Story #8

She covered her mouth in horror. She couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that it went down at least a half inch into the flesh, right in the center of his chest. It must have been from the windshield of the cockpit, when the explosion happened. There were numerous other small pieces of glass on his lower torso and chest. She sat there, mind frozen, no idea what to do. All at once, her mind kicked into gear and she stood and ran to the kitchen. She put two pots of water on the stove and cranked the dials to the highest setting. One was for coffee, and one for the wounds. This would take a while, and it wouldn’t do to be nodding off for something like this. She threw open the linen closet, and took out a white sheet. She began to tear it into wide strips, her hands trembling all the while. She took them and walked briskly back to the room. Dumping the bandages on the floor, she took off her boots, and set them aside. She supposed she’d need to get him onto the bed. After several gingerly attempts, she managed to get him onto the rickety mattress. She propped another pillow under his head, and stared down at him. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest, and her knees trembled. She needed to get that glass out, as soon as possible. She hurried back to the kitchen, made herself a hasty cup of coffee, and took the other pot into the room with her. Setting it on the end table with a hot pad, she took a hot cloth and began to bathe the wound on his head, and around the shards of glass. Blood was smeared in an orangish hue over most of his torso, and had coagulated around the glass. She carefully took a clean bandage, and took his head in her hands. It lolled helplessly, and her blood throbbed as she wound the linen around the wound. She stood back, examining her work. She felt weak. It always took Grandfather longer than she to unsaddle or feed the animals, but she wished he was here right now. She wanted to wait, and let him do it, but knew there wasn’t time for that. She took a long strip of bandage, and laid it on the bed, ready to be of use. She took the cloth, and cleaned it in the hot water carefully. When it was sanitary, she washed her hands in the basin on the end table, and turned to her patient. She held the cloth in one hand, and the other hovered over the glass. Her pulse was loud in her ears. She closed her eyes, grasped the glass in her fist, and yanked. Blood began to ooze from the wound, and she pressed the cloth onto it. She kept pressure on it, and watched the red spread through the cloth all the way to her palm. She kept the pressure on, praying for it to stop bleeding. At last it did, and she rinsed the cloth.

Her hot water was running out, and she took the pot in her hand, intending to refill it with water. In that instant, the boy awakened with a violent movement, and grabbed her by the wrist. She screamed and jerked back. He held fast to her wrist, and stared into her eyes. She dropped the pot and clawed at his iron fist with her other hand, but he just looked at her. He didn’t hold her painfully tight, just tight enough that she couldn’t leave. At last she stopped struggling, staring with huge blue eyes into his green ones. All she saw was in them were questions, pain, and confusion. He looked around the room, and back to her eyes. She was screaming in her mind. Just let me go, I’m trying to help you! Maybe he saw it in them, or maybe he grew weary, but he released her wrist, and she stumbled backwards, bumping into the doorframe. Vern snatched up the water pot off the floor and fled the room, slamming the door behind her. She leaned against it, heart pounding. She took shaking steps towards the kitchen, and then lifted her head. He still needed to be treated, awake or not, and if she acted scared, nothing would go her way. She made herself stop shaking, took a gulp of her coffee, and refilled the water pot. It was hot in another two minutes, and she went back to the door. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the handle, and step inside. He was sitting up on the edge of the bed, examining his surroundings, and looking down at his chest in confusion. She set the water pot down on the table and stood in front of him, hands on hips. He looked up at her, eyes mellow but ready. She pointed to the bed, and motioned for him to lay back down. He cocked his head at her. Lay down! He looked up, hesitated, and then shrugged and laid back. She took another deep breath, that had worked better than she’d thought it would. He was remarkably aware, considering what he’d been through. He watched her, as she took the cloth and dipped it into the basin. She didn’t want to, but she turned to him and began to wipe away the blood. He kept his eyes on her face. It was almost chilling, the way he watched her every move and didn’t seem to care what she was doing. Once or twice he winced as she wiped especially deep into the wound, but she only caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She was trying desperately to focus on what she was doing, and not the strange eyes on her face. When the half dozen small wounds were cleaned and the glass removed, she spoke to him.

