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Evil Walks. Part 3.

Posted by Barry K. Nelson on January 28, 2012 at 8:21pm
Berlin. April 12,1945. Waffen S.S. Colonel Hans Gruber sat against the wall in the dank cellar and cowered in a near fetal position as the thunderous sounds of the Russian artillery shells exploded up above. The impact from the blasts caused a shower of debris to rain down on him. His black cap and uniform had a heavy coating of white dust that was falling from the ceiling. With the sound of each explosion the 40 year old, blond haired, blue eyed officer wondered when the next one would go off on top of his head and wipe out his life.Looking across the cellar floor, littered with fallen bricks and shards of lumber, was a small kerosene lantern that provided a flickering light for the room. Sitting on a small wooden stool at the opposite side of the cellar was a most unusual person that Hans came to see. A mysterious male figure dressed in dark attire. His black pants were tucked into his black knee high boots. He wore a matching black shirt and necktie under his black hooded cape. He was sitting with his arms crossed against his chest. Between the shadows in the cellar and the hood Hans could not see the features of this man’s face. All he knew about this man was what he heard through rumors and stories that he picked up in various beer halls and curio shops throughout Germany. Now after following several leads Hans had found this mysterious figure that he was hoping would be able to help him survive the fall of Nazi Germany. This person was known as the Sandman.Another loud boom went off over Hans’ head, causing his already trembling body to jump. Another shower of dust and debris dropped down on his head. He looked over to the Sandman, who was sitting calm and quiet. As if studying Hans. “You seem to be quite composed under the circumstances,” Hans said to him.“The way I see it why get upset because of what’s going on upstairs,” replied the Sandman. “I’m just relaxing here while enjoying the show.”Hans was confused. “Show? What show are you talking about?”“You,” the Sandman replied.“Me?”“Sure. I mean, just look at you. Four years ago you Nazis were at the top of the food chain in Europe. And now today here you are hiding in a cellar, just barely able to control your own bowel movements when you hear a shell exploding.”Hans was insulted by the Sandman’s observation. “Are you implying that a soldier of the Reich is a coward in the face of the enemy?” he snarled.“Sorry. My mistake. You’re obviously hiding here to lure the Russians into a false sense of security. When are you gonna spring your trap? Is that the same trap that you guys sprung at Stalingrad, France, North Africa?”Hans was now humbled by the Sandman’s question. Facing the truth, he had only one answer to give. “I’m not here to fight. I’m here because I understand that you can help me escape.”“Escape? Ah. Another rat jumping ship.”Hans was insulted again. But ignored the remark. “I heard through certain circles that you have special talents to help people get what they want. I followed several leads around Berlin in order to find you here in this tavern.”The sound and impact of two exploding shells from up above were heard and felt. The entire cellar shook. Hans’ body jumped. He trembled as he continued, “I was skeptical about what I heard you can do. But I decided to come see for myself.”“Yeah,” The Sandman replied. “When we first met upstairs I noticed that look on your face.”“What look?”“The, he’s a fake, look. I’ve seen it before.”“You claim to grant any wish in exchange for a dream. That sounds highly far fetched.”Another boom from a shell went off. More dust and debris rained down onto Hans’ head.“I trade dreams and nightmares for wishes,” the Sandman corrected.“Dreams. Nightmares. What’s the difference?” Hans asked.“If you go to sleep and see yourself walking across a field with several bunnys hopping around, that’s a dream. Now if you should see those bunnys pull out machine guns and start shooting at you, then that’s a nightmare. Are you following me?”“Sounds like fanciful nonsense from a carnival fortune teller,” Hans charged.The Sandman’s hooded head returned a nod. “I can understand your skepticism. But then again, here you are. Sitting in a dark cellar while artillery shells are going off over your head. You should be out fighting with your troops.”“Fighting? It’s hopeless!” Hans shouted. “The Russians have us outnumbered twenty to one. They have us completely cut off and encircled by massive armies of troops and tanks. I’ve seen men next to me get cut down. I’ve watched hordes of Russian troops run up to men and slice them to ribbons with their bayonets. You don’t know what it’s like up there.”“I should have read the brochures before I came here. So you’re not one of those airheads that are still confident that victory is just around the corner? You’re going to re-group and throw the inferior enemy back. The enemy forces will collapse any time. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”“Yadda. yadda, yadda?”“So you want out?” asked the Sandman.Another shell exploded from above. Hans nodded his head as rapidly as his heart was beating. “Yes, yes. I want you to get me out of here. Out of Berlin. Out of Germany. Out of this war altogether.”“I can do that,” replied the Sandman. “But you know how I work. What can you give me as payment?”This charlatan wants a dream? Hans thought. I’ve got one for him. “I keep having this same damn dream every time I sleep. Night after night. It just won’t go away. It’s so damn vivid. When I close my eyes and nod off it grips me and takes over my mind in seconds. It’s the most-”“Can you spare me the critic’s review and get on with it?” the Sandman grumbled.“Alright,” said Hans. “In this dream I see the faces of these wretches. Wretches dressed in grey rags from head to foot. Men, women, children. They’re all looking at me from behind a barbed wire fence. There’s hundreds of them. All staring at me with their huge dark eyes. I want to run. But for some reason I’m compelled to go closer to the fence. And when I get close to the fence I shout at them to go back where they came from. To get out of my sight. Then they all reach for me. Dozens of these skeletal hands reaching through the barbed wire to grab me and pull me in. I can hear myself screaming as I’m being pressed against the barbed wired. They’re pulling me in. The barb wire rips at my clothes. Tears the skin away from my face. Then I find myself being buried under a mob of these wretched creatures as their filthy hands all reach for me. After that I wake up screaming. I always wake up screaming.”“I’m glad I don’t have you as a room mate,” the Sandman told Hans. “A pretty decent nightmare. And it sounds like it stems from some sort of guilt complex.”“Guilt complex?”“You were commandant of the camp in Strasselborg. You were charged with processing and eliminating hundreds of these wretches, as you call them, when they came in. Taking their valuables. Money, clothes, jewels, gold teeth. Then separating the ones who will live, at least for a while, from the ones who would be marched off right to the gas chambers. And let’s not forget the medical experiments that you ordered. Quite a few of your test subjects didn’t survive. Yeah. You’ve been quite a busy man at Strasselborg. Maybe that’s why the Russians are so eager to get their hands on you. They’re got a fresh length of rope and a noose with your name on it.”