levels, the so-called inequalities between the rich and the poor. We’ve gotten so global. We’re dealing with centuries-old hatreds. We’re coming to a point of no return. Something has to give.”

The little red guy cocks his head, and I almost think he’s squinting. “Hey, man, you’re ruffling my red feathers! Are you talking about Armageddon and the Apocalypse?”

“Well, it just seems to me, unless we can find a way to unite the world for freedom and peace, what can there be but utter destruction and our final days?”

My little Cardinal buddy was shaking, so I stroked softly his feathers again with my forefinger, and said: “Look, my fine red-feathered friend, there is always hope and we don’t give up so easily here in America. It’s one thing for me react, talk about the hatred, the radical Islamic terrorists that do their evil deeds, about the greed for power that drives most of our wanton transgressions, but I still carry faith and hope that the world can get it right.”

“So,” my Cardinal buddy stopped shaking and said, “I’m staying here with you, right? You’re not going to leave me here during these times of trouble to stare at empty space?”

“No, of course not. And, if and when I leave, there will be specific information and instructions left about you with someone as lovable as I. After all, they will need to be prepared for your rather peculiar aptitude.”

“That’s good to know… I’m going back to my perch now – getting a little sleepy. See you when I wake up. And, please, I say this with all the affection in the world for you: finish that darn book and knock off some of those loud expletives. You scare me when you go ‘flying off’ like that.

Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood – 5/25/16

I write books of mystery, suspense, romance, memoir, et al. If you would like to preview the thirteen books I’ve written, you can find them on my website:

goo.gl/nWMXm3

Other Links: http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://twitter.com/brchitwood

 http://amazon.com/author/billyraychitwood

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

http://facebook.com/billyrayscorner

http://googleplus.com/billyraychitwood

http://linkedin.com

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN1 – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven + blog award nominations.

I’m Alone

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I’m Alone

With only my memories –

I sit alone on the hill and watch the sunset…

Faces float by in surreal silence

And,

In words only I can hear,

each tells a story of

My life, unadorned with gratuitous

Words of praise and solicitude…

With each face,

    With each story,

I know where I have failed and

Corrupted my own existence.

Where ‘could have been’ echoes

Through the lonely caverns

Of my soul.

I sit alone as the Sun hastens

The night and the demons

Of regret and remorse.

A Life so frivolously wasted

On Wanderlust and Longing.

So it must be that a life be lived

In such disarray no matter

The Cause…

For it is fodder for the

Fools to come.

Billy Ray Chitwood – April 29, 2016

*

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My books tell the longer story – they can be found at http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

And these links:

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://amazon.com/author/billyraychitwood

http://twitter.com/brchitwood

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

http://facebook.com/billyrayscorner 

http://linkedin.com

Proud member of: #ASMSG – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven Blog Award nominations.

 

 

 

Custard-Filled Doughnuts and Sunsets

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Custard-filled Doughnuts and Sunsets

Dreamers and Romantics have a keen sensitivity to life, some mysterious alchemy within their souls that mark their steps through time and dimension.

They see the sun pausing, creating a great palette of lucent magic as it makes its final descent into the morning on the other side of the world. Something stirs within the Dreamers and Romantics, and they must somehow celebrate this mystique that sight can only present. They cannot embrace this beauty they behold, cannot feel the orgasmic wonder that comes with the climactic end of two joined in making love.

There is an intense urge to capture this supreme moment of sunset, so the Dreamer and Romantic compose their lines of verse, their songs of longing and love. Words will come but they must be noble, virtuous, and worthy of this scene that has aroused   their souls.

It is so as well with the novelist, short story, and flash fiction writer. There is a need to express some inner desire, some exposition of a great notion or theory.

Are these Dreamers and Romantics special people among the masses?

Perhaps they are to those who like to read, who like the singular turning of a phrase, a poem, story – those who have other talents, those who design and build our great structures, our bridges, our roads, those who fly our planes, drive our buses and trains, those who sweep our streets, clean our houses.

I’m a Dreamer and Romantic! I love that sunset and a lovely woman with whom to share it. As Lord David Prosser might say, I want to hug that sunset! What I believe David is saying (if he were to say it),  The sunset is so beautiful that spoken words fail to express the exalted feeling…you want to hug it, make love to it, more than just say, it’s beautiful!