“Can you sit up?” He looked at her blankly, and she motioned, and repeated the question. He looked at her, slightly confused, but sat up. She smiled and nodded. He hadn’t spoken since he’d woken up, but he looked satisfied that that was what she’d meant. She took the length of bandage, and wound it around his torso. He watched her as she did it, and she felt herself blushing. She had to get uncomfortably close to get all the way around his broad chest. He just looked at her. When she finished, she stepped back and tucked her long unruly hair out of her face. He just stared at her, and she stared back for a moment. She glanced at herself briefly in the mirror, and she was a sight. Her waist length hair was tangled and in her face, she had smudges of his blood on her shirt and up her forearms, there were dark purple circles under her eyes, and smudges of red dirt on her jeans and shirt. She sighed a little, and shook her head. Without looking back at him, she began to pick up the floor. She took his heavy black coat and hung it on the hooks on the door, and finally remembered the satchel hung slung around her shoulder. Somehow it had managed not to get in the way, and she’d completely forgotten it. She took it off, looked at it, and hung it on the hook on top of the coat. She glanced over at him, and found his eyes were fixed on the satchel. She shifted, and picked up the blood stained shirt and both of their boots. She set his next to the table, and opened the door to leave the room, only to run straight into her Grandfather.

“Gosh! Grandfather! You scared me. Did everything go okay?” He nodded silently, bushy brows furrowed, and stepped inside. She turned to watch, boots in hand. Grandfather thrust his hands into his pockets and he and the boy stared at each other for a moment, before Grandfather asked,

“Did you find out why he passed out?” She explained about the glass and the coat.

“I haven’t given him any food or water yet.” She added. Grandfather nodded, and the boy’s eyes slipped to her again.

“I’ll take care of the rest, Vern. You did well. Go to bed.” She nodded, grateful, and moved to close the door, when the boy spoke. She didn’t understand what he said, of course, but her grandfather turned to her and said,

“He says ‘Thank you’”. Vern just stared at him.

“How did you…?”

“Go to sleep, Vern.” She frowned, wanting to repeat the question, but another wave of exhaustion swept over her, and she just turned and closed the door behind her. She plodded upstairs with heavy feet, yawning. When she got up to the door, she heard the door downstairs open, and heard her Grandfather call up,

“Vern? Lock your door tonight.”

…..

Song

Mini Art

My sister recently gave me a miniature book for drawing in, and I've really been enjoying it. It's small enough to fit in my pocket, and super convenient for carrying around and drawing everything.

I apparently like drawing ducks, so I drew a barnyard.

Yeeeah this one's got a weird perspective, and my mom thought her
shoulders were something else....

:D 

Story #7

With the two of them working together, it didn’t take long to get the boy onto an animal and get on their way. She glanced back at his dark form, lolling from side to side with the swaying steps of her Grandfather’s mount. Veronica had so many questions swirling in her mind, and the anxiety for the boy was growing by the minute. By the time they pulled into the barnyard, she was nearly in a state of panic. Grandfather guided Hank up to the porch, and carefully dismounted around the deadweight boy on the back. The horses tossed their heads impatiently, insisting that it wasn’t the time for such things. The weary girl had to agree with them. She dismounted, and threw the reins over the rail. Her legs screamed in protest. She stretched them, and wriggled. Her shoulders hurt, her legs hurt, her head ached, everything hurt. Her grandfather reached up and pulled the boy down, breaking his fall as best he could by pulling him straight onto the porch. Vern felt relieved, it was a few less stairs to pull his massive weight up. She just stood there, looking at him. Grandfather did the same, breathing hard.