“And that is why I’ve got to get out of here,” Hans bellowed against the sound of another explosion from above.“I want to get as far away from this damn war as possible.”“I can get you out. But you know that even after the war they’re still gonna come for you,” the Sandman told Hans.For a moment Hans said nothing. He knew that the Sandman was speaking the truth. Between all of the Allied forces now caving in on Germany he knew that no matter how far he ran he would eventually be caught. And for his extensive war crimes his execution would be inevitable. But he still had to try and find some means of escape. A means where even all the allied forces combined could not break through. Then the magical solution came to Hans. “You can grant me any wish in exchange for my dream? Fine. I want to go back in time.”“Excuse me? What?”“You heard me. If you have the power, like you say, then I want to go back in time. Past this war. Far past. Where no one can find me. That is, unless you can’t do it.”The Sandman leaned forward, placing his gloved hands on his knees. “Oh, it’s doable. A bit complicated. But doable. I’ll have to tweak a few things here. Tweak a few things there.”“Tweak?”“But first let me give you my opinion. This is a really stupid idea.”More explosions were going off from above. A large beam of lumber fell down from the ceiling. Hans felt as though the entire ceiling were about to finally cave in on top of his head. Another explosion went off. Then another. And another. Fearful of his life Hans buried his face into his hands and waited to die either by being crushed under the rubble of this building or blown apart by the next Russian shell. He cursed himself for following the fanciful idea of coming here and talking to a carnival charlatan who claims to be able to grant wishes. I’ve trapped myself here! I was so damn stupid! Hans scolded himself. I did the Russian’s work for them. I’ve trapped myself! I’m trapped!Then the sounds of the explosions faded in his ears. Hans looked up. To his astonishment he was no longer sitting on the floor of the dark cellar. He was now sitting in the middle of a dirt field in broad daylight. He was amazed as he turned and looked about at his new surroundings. He was surrounded by several small round huts with thatch roofs. In front of one hut he saw several men and women sitting around a large fire as they watched an animal that Hans could not identify being cooked on a pit over the flames. Dressed in their ragged, dark dresses the women stood and pointed at Hans while having wide eyed and gaping mouthed expressions of fear on their faces. The men, dressed in their dark tunics and their pants tucked into crude animal hide boots, also stood and backed away in fear. Hans noticed that other men and women near the huts around him also began to stare and point at him. Suddenly a pointing woman shouted out in a high pitched voice, “Witch! Witch!”“He’s a witch!” a man holding a pitchfork shouted as he pointed at Hans.“He’s a demon!” cried another pointing man. “He just appeared out of nowhere! He just boiled up from hell!”“Witch! Witch! Witch!” screamed another woman.Hans stood up and looked about at these primitive people and their crude dwellings. He could not yet believe what had just happened. One minute he was trapped in a cellar. The next minute he was here. Where ever here was. Then he recalled his deal that he made with the Sandman. He wanted to escape the war by going back into time. Could it be? he wondered. Am I really here in the past?More frantic people began to shout out the word, Witch, while pointing at Hans. Hans looked about and noticed that the mob was growing. Two burly men dressed in dark baggy pants tucked into their black boots, shiny breast plate armor, and chain mail hoods pushed themselves through the crowd. Both men were carrying swords strapped to their sides. For a moment they stopped to examine Hans. Then they both drew their swords from their sheaths and advanced.“Get back,” Hans warned. In own time Hans was used to being obeyed by villagers. But now in this time the situation was different. Hans had no power and authority over these people. No armed troops to back him up. He was alone in their time and at their mercy.The two armed men pointed their swords at Hans’ throat while men behind him pounced on him and grabbed his arms.“Let me go! Get your hands off me!” Hans demanded. “I am an officer of the Third Reich! You will release me at once!”The men did not comply. They continued to hold him fast while the other villagers continued to fill the air with their shouts of, Witch, and Demon. Hans tried to struggle, but he was their helpless prisoner. One of the armored men raised his sword and brought it’s hilt smashing down between Hans’ eyes. A painful impact jolted through Hans’ face and he soon lost consciousness.Hans awoke later in a dungeon cell that was twice as dank as the cellar that he was cowering in. He was stripped naked with his legs chained to the wall. But he would not be here for long. Two more burly men dressed in the armor and chain mail hoods entered the cell and unchained him so that they can drag him off to a frantic courtroom where he was commanded by the magistrate to confess his crimes as a servant of Satan. Not mentioning Hitler’s name, Hans insisted that he was no servant of the devil. His defiance did not sit well with the magistrate, who ordered Hans to be dragged off for extensive questioning for the good of his soul. Hans soon learned that extensive questioning in a witch trial meant being subjected to the most painful and gruesome tortures that a Human being could endure.Hans was put through a session with the thumb screws, a red hot iron pressed against his face, and several hours having his arms and legs stretched on the rack. After a few hours of extensive questioning Hans was eager to confess his crimes of being a servant of Satan. Again, without uttering the name of Hitler to his tormentors. Hans was hoping that his confession would put an end to his suffering and send him back to his cell. He was unaware that making his confession only served to put his worst fate into motion.Hans was dragged to the center of the village and tied to a thick wooden pole while a cheering mob of villagers watched on. Hans knew that he was in serious trouble when he watched several men pile bundles of sticks around him.Hans found the strength to panic. His horrific fate was obvious. “You can’t do this to me! I’m no witch! I’m no witch! You’ve got to listen to me!”The men continued to pile the bundles of sticks around Hans until they were up to his waist. A man in armor poured oil from a wooden bucket onto the sticks. Then another man tossed down the torch that he was carrying. The oil ignited with a faint whoosh. Then there was the sharp crackle of burning wood, soon drowned out by the mob chanting, “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”Hans began to scream as the heat around him began to increase. Smoke from the burning wood filled his lungs. As he cried out for his life he looked at the crowd and saw a familiar figure. A man dressed in black. His black hooded cape hiding the features of his face. The Sandman. The only person that could possibly help Hans out of this fate.“Help me! Please help me!” Hans cried out in desperation.Hans’ view of the Sandman was soon obscured by the flames and they grew higher to consume him.
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Evil Walks. Part 2.