That is why we have Dreamers and Romantics writing, painting, composing music – and, at times, being real pains in the arses. Some can be rascals, malcontents, arrogant, pompous, perhaps thinking they are a special breed…well, actually, they are! Otherwise, no dancing, no reading, no sculpting, no painting – well, you get the idea.

Can you believe it? All of this came from eating a custard-filled doughnut this morning – I saw the sunset in my ‘pictures’ file.

Bill Chitwood

Billy Ray Chitwood – March, 2016

My Website – My bio and books: goo.gl/nWMXm3

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

Twitter.com/brchitwood

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COMMENTS BELOW 

 

Awake and Asleep

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Awake and Asleep

I’m a simple man and it is not my intent to bore people with the mundane and obvious…though, at times, I’m sure I do. My attempt is to be engaging and to have something important, perhaps witty, to say – to promote one of my books and be self-conscious that those who might read the promotion will be deleting me and calling me a spammer. Now, it is possible that I’m a certified malcontent or a chronic ‘whatever’!

Like now, this moment, I’m re-reading what I just wrote in the first paragraph and saying to myself, ‘get to the point, hillbilly hotshot’. So, I shall!

I’m awake, sitting in the sunroom, looking out at the rolling hills of Lincoln’s Kentucky, and all’s really right with my world. That is, I’m not going to think about the chaos, the mind-bending killings taking place all over the world, the rosy spin our president inserts into the ‘State of the Union’ message. It’s good to pump up the people, to give them positive signs that we’re better off today than when he took office seven years ago. We buy his eloquence in delivering his ‘legacy’ message or we doubt the veracity of his emotional and passionate oratory… No, I’m not going to think about this or the other thought patterns of economy, education, jobs, freedom, liberty, security, those noble principles and values carefully and tediously recorded in the Constitution of the United States of America… No, the sky is a wondrous blue and the sun touches my face and body bringing languid moments. Why squander such beauty with negative mind-absorption?

Now, I’m asleep and in a dream…a terribly flighty, unorganized puzzle put together by my sub-conscious…that’s an assumption. I’m here! I’m there! With people I don’t recognize! I’m flying, not in a plane, me, I’m flying, using breast strokes to pull me higher into the sky where I glide over the land and buildings below. When I begin to lose altitude I use my breast stroke to regain the space I lost. With a steady sync of fall and breast stroke, I’m again on the ground and wondering why I’m lying in this ditch. Now, I’m on a real plane with people I don’t know and it’s about to crash! Suddenly, I’m not on the plane but a night bystander on terra firma some 500 feet away, watching the jet fly out of sight behind a hangar-type building and crash. I see the red flames with black tint shooting upward. The dream shifts to a parking area where I’m trying to find my car… I can’t find it, and I’m in a panic!

I’m awake again, reclined in my Lazy Boy, looking across the sunroom at my sweet Julie Anne, dividing her time between finding genealogy nuggets on the web and cat napping… Oh, and George the cat is napping as well.

Well, that’s my blog post for this week… If anyone can possibly tell me what all of this is about I shall be eternally grateful. The best I can sum it all up is by generalizing: ‘Awake and Asleep’ we fight our ‘demons’!

Billy Ray Chitwood – January 14, 2016

Okay, I’m going to spare you this week and not promote one of my books. Nope, I’m going to promote all thirteen of them by sending you to my website, goo.gl/nWMXm3. There, you will find mystery, suspense, action, thriller, romance, memoirs. Aside from a couple of non-fiction books, there are several novels that were inspired by true crimes and events. Many have 5-Star reviews. The books have entertainment value and the style of writing has clarity and a musing quality. Please take a look at the website for summaries of the books, some excerpts, and some bio information about me. Thank you very much.

Some Links:

http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3 

http://twitter.com/brchitwood (@brchitwood)

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood  

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https://www.linkedin.com

Member: #asmsg #IAN #AHA

(Proud to have received eleven blog award nominations)

A Parable of Sorts

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Because so much is happening in the world today, I thought I would get 2016 started with a short story I wrote back three years ago. It conveys the ugliness in the world but it has faith and love as well. Hope you enjoy:

It’s curious how the mind can wander off into a story.