“Think you can get him into the downstairs bedroom?” He rasped. Vern felt herself nod, eyes still glued to him. There were two bedrooms downstairs, and two upstairs. One of the ones upstairs was hers, one downstairs was Grandfather’s, the other two were empty. Grandfather took Trolly’s reins, and headed off to the barn with the horses. She watched him leave, wishing he wouldn’t. She just wanted to go upstairs and go to sleep, but she knew there was at least another hour of work to do. It was getting on towards midnight now. She sighed, stretched again, and took him under the arms, wriggling and dragging him towards the door. She reached behind her and opened the doors with her foot. She scooted through as fast as she could, but his legs still got trapped in the screen door. She freed him guiltily, and began down the hall. The house was still, the fire in the kitchen was nearly dead, and the floorboards creaked every now and then as she moved down the hall. Stopping for a moment, she pulled the string from the ceiling, and the hall was flooded with dim yellow light. At last, she kicked the door open, and was greeted with cool musty air. The last time this room had been touched was spring cleaning, three months ago. She drug him in, and turned on the light. The low bed was neatly made with the sheets turned back. Vern groaned and put her hands on her back, leaning and stretching. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and knelt on the floor next to him. His face was colored, but his lips were ashen. She pressed her palm to his forehead. He was burning with fever, and the gash on his temple looked bad. It oozed with pus and had been reopened at some point, there was fresh blood. She wiped it away with furrowed brows. Staring at his troubled face, she just felt lost. Things had been so normal, and then with a single afternoon, her world had been turned upside down. She shook her head, and began to remove his coat. It was thick leather, and probably had had something to do with him passing out. The heat added with dehydration could definitely have done it. She felt his shirt, and it was damp with sweat. She discovered a dark red stain on the chest, that had been covered by the coat until now. She frowned, and began to remove the white shirt. As it came away, Vern gasped. There was a shard of glass, three inches long, embedded sideways in his chest.

.....

Song

Story #6

Forty five minutes later, Veronica  rode a very tired red mule into the moonlit barnyard, and was overjoyed to see that the green farm truck was pulled in front of the house, and a light was on in the kitchen. Grandfather was probably waiting up for her, since she knew he always went to bed at dark. She felt a pang of guilt, realizing how it probably looked. She should have been home hours ago, and he was probably worried. But the pang passed quickly, as Grandfather wasn’t really a worrier. He’d wait until it was quite late before starting out after her. Still, he’d be more likely to do it in the morning. She made a flying dismount off Shad and stumbled a few steps. She’d been riding so much today her legs didn’t quite work. She steadied herself on his neck and took a few deep breaths. Hobbling as fast as she could to the porch, she threw the reins over the rail and took the steps in a leap. She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she flung open the screen door and heard her heels click onto the hardwood floor of the kitchen. She smelled the sweet smell of home, and longed to just run upstairs and throw herself on her red checked blanket, and sleep away the tears she wanted to cry. But she took a few steady steps into the dimly lit room, and looked around. Grandfather was out cold, head lolling on chest, sitting in the rocking chair by the stove. A few moths fluttered around the lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. She sighed, hating to wake him up. His white beard tickled his nose as he snored, and his face twitched. His gnarled hands, worn from years of work and injuries, were folded over his blue overalls. She glanced around the room, and picked up the broom she’d left leaning against the fireplace after she was done cleaning that morning. She’d learned when she was a very small girl, that if you woke Grandfather up, especially from a light sleep, he’d hit hard. She’d grown accustomed to waking him up with something long, like a broom handle. She grabbed the bristled end of the broom and poked the other end out towards his sleeping figure. The end swung a little, and then bumped twice against his knee. He exploded into consciousness and grabbed the broom with one hand, jumping to his feet and looking around wildly. Veronica took a step back, it was always a gamble how he would react when woken up. Sometimes he’d wake up with tears streaming down his face, after muttering in his sleep, sometimes he wouldn’t wake up at all, and begin jumping around his bedroom in his longjohns shouting at invisible enemies. His blindingly blue eyes finally found her, standing in the shadows. His bushy eyebrows furrowed and he sat back down.

“Ah, Vern. There you are. You’re late. Now go upstairs and get ready for bed.” She took a step towards him, and the story came spilling out in an incoherent mess.

“Grandfather, I took a ride today to the canyon west of us, and I found a wreck, and there’s a boy, and I need your help!” He looked at her blankly, and stood up.