Posted by Barry K. Nelson on January 28, 2012 at 6:04am
Phil Jones drove his car down the dark road and turned to park next to a mailbox near the curb at his right. The young black male turned off his engine and looked out of his driver’s side window to see the blue two story duplex across the street. Phil had come to this quiet neighborhood in Pittsburgh several times to view this house. He would come here only late at night when the traffic was low and less people were walking the streets. Late at night was the time when he would come here to fantasize about entering the apartment upstairs and paying a visit to the resident. Sandra Williams. Sandra Williams. The tall, long haired, attractive black female that rejected Phil’s offer for a date three weeks ago. She stated that she was not interested in Phil’s advances. She even had the nerve to slap his face after he made a comment about her appearance. Her rejection and the assault did not sit well with Phil. He was determined to get even with Sandra. So one day he followed her home. Now that he had her address he came here late night after late night to watch her house and fantasize about going up to her apartment and spending an hour or so slapping her back to teach her a proper lesson. The same type of lesson that Phil had to teach to a few other women that he dealt with in the past. But tonight was going to be different. Tonight Phil was actually going to carry out his fantasy. With a little help from his passenger in the back seat.Phil shuddered when he looked up to his rear view mirror to see the dark reflection of the Sandman. The black hood of his long cape, along with the darkness, concealed the features of his face. Phil received an eerie feeling when he first met the Sandman. A mysterious figure dressed in black pants ticked into black knee high boots, black shirt and necktie, and the hooded cape. Phil was also dressed in black shoes, pants, and shirt. But he did not blend in with the darkness as well as the Sandman did. Phil sensed that there was something unnatural about him. But the Sandman was someone that Phil needed to help him to set his plans with Sandra into motion. So Phil decided to set his apprehension aside and drive the Sandman here and see if his claims were true.“So this is the place?” the Sandman asked.“Yeah. This is the place,” said Phil. “She’s upstairs. Probably asleep. Are you sure that you can help me pull this off?”“I wouldn’t be out here if I couldn’t,” the Sandman replied. “Plus the fact that there’s nothing on TV tonight and I felt a little bored.”Phil turned his eyes back to the duplex. “I’m looking forward to this. She really had a stuck up attitude when she blew me off. Women don’t blow me off. I dreamed about going up there and putting her in her place.”“There’s one question that I have to ask you. Why do you need my help to pull this off? She’s alone. It’s dark. No witnesses. You can go up there right now and spank her with a paddle.”“I’ve thought of that. I could. But there’s only one problem. Her dog. She’s got a rottweiler the size of a grizzly bear.”“I can understand your apprehension. A dog like that can make a chew toy out of your liver. And I’m understanding that you want me to get rid of it?”Phil gave a smile as he nodded. “Yeah. I want the dog gone so that I can go up there and take care of business.”“Alright then. Lets make ourselves a deal,” the Sandman replied. “What do you have for me?”The Sandman trades dreams and nightmares for wishes. At first Phil did not believe that claim when he read it on the Sandman’s website. But for some reason Phil was compelled to give it a try. What do I have to loose? Phil thought. Feeling stupid was his worst case scenario if the Sandman proved to be a fake.Phil had a dream on his mind to share with the Sandman. “I had this dream last night. I was out in the jungle someplace. I had a camera with me. I saw this zebra. I snuck up and hid behind a tree so that I could take a picture of it. Then I started walking and saw this elephant. So I took a picture of that. Then I saw a monkey up in a tree. I took a picture of that. Then I started walking and I saw this lion heading towards me. I took a picture of it. Then I started to run. It started to chase after me. I was still running and I turned around to take another picture. That’s when it jumped on top of me and knocked me down. That it started to rip me apart. And all I could do was keep taking pictures of it. What do you think?”“You watch a lot of Animal Planet?” the Sandman inquired.“No.”“Just wondering.”“What do you think a dream like that means?”“It means that if you try to go lion hunting with a camera instead of a gun then you’re an idiot. It’s not my job to psychoanalyse. It’s my job to just grant you your wish. And we’ve got a deal. So go ahead, killer. I took care of the dog for you. Go get her.”“The dog’s gone?” asked Phil. Gleeful of this news.“That’s what I just said,” replied the Sandman. “And when you deal with the girl I just hope that you’re carrying ammo that’s a little more potent than Fuji film. Have fun.”This guy is a real smart ass, Phil thought to himself.Phil looked to his left and right to see if anyone was coming. So far the street was still dark and clear of other people. Perfect, Phil thought. There would be no potential witnesses to see what he was about to do. He grabbed a roll of duct tape laying on the passenger’s seat. He was going to use this to bind and gag Sandra. Then he got out of his car and rushed across the street, keeping his eyes fixed on the windows on the apartment up above. They were still dark. An indication that Sandra was still asleep. He walked onto a small porch where there were two doors. The door on the left was to the upstairs apartment where Sandra lived. Phil expected the door to be locked, but he came prepared. He took a small lock picking gun out of his pocket and was about to insert the tip of it into keyhole in the middle of the doorknob when he noticed that the door was ajar.Phil opened the door and walked up the dark stairs. At the top of the stairs he entered a large living room with a kitchen area at the right. He looked about to see if he could locate the bedroom. That was where he would find his target. Through the darkness he could barely make out a desk sitting at the left side of a doorway at the far side of the room. He took slow and careful steps to avoid making a sound as he made his way past the kitchen counter at his right, and the sofa at his left, to reach the doorway. Phil paused for a moment and took in a deep breath. Here goes, he told himself.Phil walked through the doorway and entered the bedroom. It was also dark. But he could still make out the furnishings. A bed positioned against the far wall. A nightstand with a small white lamp was at the bed’s left. At the right was a dark dresser with three drawers and a large, square vanity mirror attached to it’s top. Phil’s attention was focused on the bed. Neatly made. And no Sandra.Where the hell is she? Phil wondered. He turned to a closed door at the right side of the room. He crept over and opened it. Inside there was a typical bathroom. Toilet, sink, bathtub with an open shower curtain. But no Sandra. Where the hell is she? Phil asked himself again.Phil walked over to the bed and gave it a strong kick to it’s side. “Dammit! I went through all this trouble and she’s not even home!” he grumbled. He wondered what to do next. “Maybe she stepped out to get a pizza or something.” Phil raised his left arm and pressed the small button on the side of his wristwatch to activate it’s light. The time, 12:25 A.M was displayed. It was unlikely that Sandra would have gone out at such a late time.Phil jumped when he heard a sudden ringing sound coming from the living room. The phone? Phil walked back into the living room and followed the ringing sound to the desk next to the doorway. Through the darkness he could make out an answering machine sitting on top of the desk. It’s handset propped up and it’s touchpad glowing.Phil had no intention of answering the phone, but was curious to hear if the caller would leave a massage. After five more rings the recorded sound of Sandra’s soft voice kicked in to instruct the caller to leave a message, as she was unable to answer the phone. A crisp female voice gave a reply.