During a ‘time out’ from working on my WIP (a new book) my mind began its wandering and somehow settled on some of the world’s more problematic issues – at least, from the perspective of someone living in the USA and being bombarded each day with unsettling news from far away places, news of Syria’s internal devastating turmoil, of Iran’s new leadership, plus a ‘new treaty’, and how it might hold little promise for relieving old angers and hatreds, news of a North Korea that seems always deleterious and scary…

I reached for my laptop and began to type this rather small piece that became a fanciful story. I decided at its conclusion that it had some ‘nuance’ here and there and decided to give it a title, “A Parable of Sorts.” I’m posting it here because I’m a writer who can hardly ever let anything I write, good or bad, go to waste. Hopefully, this little tale will not be too disconcerting to the senses. With this said, here’s the tale…

A Parable Of Sorts

Sasha begged him not to go. “You belong here with me, Leonid. The battle is within you, not with North Korea. What of us?” She tugged at his tattered coat.

He smiled benignly, “You’re a lovely and silly girl. You do not understand the reality of our time. To stay would be to defy my beliefs, my convictions, and, yes, my anger and hatred.”

“You would die for these beliefs and convictions, this anger and hatred?”

“We all must die, Sasha.”

“You brought me here to be left alone in a strange country?”

“Hong Kong is not a strange country, foolish one. We’ve been here sometime now. You know many of our native people. Go to them when your money runs out. Stay with them. Should something go wrong, I will return for you.”

“Please, Leonid, you go to die and you know it. You’ve told me of your plans. You go on a suicide mission. I’ve begged before and I beg of you, now, please stay!”

At the door of the small efficiency apartment, Leonid paused with his hand on the door knob. His dark eyes and handsome face held a strange and wistful look. He removed his hand from the door knob, returned to Sasha where she stood by the tiny dining table. “You are so beautiful, my blue-eyed wonder.” He embraced and gave her a long passionate kiss.

He then quickly twisted her head until he heard the snap. The lips were still in a half-smile as her head dangled and fell to his right shoulder, her blue eyes large and vacant in their death stare. In a whisper, he spoke, to the face he had loved, “Better you go this way, my dear Sasha, than to linger in life’s pain. You cannot know but I did love you.”

Leonid gently lowered her body onto a soiled stuffed chair just a few feet from the dining table, gazed upon her splayed form for some seconds, then slowly left the apartment. Tears welled but he willed them away, a final and essential part of his being had snapped and was forever lost to him.

*****

Night, reluctant to shed its vagueness, was slowly showing its lightened eastern clouds as the sun gave way to earth’s perpetual orbital pattern. Leonid walked in the shadows along streets leading to the Kumsusan Memorial Palace. It was still quiet in this city known as ‘Flat Land’ in its translation. In his backpack he carried explosives with timer mechanisms that he would plant at key buildings. The explosive carefully strapped to his body he would save for the KMP.

His thoughts were well focused on his morning’s mission but he could not deny the flashing memories that brought him to this point in time…

His father, mother, and brother had been ruthlessly killed here in Pyongyang in 2012 by a squad of government gangsters of the ‘People’s Republic of Korea.’ His family was shown no mercy as they were chopped to death by machetes, labeled spies against the state. Four hours later his older brother and sister were pulled from their lodgings, beaten, and then chopped to death. The government squad had no ears to listen to his family’s protests of innocence, their legitimate reason for being in the ‘Flat Land,’ their labored cries of mercy.

Pyongyang’s government never wavered from their ill-gotten information about his family. Never mind that his mother had pleasantly refused to cater a special luncheon for the squad and their friends, the sole event and motive that brought the hatred and the killings. Never mind that his sister would be raped before she was chopped. The killings were all justified, each query quashed and forgotten by the government.

His marriage to Sasha prior to the family murders made home life an hourly ebb and flow of emotions. When sleep would come there were the hellish nightmares, waking, screaming the names of his dead family, his body slick with sweat and tears, Sasha clinging to him, sobbing, trying desperately to slay the night-dragons that possessed him.

Then came the job loss and it was as though the people of Hong Kong could see the rage in his eyes, the stench of hatred from his body. He became a man avoided and feared. Sasha tried to get him help, would set an appointment for him to see someone who might be able to help him, but he would not arrive at the set time. Sasha was the only person in the large city who could give him moments of relative calm, but then those times of surcease became fewer and fewer.