“Well then saddle up, let’s head out.” She stared. No questions, no confusion, no surprise, nothing. She stammered,

“Alright--I’m going to switch Shad out for one of the horses, maybe Trolly. He’s worn out. You want Clock?” He was bending over with the usual grunting moaning noises, putting on his boots.

“No you’d better get Hank for me. Clock won’t do well with the extra weight since he foundered this spring.” Vern nodded, slightly dazed and a little bewildered, and walked out. She took Shad’s reins in the night air and headed for the barn. He followed willingly, with his head low. The moon was bright, and she had no trouble seeing where she was going. The barn had no electricity, and she unsaddled in the dark. She slipped Shad into his stall next to Clock’s, and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thanks, Bud. Couldn’t have done it without ‘ya.” He took a bite of hay and chewed noisily. She felt around in the dark on the rough-hewn wall, until she found Trolly’s bridle. She found his stall, and squinted into the darkness, speaking softly to the horse, as she made out his

ears pricking up. She caught and saddled him and Hank with ease, leading them out into the moonlit barnyard for light. She’d just finished with Hank, when she heard the screen door slam, and her grandfather hobbled down the stair. Hank was a big horse, part draft, and steady. He could go for miles at a canter without getting tired. Her grandfather mounted, and she was again amazed at how nimble he was for his age, which was at least seventy five, but he never talked about it, so she couldn’t know for sure. She handed him Hank’s reins, and mounted up herself.

“Well, you know where. Lead the way.” He rasped, still breathing hard. It got harder and harder for him to ride, but he still did it, and Veronica said nothing about it to him. She turned Trolly, fighting the exhaustion, and they set off into the night.

…..

Song

Art

So I decided to post a few of the pictures I've been drawing recently, hope you like them or something. 

Part of my family and I took a vacation down to San Francisco and this was a man in the airport.

A merman and a human stargazing, (No reference) 

I took a ride awhile ago and sat and drew Manny. Not much detail, I was in a hurry. 

Story #5

Veronica tugged and pulled on his huge weight. She threw a nervous glance at a rust-red stone, three inches from his head. One arm flopped uselessly in her grasp, and she didn’t dare pull harder on it. She threw it down in frustration and his head lolled to one side. She stared down at the hard looking face. I don’t understand. I don’t get why you’re here, or where you came from, and I wish you weren’t my problem. BUT you are. So I’m leaving now. She had a sort of one-sided conversation with him in her mind, as she mounted Shad, and threw one last glance behind her. A thin layer of dust already covered his still form. She half shifted to take his coat off, but knew that it would be long after nightfall before she returned with her Grandfather, and nights got cold out here. She pursed her lips, and clapped her heels into her mule’s sides. Taking off at a canter, she made straight for the farm.

…..

Song.

Story #4

She edged around the broken glass, and the blackened phone that lay on the table. Glancing at the boy, she picked it up, just to make sure it was dead, and tried to dial again. He seemed to know what she was doing, and waited in the doorway for her. She felt a pang of guilt. It was silent.

“Wow.” She thought. “I just came to the neighbors’, broke their stuff and now I’m leaving. I am a jerk.” She put the phone back and walked outside. The boy stood on the top of the stairs, surveying the land around him. It was bare, with tall brown grass and mesquite growing thinly everywhere. There was searching, narrow look in his emerald eyes. She walked straight past him to the mule, and turned to him. He looked back at her with a vacant look in his eyes. She motioned for him to follow, and mounted up. He approached, and looked confused, she moved her foot aside for him to use the stirrup, and pointed behind the saddle. After a couple of somewhat embarrassing looking fails, he got up and behind the saddle. She nudged Shad with her heels and he reluctantly jolted forward. She felt the boy halfway fall backwards and he caught her on the shoulder. She looked back and grinned at him, he looked sheepish and dropped his hands to his lap. They rode in silence. There was no point in trying to talk, they couldn’t understand one another anyway. Things were starting to get awkward, as they walked along the trail in silence, complete strangers walking the same trail towards the same destination. All of a sudden, she felt him sliding, and she let out a half scream and pulled up sharp on the reins, as he crumpled into the dust, unconscious once more.

…..