“Sandra. This is Cyndi. I’m sorry to get back to you so late. And I don’t know if you’ve left yet for your business trip to Cleveland. But I just want you to know that I’ll be a bit late picking up Bruno to take care of him while you’re gone for the weekend. I’ll have him back to you on Monday when you get back. I’ll see you then. Bye.”“Monday?” Phil gasped. This was early Saturday morning. “Dammit! Dammit! I did all this for nothing! I can’t wait here until Monday. I have to be at work Sunday morning.” Phil had to think on what to do next. His only option was to leave and hope that the Sandman can help him enter Sandra’s apartment at a later date when she would be home.Phil left Sandra’s apartment and stepped back outside. He turned to close the door, making sure that it was locked so that Sandra would not become suspicious. When he turned around he was greeted to a frightening sight. A huge black furred dog was standing before him. An angry rottweiler. The dog let out a low growl and bared it’s sharp teeth. Phil backed into the door and had nowhere to run. He raised his hands but only had a roll of duct tape to use as a weapon to defend himself.“Easy boy,” Phil said in a quivering voice. “Easy. Take it easy. Want something to eat? I’ll buy you a pizza.”The dog barked once, then lunged at Phil. Biting at Phil’s face the dog slammed him back into the door. Phil screamed and raised his hands to shield his head. The dog sank it’s massive jaws into his right forearm. Phil’s entire arm burned with pain as the dogs teeth bit deep into his flesh. Struggling to escape Phil tried to bolt forward, only to fall onto his face. Phil screamed again as the dog bit at the left side of his head, his left shoulder, and his arm. Phil was helpless as this massive beast was bearing down on him with it’s weight. All the while biting and chewing on any exposed part of Phil that was available. Phil lost consciousness after the dog mauled his right hand for the third time.Being mauled by Sandra’s dog, Bruno, was Phil’s last memory before he woke up in the hospital. His injuries were extensive. He suffered several deep lacerations along his back and arms, and across his face. He lost his left ear and three fingers on his right hand. After he awoke in the hospital he was arrested for breaking into Sandra’s apartment. Sandra’s neighbor living in the apartment downstairs was up late that night and was just about to go to bed when she spied Phil entering the apartment. She called the police, who came and got the dog off of Phil. From there Phil was taken to the hospital and had his injuries treated. And then charged with breaking and entering, and stalking. Phil was also implicated in stalking, attempted assault and battery, and burglary incidents against four other women. Phil’s arrest resulted in a mountain of legal troubles that ultimately ended with his conviction and sentence of twenty years in prison.Two months later in the yard at Western Penitentiary Phil regained consciousness after getting a brutal beating by a gang of his fellow inmates. He awoke on the ground with his nose bloodied and his left eye swollen. Blood ran down from cuts on his now scarred face. His entire head was burning with pain. He rose up and saw a figure dressed in black standing over him. Black boots and pants. A black shirt and necktie. And a black hooded cape that concealed the features of his face. The Sandman was the last person that Phil expected to see here in the prison yard.The Sandman gave Phil a cheerful greeting. “Phil. I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought I’d pay you a visit. How’s it hanging?”Still in pain from his beating, Phil sat up. “How’s it hanging? What do you mean how’s it hanging? I just got my ass kicked by six guys. Open up a bottle of champagne. I’m havin’ a ball.”“Yeah. you did get one hell of a beat down. Good thing that those guys decided to stop for a cigarette break. If you want my advice, the next time a guy with a skull tattooed on the side of his face asks you if you’re eating your oatmeal, I’d say let him have it.”Phil was not grateful for the Sandman’s advice. In fact, it angered him. “You think your helping me? Where the hell were you when I was getting my ass kicked?”“What did you want me to do, Phil? Put on a striped shirt and play referee?”“I expected you to help me,” Phil shouted. “I wouldn’t be in here if it weren’t for you.”“Ok. It’s complain time. How do you figure that?” the Sandman asked.“How do I figure that? I asked you to get rid of Sandra’s dog. But you didn’t. The damn thing was waiting for me outside. I thought we had a deal.”“Hold on a second, Phil. I did what you asked. I got rid of the dog for you. Was the dog in the apartment when you went in? No. You wanted me to get rid of it, I got rid of it. I wasn’t gonna take it home with me.”The Sandman’s explanation only served to make Phil angrier. “I thought you were going to kill the damn dog. You know. Kill it. It’s dead. Kill, kill, kill.”“You didn’t tell me that you wanted me to kill it. You just said get rid of it. You know, Phil. You’re pretty ungrateful. I get rid of the dog for you so that you can break into your girlfriend’s apartment. I even give you a freebie by opening the door for you. And how do you repay me? By bitching and whining like a little girl.”“Whining like a little girl? Have you seen my face? Look what that dog did to me,” Phil bellowed. He turned his head to display his missing left ear. He held up his right hand to display his remaining thumb and pinkie finger.For a moment the Sandman studied Phil’s hand. “Ok. I can see where this will be a problem. Your hand has been converted into a pair of chop sticks. I can fix that for you.”“You can?” Phil asked. “Ok then. Do it.”“Am I running a charity here, Phil? You know how it’s set up.”“Yeah. I know,” Phil reminded himself. “Dreams and nightmares for wishes.” Unfortunately for Phil, as he searched through his memories, he had none to offer. “Can I make something up?”“No, Phil. That will be like putting a $20 bill onto a copy machine and cranking out a few hundred bucks in fake bills. Try taking those fake bills to Macy’s to go on a shopping spree. I work on the same principle. I don’t take fake dreams.”“Well, I’ve got a real dream right now,” said Phil. He heard the shouts and laughter from several male voices from behind him. The gang’s smoke break was over. And now they were returning, no doubt, to resume their beat down session with Phil. “My dream is to get the hell out of this place.”The Sandman turned to slowly walk away. “Can’t help you there, Phil. This will be your new home for the next few years.If you live that long. And that reminds me. My most recent client is a friend of yours.”Phil was confused. “A friend of mine? Who?”“Your girlfriend. Sandra Williams. I granted her a wish about you.”A feeling of dread came over Phil. “She made a wish? About me? What was it?”“Client confidentiality, Phil. You’ll find out.”Phil shuddered with fear. Not from the gang of muscular thugs that were now drawing near to him. But from the unknown threat that was still to come.
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Author Paul West discusses sci fi, society, writing...