He would not bathe nor shave, only when Sasha would run his bath and physically pull and push him to the tub and wash and rinse him. For those few precious moments Sasha could almost sense some warmth come to him…but it never lasted long. The strange hatred that occupied him never resulted in personal damage to her. She did the talking, asking questions of him, and he bluntly answered the questions – until the fateful day he killed her! It was only some modicum of revenge that would fulfill what was left of his putrid life…

As he walked in the shadowy stillness, a voice came to him from an alleyway just a few feet away: “Leonid, I must talk to you. Come walk with me in the alley.”

Leonid stopped, momentarily startled…no one knew his name, knew that he was here in Pyongyang. “Who speaks my name?” He braced himself against a building corner near the alley, moving his hand near a detonator that would vaporize him and much of the immediate area.

“A friend, Leonid. Please come these few steps and talk to me. There is no harm intended. We will talk, and you can do then what you will.” The voice had a calm and soft cadence, and Leonid knew that the man spoke the truth.

Leonid walked a few feet into the alley until he saw a man’s form. What struck him were the man’s eyes. They glowed in the semi-darkness, matched the tenor of the stranger’s voice. Oddly, Leonid was not afraid of the stranger and walked some fifty feet further down the alley, stopping when the stranger sat on a wooden crate. The stranger bid Leonid to sit on another wooden crate nearby.

“How is it that you know me and what do you want?”

“I’m just a man who knows the pain you carry within you and the mission that you are on.”

“How could you possibly know such things?”

“I have been with you all the way from Hong Kong, Leonid, mourning with you the loss of your beloved Sasha.”

“I killed her! With these ugly knotted hands, I killed her. How can you know this, Tell me who you are and why you are here, or, I will…”

“Leonid, just a few questions I have and you can be on your way.” The stranger’s voice was mesmerizing, measured in softness and tone. “Why is it, Leonid, that we are here on this spinning orb we call earth?”

There was rapture in the stranger’s voice that commanded a response. “We are here to live in parables and to die and be no more.”

The stranger’s eyes seemed to glow more brightly and the long beard he wore was a pellucid whiteness that seemed somehow unearthly. Leonid quickly considered whether of not he was awake or in a dream.

The stranger spoke. “So, why is it that the moon falls from the sky, the sun does not bring us daylight, and birth has no precise process to follow?”

Still taken by the stranger’s soothing voice, but a bit nonplussed, Leonid responded. “But you know that is not so. What is your motive here?”

The stranger seemed not to hear the question. “Why is there no evil and good in the world?”

“Stop confounding me with your Socratic silliness. Of course, there is evil and there is good in the world.”

“And why do you think that is so?”

“God only knows.”

“You speak His name as though you know him, Leonid. Do you know God?”

“There is no God!”

“Yet, you say He knows about evil and good.”

“Look, your aura wraps me in some kind of spell and I seem compelled to listen to your words. Please tell me what it is you wish me to know.”

“One last question, your response, and I will say my final words to you. “Did you truly love Sasha?”

“Of course, with all my heart I loved her, but my heart and soul is heavy with grief and hatred.”

“Like the hatred of Jesus’ enemies as they crucified Him on the cross? Like the hatred of the Americans for the Japanese during World War Two? Like the psychotic hatred of serial killers?”

“Yes, yes! How else can I answer such questions?”

“You can answer such questions by having Faith that there is more to come beyond this life, by believing that evil only spreads when good people are paralyzed by anger, fear, and hatred. To Love is to have Faith. To have Faith is to have Love. These noble elements of living decide our ultimate destinies. People have choices to make all their earthly lives. They will not always make the right choices, but Faith and Love will make all the wrong choices bearable and inconsequential when the last grain of sand is gathered.”

As more light came to the alley Leonid thought that he understood what the stranger was saying to him. He wanted to say something but no words would come.

The stranger lifted himself from the crate and stood in front of Leonid. “May I touch your head, Leonid, so that it might bless you?”

With tears now flowing, Leonid merely moved his head downward. The stranger touched his head. Leonid sensed warmth on his head and a coursing flutter through his body. Then, the hand left his head.

When Leonid raised his head, the stranger was gone and daylight streamed throughout the alley.