Posted by Paul West on January 27, 2012 at 1:00pm

Author Paul West on Book Talk as their first return guest! PW discusses sci fi, writing, motivation, politics and the human condition--yes, all in one show :) It's archived, so where you see DJ Kory, click on 'view program'--then near the bottom of the page, the minutes of the interview will appear. Click 'play now'. Your thoughts are welcome!

http://breakthruradio.com/#/post/?blog=89&post=61

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XMOOR STUDIOS Images on "PERSON OF INTEREST

Posted by Robert Garrett on January 26, 2012 at 3:21pm

XMOOR STUDIOS IMAGES ON "PERSON OF INTEREST"

 

On February 9th at 9pm Eastern Standard Time on CBS New York Channel 2's, Person of Interest TV show

 

 

 

Our flagship series "GALTOW" as well as "AJALA": A Series of Adventures Created by Robert Garrett plus some posters will be featured.

   My works will be featured along with Steven Harris (AJALA and FRINGE), as Well as REGINE SAWYER and her Lockettdown Productions, Alex Simmons (Blackjack), Jerry Craft (Mama's Boys) and

Dawud Osaze Kamau Anyabwile aka Dave Sims (Brotherman).

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Evil Walks. Featuring The Sandman.

Posted by Barry K. Nelson on January 25, 2012 at 3:48pm
This is a new feature that I will have on both my Facebook page and my website. A new super short story series featuring one of my characters, The Sandman. Enjoy part 1 of Evil Walks.Al Hartman felt a cold chill run up along his back as he got out of his car. The young black male zippered up his black jacket all the way to the top until it covered the thin white dress shirt that he was wearing. He even felt a cold breeze blowing up the legs of his black pants. It was a most unpleasant feeling. He regret not dressing in advance to deal with this cold night air. But by his estimate he would not be out here for long. He locked and shut the door of his car and stepped onto the sidewalk. He reached into his pocket and brought out the slip of paper torn from a notebook and examined the address that he had written down. The Fallen Angel Tavern. 4010 Oakdale Street. On the North Side. It has to be close, Al thought.Al looked about at the row of dark storefronts along the street. Many of them were closed. Understandable in his mind. His wristwatch displaying the time, 11:46 P.M. Al took a few steps to the left towards a storefront with a large glowing neon sign in it’s window. He walked closer to get a better view. The Fallen Angel. This has to be the place. Al was relieved to have found his destination so easily. Half the job was done. Now all he had to do was go inside and conduct his business with the most unusual person who was waiting for him.Al walked through the door and entered the dark tavern. It had a gloomy atmosphere with the strong odor of cigarette smoke in the air. At the right side of the tavern were four round tables where several patrons were sitting and engaging in conversation while drinking. He spied cigarettes in the mouths of a few persons. Smoking indoors? I thought that was illegal.Al walked over to the bar at the left side of the room and was approached by the bartender. A burly, bald headed man wearing a black Pittsburgh Steelers jersey.“What can I get you?” asked the bartender.Feeling nervous, Al cleared his throat. “Nothing really. I’m here to meet someone.”“Oh? Who?”Al was hesitant to speak out. “I’m here to see the Sandman.”Now it was the bartender’s turn to hesitate before speaking. “You want to see the Sandman. You have an appointment?”“Yes.”“Ok then. He’s in the back.”Al proceeded to walk to the back of the bar, past two billiard tables, until he came to an open doorway. He entered a small room that was illuminated by a dim light bulb on the ceiling. Stacked six feet high against the left, right, and rear walls was a variety of different boxes containing alcoholic beverages. In the center of the room was a lone figure sitting at a wooden table. He was dressed in all black attire. His pants were tucked into his knee high boots. He had a long sleeved shirt and necktie. He held his black gloved hands down in front of a dark beer bottle on the table top. He was also wearing a long hooded cape. The hood, along with the room’s dim light, obscured the features of his face.Al received a cold shiver when he saw this dark figure. The thought came to his mind, Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I should back out.The dark figure gave Al a jovial greeting. “Come in. Take a seat.”There was another chair on the opposite side of the table. With apprehension, Al sat down.For several seconds Al stared at the ominous dark figure sitting in front of him. Then he worked up the nerve to speak.“So, are you the Sandman?”“There’s nobody else here except me,” was the reply. “And I take it that you’re Al. And I also take it that you’re supposed to be here at 11:00. You‘re late.”“I’m sorry about that. I was going to back down at first. Then I changed my mind.”“You were going to back down? Why?”“At first I thought that what you said on your website was a bunch of nonsense. You know. What you said you can do. Trade dreams for wishes.”“Trade dreams and nightmares for wishes,” the Sandman corrected.“Trade dreams and nightmares for wishes,” Al repeated.“Occasionally I’ll offer cash,” the Sandman added.Al nodded, pondering this information. “And you can grant any wish?”“That’s right.”"Ok. If I wanted you to summon a dragon. Can you do that?”“No.”“No? Why not? I thought you said that you can grant any wish.”“I can, Al. But I’d refuse to do it. I can grant you any wish. But as long as it isn’t a stupid wish. Wishing for a dragon is stupid. What the hell are you going to do with a dragon, Al? Most boroughs in Alleghenny county won’t let you keep a cow in your back yard.”“I live in an apartment,” Al humbly admitted.“Then you’d really be screwed,” the Sandman told him. “Let’s keep it a little down to Earth.”Trading dreams for wishes, down to Earth? Al thought. “Ok, then scratch the dragon. But you can still grant other wishes? Like dealing with my boss?”“Like I said.”Al hesitated before going further. “And when we make a deal. This won’t be like selling my soul or anything like that?”The Sandman sat back in his chair. “Do I look like I need your soul, Al? If you’re putting your soul up for sale you might have to settle for an X-Box 360 game.”Al was insulted by that assessment. “Excuse me?”The Sandman held up his hands. “No offense. Just saying. Have you looked in the mirror at yourself lately? Your drug problems, abusive to your girlfriend. Sorry. Ex-girlfriend. Stealing money from the accounting firm you work for. And now you’re so self righteous that you want revenge on your boss for not giving you the promotion that you think you deserve. You were so ticked off at the guy that you were surfing the web to try and find a hitman to take care of him. That’s when you found me. Am I right?”Al was stunned at these details that the Sandman revealed. “How the hell do you know all this? I mean…I.”“I like to get background information on all my clients,” the Sandman confessed.“Well. My issue with drugs. It’s not exactly a problem.”“It’s a hobby. I get it. We’re wasting time, Al. And I’ve got other clients. We need to step it up. So tell me about your dreams.”My dreams, Al thought. He had to dig within his memory to recall the most recent dream that he had. “A dream. I had this one a few nights ago. I saw myself laying in bed and then all these bugs came crawling out of my pillow. I wanted to jump up but I couldn’t move. Then they started to crawl all over me. Spiders, centipedes, roaches. Then I woke up. what do you think?”The Sandman crossed his arms over his chest. “Honestly? I think that if your dream were a TV show then the only entertaining part would be the commercials. But it’s good enough for me to take care of your boss.”“George Wilson,” Al growled. “That high and mighty ungrateful tin god jackass. He can go rot in hell. And I’m gonna send him there. And I‘d like to go to hell with him just so that I can watch him suffer. The idiot had the nerve to pass me over for a promotion to manager of accounts and give it to this skinny little four eyed witch, Darcy. I‘m ten times smarter than Darcy and I‘ve been there longer. But do I deserve the promotion? Oh no. As hard as I work? Oh no.”The Sandman leaned forward to the table and propped his head up against his right arm. He placed his left hand down and began to drum his gloved fingers down on the table top.“Excuse me. Am I boring you?” asked an indignant Al.“No. Not at all,” the Sandman returned. “I actually enjoy sitting here listening to whiners all night.”“Whoa. Hold on. I’m not a whiner,” replied Al. Insulted by the remark.The Sandman sat back and laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly call that cheerleading. That’s serious talk after working for the man for so many years. I understand that your ten year anniversary with the company is coming up.”Al held that notion in high contempt. “Yeah. I busted my ass for that company. Working under that pig, Wilson. And all I’m supposed to get for it is a lousy lunch and a gold watch.”“Don’t forget the gift card,” the Sandman added. “A hell of a lot more than what I get.”“Never mind that,” Al snapped. “This is my chance to get back at Wilson for passing me up and not promoting me.”