*****

When Leonid awoke, his head was on his own pillow. He was gazing at the adjoining pillow into the wondrous blue eyes of his beloved Sasha, a sweet smile upon her face.

“You look different somehow, my love. Do you still intend to carry out your vendetta against North Korea? Please say that you will not.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her face to his chest.

“No, my precious love, there will be no vendetta, not ever…” Leonid tightly wound himself around Sasha and gave her a long and tender kiss. “I’m torn,” he said, “making love to you, or, bacon and eggs?” He paused only briefly, “Oh, to hell with the bacon and eggs…”

[END of ‘short story’]

Billy Ray Chitwood – January 2, 2016

Bill Chitwood

(Story was first written in June of 2013)

Please follow me here on my blog and at http://twitter.com/brchitwood

See my main website and blog at: http://brchitwood.weebly.com – I hope you will read my books…there is definitely entertainment value and clarity of style. Amazon reviews are always helpful to purveyors of books.

There is a short bio sketch and further links at: http://www.about.me/brchitwood

My thirteen books can be previewed at the above mentioned site:

http://brchitwood.weebly.com (Go to ‘books’ menu and scroll down the page).

I’m proud to have been nominated for eleven-+ blog nominations. 

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The Boiling Point

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The Boiling Point

Ever feel like doing a middle-finger flip? Do you have a boiling point? A point at which all the patience leaves you and there seems no other way to dispel the anger you’re feeling? C’mon, now, you’re only human, ‘fess up, you’ve done a few middle-finger flips in your life – on the highway, when some jerk is playing hanky-panky with his girlfriend, listening to loud-jarring music and plucking on a non-existent guitar, otherwise lost in some netherworld of thought, and he/she wanders over into your passing lane, scares, maybe even soils the pants you’re wearing? Right? Admit it! Remember, there’s no way I’m tracking answers…

Now, it always helps if you have a patient girlfriend or wife in the passenger seat, pleading with you, “Please, sweet buns, stop screaming and pull down that stiff, wild middle finger…we’ll have an accident or some road rage incident! Please!”

However, your boiling point cannot so easily be assuaged, your foul language foiled. You must let the ‘jerk’ see that you are very angry and make sure he sees the wave of your middle-finger and the rage showing on your face… That will become the critical turning point of the highway incident.

It is then that you see beyond the dark-tinted driver’s window of the other car a most attractive long-haired brunette smiling sadly but sweetly at you while eating a McDonald’s French fry. The sad smile seems to be saying, ‘I made a momentary boo-boo, please forgive me.’ So, your mad contorted grimace slowly turns itself into a smile and you wave and continue passing the lovely lady’s car.

Now, it could have been another scenario… You see beyond the dark-tinted driver’s window a very large mean-looking guy who is just noticing you giving him a finger. Your mind continues with its rage against this bumbling discourteous driver until, uh-oh, the other driver motions angrily for you to pull over as he slows and pulls to the shoulder. Suddenly, there is a metabolism-shift, molecules breaking down inside, and you quickly come back in control of your anger. So, you smile, allow your middle-finger to concert with it fellow fingers, wave at the now-angry other driver, and move quickly, nay, fast, on down the highway…hoping that somehow you’ve done enough to palliate the situation.

Now, the wife is again comfortable, unaware of your sudden chemistry change, and you slyly watch the rearview mirror for the other driver. Soon, you feel that all is normal again, and your wife softly suggests, “Honey, can you slow down? You’re going to get a ticket.”

Ah, those darn boiling points!

‘Micro’ Flash by Billy Ray Chitwood – December 12, 2015

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, Everyone!

Remember, BOOKS make wonderful Christmas presents… I just happen to have thirteen books in different genres to choose from – mystery, suspense, crime, action, romance, memoir… Hope you will visit goo.gl/nqdjPB and preview all my books, including The Bailey Crane Mystery Series – Books 1-6. For the romance and love audience, I know you will find reading enjoyment in Butterflies and Jellybeans – goo.gl/tvaJmv USgoo.gl/nQ5ceF UK – http://www.authl.it/1st – Amazon Worldwide.

Some Links to author Billy Ray Chitwood

goo.gl/nqdjPBAuthor Website

http://www,about.me/brchitwood

http://amazon.com/author/billyraychitwood

http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

http://twitter.com/brchitwood – @brchitwood

http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

https://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com – Blog Site

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