“And for giving you a second chance after you failed your drug test.”Al ignored the Sandman’s jab. “This is my chance to get even with him. Let’s make it look like an accident. That will be fun. Yeah. Make it a car crash.”“A car crash. You got it. You want balloons too?”Al nodded and laughed. He was feeling more enthusiastic about making this deal with the Sandman. “Alright. We got a deal. George Wilson gets his ass trashed in a car wreck. I only wish I could be there to see it.”“Ok then. It’s done,” the Sandman told Al.“Done? Just like that?”“Just like that.”“What about my dream? Did you get it?”“Do you remember it?”Al searched his mind for the dream, but the memory was not there. “It’s gone. I don’t remember it.”“Then I’ve got it.”“I don’t have to sign anything?” asked Al.“If it will make you happy then talk to the bartender on your way out. Maybe you can autograph a napkin before you leave.”This guy has a rotten sense of humor, was Al’s assessment.“Are we done?” asked the Sandman. “I’ve got two more people to talk to after you.”Al cracked a smile. “No. We’re done. That’s it. But I‘ve got just a couple of questions. Do you get a lot of people coming to you for help?”“Yeah. I do.”“People like me?”“Yeah. They’re all bad.”“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”“Nothing. Clock’s ticking. I’ll see you around.”See me around? I doubt that, Al told himself. He rose up from the chair and left the room. Al walked out of the tavern and got back into his car to drive home. He still could not believe that he drove all the way here from his apartment in West Mifflin to make a deal with a shadowy figure who claimed to be able to trade his dreams for a wish. It was like making a wish when you blow out the candles on a birthday cake. The only difference here is that Al’s wish was to kill his boss to gain revenge. It was a fanciful indulgence. But the question that he would take with him into the night would be, will it really happen?The next day Al was working in his small office in the accounting firm, Hessman and Associates. The time was 11:30 A.M. Earlier Al had gone through his usual morning ritual of staring at his computer monitor sitting in between two six inch stacks of papers on his desk on his desk. Earlier he consumed a styrofoam cup of hot coffee and then took a morning snort of cocaine to gain the motivation to slog through another day of work at a job that he hated. He was now busy working on his computer when he heard a loud knock on the stained glass of his office door. The door opened and a six foot tall, middle aged black man in a grey suit and short black hair entered the office. Al bristled at the presence of this man. This was the man that he hated the most in the world. George Wilson.“Hartman. Are you ready to go?” Wilson asked.Al was confused. “Go? Go where, sir?”“To you ten year anniversary luncheon,” Wilson explained. “You’ve been here ten years today. Have you forgotten?”“It slipped my mind, sir.”“Well we’re having it at the Hampfield Inn, on the South Side,” Wilson told him. “I’m driving. Grab your coat.”“Yes sir,” said Al. he was not at all enthusiastic about eating lunch at the same table with Wilson. Let alone riding in the same car with him. Al rose from his chair and grabbed his jacket from the tall metal coat stand behind his desk.Al felt awkward as he was rode in the car while Wilson was sitting next to him. It was a tense, silent drive between both of them. Al kept his eyes locked forward to the windshield as the white Cadillac drove along through the heavy traffic.After several minutes of silence Wilson spoke out to break the ice. “You know, Hartman. This entire anniversary lunch wasn’t my idea. It’s just the policy of the firm and I’m simply following that policy. It’s my job. But personally, do you really think you deserve a free lunch?”“I don’t understand, sir.”“You don’t understand? I asked you if you think you deserve a free lunch from the firm. You should be able to comprehend the concept of free lunch. It seems that you’ve been getting one your whole life.”Al was at a loss as to how to respond to Wilson’s charge. All he could do was sit and listen.Wilson continued to admonish Al. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Hartman. And I must say that I’m very disappointed with you on several levels. Your character as a person and your performance as an employee have both declined. And it’s all on account of your drug use.”Al sank down in his seat as he continued to listen to Wilson.“Out of the goodness of my heart I saw fit to support you and give you a second chance when your recent drug test came up positive. I figured that if you’ve got some kind of problem then we can try to work with you to help make things better. And help you keep your job. And how do you repay me? By showing up late on a regular basis, by calling off from work for several days when you feel like it, turning in sloppy work. And you’re probably unaware that I’ve been keeping an eye on your work very closely. I have no solid proof, but I suspect that you’ve been skimming money from several different accounts that you’ve been working on. No doubt to support your drug habit.Al felt his entire body petrify with fear when he heard Wilson’s accusation of his theft. And it was indeed true. He was taking small amounts of money from several of the firm’s clients for his own use. Small amounts that he hoped would not raise and red flags. But amounts that were enough to get him fired and land him behind bars with criminal charges against him. He was at a loss for words as to what to say in his own defense. “Mr Wilson. I…I mean. I…Don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Of course you don’t. That’s because people like you can do no wrong in your own little minds. There’s never any personal responsibility. And you expect me to give you a promotion in your sorry state?”“Hey. I deserved that promotion,” Al snapped back in anger. “I had seniority.”“Seniority,” Wilson scoffed. Turning his head to face Al. “What you deserve is to be fired.The car approached an intersection. Al barely noticed the blue SUV as it approached from the right and blew through the red light. The vehicle plowed head on into the right side of Wilson’s car. After the loud boom of the impact Al felt an over whelming sensation of pain penetrate his entire body. Cold metal sliced into his frail flesh. His bones snapped. A shower of broken glass from the passenger’s side window sprayed into his face. Looking through the now cracked windshield Al could only watch as the car skidded to the left and headed straight for a thick utility pole. Then there was another loud boom. Then Al’s vision went black.Al awoke, still feeling intense pain surging through his body as he lay in his hospital bed. The thick neck brace that he was wearing was so tight that he had difficulty breathing. His right arm was covered by a tight, white brace. There were also braces on both his legs. Looking down at his legs he also saw a figure dressed in black. The hood of his long flowing cape concealed the upper portion of his face. Al could only see the dark skin of the lower portion of this person’s face. Al recognized this shadowy figure from a previous meeting. “Sandman.”“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” the Sandman asked.Al tried to lift his left arm. This action caused pain to shoot through the rest of his body. “How do I feel? I feel like crap. I have two broken legs, my right arm is broken in two places, my neck is broken. And all I feel is pain. It even hurts to blink.”“That’s too bad,” said the Sandman. “That’s understandable. That other driver tried to park his SUV inside your sigmoid colon. You’re lucky to be alive. Too bad you didn’t end up like your boss, Wilson. He was thrown from the car and landed in this grassy field. But funny thing. The grass was unmowed. And it was so high that it provided a cushion for Wilson and broke his fall. He walked away without a scratch.”Al’s mind was balancing the sensations of pain and anger after hearing about Wilson. “Well whoop de friggin do to that. Is that supposed to make me feel better? The doctors say that I may not be able to walk again.”“That’s tough.”“That’s tough? Is that all you have to say? You’re the one. You caused this.”“What? The crash? Well sure I did. It’s what you wanted. Remember? We made a deal and I did what you asked. I put your boss into a car crash. So what’s the complaint?”“I didn’t want to be in the car when it happened!” Al shouted.“Then why the hell did you get in, Jackass? Who’s fault is that?”“I…You…Dammit!” Al’s legs and arm were throbbing. “I’m in too much pain to argue.”“Well don’t jump all over me just because you woke up on the wrong side of the bedpan.”“Bedpan. I wish you hadn’t said that. I really need to go. Can you help me-”“Oh, look at the time,” replied the Sandman. “I have to get moving. I have other appointments to keep.”The Sandman headed towards the door.“Hey wait. You’re not going to leave me here are you?”“I’ll tell the nurse to come in and help you out,” the Sandman told him. “But in the meantime if you ever have any more dreams that you want to trade me then just send me an E-mail. I’ll be sure to get back to you.”The Sandman left the room. Leaving the battered Al Hartman to wonder if his sleeping mind can ever conjure up a dream that would be worth bartering to get himself out of this dire situation.
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The State of Black SF: 2012. . . Why I Love Steampunk

Posted by Valjeanne Jeffers on January 25, 2012 at 1:00pm

I love fantasy. I know fantasy/SF is pretty popular these days, but I fell in love long before the genre became the “flyest kid at the school.” There's just something wonderful about escaping into a world (whether through reading or writing) that's so different from everyday mundane reality― a reality of responsibilities and bills― into a dimension where you still have the same crap to deal with. . . but now you can became a creature with preternatural strength. How cool is that? It gives you a decided edge over everyday reality, or at the very least makes it more interesting.

I wrote my first novel, Immortal, with these thoughts in mind. The beginning of Immortal was the story of a young woman, Karla, living on the planet Tundra. Karla has ordinary, everyday struggles.  But she has a little―no a big―edge. Immortal weaves a tale of portals. Time travel. Werewolves. Daemons. By the time Immortal III is thrown into the mix, vampires have joined the plot. Tell me, what's not to love? Fantasy also lends itself incredibly well to "what if?" scenarios. As in: what if there was no racism? What if there was no poverty? What if folks came together and decided to change the world. . .?

For those of you who haven't guessed it yet, I also like to mix genres. In fact, that's the other thing I love so much about fantasy; it blends so easily with other genres, like horror and science fiction. But if fantasy is my first love, I'd have to say steampunk is my second.

From the outrageous clothing. . . bustles, corsets and knickers, to the outrageous machinery. . . airships, steam-trains, muskets. This is a genre I just can't stay away from. Steampunk is a glorious mixture of other fantasy/SF genres. And the settings and plots reflect this― plots set in the post-civil war. Victorian England. Post-Apocalyptic America. Or a futuristic world, as in my steampunk story: The Switch. http://www.mochamemoirspress.com

Steampunk, like any other fantasy subgenre is also anybody's game when it comes to "what if?" plots, settings and costumes. Which of course is why I'm so head over heels in love with it. 

Some of the best steampunk I've read this year, includes other fiction by Black writers such as: The Chronicles of Harriet by Balogun http://www.mochamemoirspress.com and The Delivery by Milton Davis http://www.scribd.com/doc/76098823/The-Delivery

I'll drop the sequel to the The Switch,The Switch II: Clockwork in Spring 2011, by steam train of course :) Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds will also hit the shelves in Spring 2012. This is the conclusion to my Immortal saga, and wouldn't you guess? Immortal IV also has a steampunk theme.

And check out my awesome fellow writers and what flavor of fiction they love on my blogroll. In 2012 I want to see more fantasy/steamfunk offerings by fabulous writers of color. I fully expect that I will.  

 

Winston Blakely, Artist/Writer–is a Fine Arts/Comic Book artist, having a career spanning 20 years, whose achievements have included working for Valiant Comics and Rich Buckler’s Visage Studios. He is also the creator of Little Miss Strange, the world’s first black alien sorceress and the all- genre anthology entitled – Immortal Fantasy. Both graphic albums are available at Amazon, Barnes and Nobles and other online book store outlets. Visit him: http://blakelyworks.blogspot.com/ or http://blakelyworkstudio.weebly.com/  

 

L.M. Davis, Author–began her love affair with fantasy in the second grade. Her first novel, Interlopers: A Shifters Novel, was released in 2010, and the follow-up Posers: A Shifters Novel will be released this spring. For more information visit her blog http://shiftersseries.wordpress.com/ or her website www.shiftersnovelseries.com.  

 

Milton Davis, Author –Milton Davis is owner/publisher of MVmedia, LLC . As an author he specializes in science fiction and fantasy and is the author of Meji Book One, Meji Book Two and Changa’s Safari. Visit him: www.mvmediaatl.com and www.wagadu.ning.com.  

 

Margaret Fieland, Author–lives and writes in the suburbs west of Boston, MA with her partner and five dogs. She is one of the Poetic Muselings. Their poetry anthology, Lifelines http://tinyurl.com/LifelinesPoetry/ is available from Amazon.com Her book, “Relocated,” will be available from MuseItUp Publishing in July, 2012. The Angry Little Boy,” will be published by 4RV publishing in early 2013. You may visit her website, http://www.margaretfieland.com.  

Valjeanne Jeffers, Author –is an editor and the author of the SF/fantasy novels: Immortal, Immortal II: The Time of Legend and Immortal III: Stealer of Souls. Her fourth and fifth novels: Immortal IV: Collision of Worlds and The Switch: Clockwork will be released this spring. Visit her at: http://valjeanne.wordpress.com and http://qandvaffordableediting.blogspot.com/  

 

Thaddeus Howze, Author–is a veteran of the Information Technology and Communications industry with over twenty-six years of experience. His expertise is in re-engineering IT environments using process-oriented management techniques. In English, that means he studies the needs of his clients and configures their offices to optimize the use of information technology in their environment. Visit him: http://ebonstorm.wordpress.com or http://ebonstorm.weebly.com  

Alicia McCalla, Author—writes for both young adults and adults with her brand of multicultural science fiction, urban fantasy, and futurism. Her debut novel, Breaking Free will be available February 1, 2012. The Breaking Free theme song created by Asante McCalla is available for immediate download on itunes and Amazon. Visit her at: www.aliciamccalla.com  

 

Carole McDonnell, Author–She writes Christian, speculative fiction, and multicultural stories. Her first novel is Wind Follower. Her short fiction has appeared in many anthologies and have been collected in an ebook, Spirit Fruit: Collected Speculative Fiction. Visit Carole:http://carolemcdonnell.blogspot.com/ or http://writersofcolorblogtour.blogspot.com/  

 

Rasheedah Phillips, Author–is the creator of The AfroFuturist Affair in Philly. She plans to debut her first spec/sci-fic novel Recurrence Plot in Spring 2012. You may catch her ruminating from time to time on her blog http://www.astromytholosophy.com/

 

Nicole Sconiers, Author-is also a screenwriter living in the sunny jungle of L.A. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Antioch University Los Angeles, and she recently published Escape from Beckyville: Tales of Race, Hair and Rage. Visit her: http://nicolesconiers.com/index.html

Jarvis Sheffield, M.Ed. is owner & operator of TheDigitalBrothers.com, BlackScienceFictionSociety.com & BlackCommunityEntertainment.com. Visit him: http://www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/profiles/blog/list?user=2stjwb1h216fd

 

 

 

 

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The Warden

Posted by Thaddeus on January 24, 2012 at 11:17pm
Got up to go to the can in the middle of the night. Damn prostate. I thought I heard someone clear their throat. Just getting off of a double, hallucination was a common side effect of sleep deprivation. I saw my son's Rottweiler sitting in front of the stove.


"Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon? I must have some for this sandwich." 

Being a doctor, you have a clear sense of what is possible in the world and what isn't, so I shook my head and went on to the bathroom. When I finished I came out to find the dog blocking the doorway. 

"Perhaps you didn't hear me." 

"No, no, I heard you. I simply don't believe you're talking, so I am going back to bed to get some sleep." 

"You're not even curious how I came by this roast beef sandwich?" 

"Roast Beef?" Stomach rumbled. "Okay, I'll bite. Where did you get the sandwich?" 

"I feel so guilty telling you. Okay, you twisted my tail. The twins gave it to me. I was supposed to keep quiet while they went to the concert."

"The Metalhead concert? The one they were forbidden to attend?" 

"Not my job. I just wanted some mustard. I knew you would take care of me if I just asked."

"So when are they getting back?" 

"Uh, I can talk, but I still can't tell time." 

"Fine, let's split that sandwich and wait. I'll get the mustard." 

"Did I mention that aromatic herb I've seen them smoking out back?" 

"No, tell me more." 

And so he did. I discovered things about my sons, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. As I closed up the mustard jar, the Rottweiler remarked, "Those thumbs are truly amazing. I heard you were a surgeon. Any chance I could have some thumbs?" 

"As a matter of fact, I have two sons who won't be using theirs after tonight. You have four paws and they have four thumbs. Can you wash dishes?" 

"Sorry, my resume includes biting, barking, ear-hustling, crotch-sniffing and talking to you. Dishwashing not included." 

"Just as well, they are going to need those thumbs for all the chores they will be doing." 

"They're coming." 

"I don't hear anything." 

He cocks his head and rotates his ears. "Dog, remember?" 

I turned off the light in the kitchen and waited. They would have to pass me to get to their room. I could smell the concert all over them; the beer, marijuana and cigarettes. Ugh.

"Evening, boys. Say hello to your new warden." 

The dog barks at them, a series of sharp, staccato sounds. 

Looking at the boys, "He says you are going to like it here at our new facility. Go to your rooms and take a shower. Lawn mowing at 8:00 AM. Sharp." I smiled at the dog, "Adding to your resume already..."

 

The Warden © Thaddeus Howze 2012 All Rights Reserved


From Writers Digest - Your Writing Prompt: Your kids have spent years asking you to get them a dog. You finally break down and get one, only to discover that this dog talks—but only to you. More interestingly, the dog loves to gossip about your kids and their lives. Write a scene where your dog rats out one of your kids for doing something they shouldn't. (500 words or less)
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Black Community Entertainment Video

Posted by Incus Interactive Productions on January 24, 2012 at 10:30am

Were in age where video has come paramount in the media industry and beyond. There's going to come a place in time were all other types of media will just be considered just to be a part of video. The embracement of video in the african american community has been of great importance. Music videos, movies, documentaries, youtube, and more have took the media by storm! But just as a african americans have embraced video for entertainment and communications, there also a lack of black videographers, writers, and special effects designers. A new site on the net @ http://www.blackcommunityentertainment.com/ hopes to help change that. 

 

 

This site is a focal point for black video media, and others that would like to give there unique content on the web. With this site we can upload video, images, and make blogs to express your views. It's just starting out, but all ready the site has a great audience in part to its sister site www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/
 

 

If people would give support to sites like these, a lot of things could be made for the black media community as a whole. The power of media in our nation will be here decades to come, so it would be a virtue for black people to be one of the creative forces in the industy. Not just to make another "Taylor Perry" movie. Check the "Red Tails" movie as an example of what could, and is being done lately.

For more information check out these links:

http://www.blackcommunityentertainment.com/

http://www.blacksciencefictionsociety.com/

http://www.lightworksbeta.com/

http://www.apple.com/finalcutpro/

http://www.bhphotovideo.com/

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"Red Tails" Review....

Posted by H. Wolfgang Porter on January 23, 2012 at 2:30pm

Just saw "Red Tails" last night. Since I've seen Tuskeegee Airmen a number of times, I went with just my 'filmmaker' hat on and prepared to watch it with a director's eyes.

Up front, I'll say it was entertaining and easily stands with any number of WWII films you could name. It was also nice to see black faces not involved with the usual 'gangsta 'n ho' thing for a change.

So here's the review:

Without giving the story away, Red Tails starts in as the 331st Fighter Group (Tuskeegee Airmen) are stuck doing air patrols far behind the lines where little or no enemy activity occurs. Despite their training and readiness, the Airmen do little more than take out insignificant ground targets ranging from the unfortunate German motorcycle w/sidecar to the occasional train. The conflict begins with Flight Leader 'Easy' having to contend with his hotshot wingman 'Lightning'. His over-aggressive tactics and disregard for orders are a constant source of trouble in the air and on the ground for Easy who already has a handful with a diverse group of young pilots.

The other conflict is the one faced by Colonel Bullard played by Terence Howard and his struggle to have the 331st utilized as a credible war asset amidst firm resistance from high ranking white officers in the Pentagon. Colonel Bullard is pleasantly and intellectually defiant in the face of his detractors as he presents the facts of how well his men have been doing despite being held back.

The Airmen's chance to prove themselves comes as fighter escorts manned by white pilots are constantly drawn away from their assigned bombers by decoy German Fighters. This leaves the B-17 bombers and their crews vulnerable to the real force of German Fighters and their losses are appalling. Assigned to bomber escort duty, the 331st christened 'Red Tails' because of their aircraft tail paint, change tactics and don't fall for decoy fighters. By staying with the bombers, they offer stiff resistance to the German assaults and the Bomber losses plummet.

In the meantime, there are little moments where the Airmen face everyday life on the ground on base and in the town of Rametelli, Italy. A romance occurs between Lighting and a local Italian girl which is cute because he can't speak Italian and she can't speak English. There are other moments which show bits of how the pilots and ground crew interact along with Easy wrestling with a drinking problem.

It is after the Red Tails are assigned to full time bomber escort the story takes off. There are some fine aerial combat sequences and even the introduction of a skilled German Ace who rivals Lighting. During the battles we watch as members of the squadron become skilled and succumb to enemy fire. There's even an homage to the 'Great Escape' as one of the downed Airmen must contend with life in a German POW camp.

Overall, Red Tails is an entertaining film but despite the great photography and excellent combat sequences, I found it a bit flat. The acting was fine but I found the pacing of the story lagging where it seemed it shouldn't. There was also too much going on. It was like they were trying to tell an epic story in the standard 80-120 minute time-frame. I firmly believe this should have been done as a mini-series like "Band of Brothers" and "The Pacific". The setting, characters and situations begged for further development, but just didn't get it. Hopefully, the film will be successful and maybe Lucas can tap Hanks and Spielburg to put their WWII epic mini-series making machine on the Red Tails and give them the full treatment they deserve.

In a nutshell, Red Tails is a good flick. Take the kids while you're at it.

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