Friday, April 21, 2006


It is the late 1870’s in Reconstruction America. The southwest of the country is quickly losing its right to be called frontier. In the next four decades the United States would be facing a Great War that would change the scale of how violence and death would be perceived. Humanity was beginning to reach beyond itself in molding a world. Still things existed to confound and capture man’s waning attention to the unfathomable. Things old, mysterious and powerful were enjoying their last days in the world as the focus of man’s imagination. But they were there and they still are… if you look warily out the corner of your eye.

Official telegram message received March 12th to the Office of Indian Affairs: Mister Jason Thomas Ward, Asst. to the Head of Indian Affairs. Reads as follows:




The quiet town of Necessity. Birthed nearly thirty-five years ago in privilege. A southwest frontier town that grew with time and its auspicious proximity to the trade routes between California and Houston, Texas. A town froze quiet with fear. Five dead. Five elder statesmen of the town slain brutally by the hands of equally aged Indians from the nearby Apache reservation. A death a week for five weeks without fail- and this was the sixth week. The town feared a war with the, until now, passive Indians. Something had to be done. If this did not end, of what would it be the beginning?
After the third killing, word reached Indian Affairs by way of Fort Piedmont in New Mexico. The Sheriff calmed the town by telling them of the government agent being sent to deal with the situation.
Guy Patrick rode into town to no fanfare. Town’s people sneered at the slight Colored riding a near exhausted horse into their town, if they pondered him at all. Erect in the saddle, his head up and eyes straightforward, Guy rode to the town jail to meet the Sheriff.
“If that don’t beat all! They really sent a Colored to deal with these savages! Well? What’s your name boy?
Guy looked up from tying his horse to the post. He glanced at the Sheriff just long enough to remember his features. Then, looking down, he responded.
“Cpl. Guy Patrick, sir. Sent as special agent to the Assistant to the Head of Indian Affairs. You are sir-?
The Sheriff held from speaking. He stared hard at Guy. The young dark Negro was a compact five feet eight inches tall with a wiry build. Dressed in unmarked military gear he looked to be a man use to spending long amounts of time in the wilderness of the Southwest. He also noticed the man was clean-shaven. The wide brim hat he wore held a single hawk feather in the band. Here the Sheriff’s jaw clenched involuntarily.
“Well boy my name is Sheriff Barrington Miles and I am the law in this little hamlet. Most folks ‘round here call me ‘Stone’, but you… you can call me Mister Miles.”
Guy nodded to the man’s chest. Miles was easily six feet-three inches tall, with the lumbering build of a career soldier and the slight paunch of a complacent warrior. Miles’ eyes were agate blue and the curly hair that fell down his face into thick sideburns was a dusty light brown. The Star on his vest shone brightly in the midday sun. As well taken care of as this little town.
“Yes sir, Mister Miles. While my horse is resting might I be able to see your prisoners sir?”
Sheriff Miles smiled.
“Right this way boy, right this way.”
They entered the small jailhouse with Sheriff Miles leading the way. A small simple wooden building it did not look as if it had too much use. One desk set against the wall opposite a hallway leading to the single small jail cell. Opposite the entrance a door sat ominously closed. Stopping at his desk he searched the drawer for the cell keys.
“Now boy, you understand that since we sent for ya, two more good town folks have been killed. So we got the… er-killers here and we got assurances from the Reservation that these men are actin’ alone, but that two murders ago! You need to go out there and find out once and for all what the hell is going on!”
Guy nodded his face blank.
“Mister Miles you seem mighty unsure of yourself when you say you have the killers. What do you mean?”
Sheriff Miles sat down at his desk. He took a deep breath and pushed his hat back to his hairline. Something outside the window held his gaze.
“Listen this town has been peaceful for years, hell decades. I come here ‘bout five years ago thinking I was gonna have some interesting troubles because of them Apaches nearby. Well damned if Necessity has no problems at all with the Indians. I mean nothing since they formed the town ‘bout thirty years ago!”
“Yes sir. I checked the town’s history before coming. Do you know why there weren’t any problems before?”
“You gotta ask them that! Shit ain’t that what you’re here for? When you see those prisoners you’ll understand. You’ll see why we need someone to talk to them Apache!”
Miles rose from his desk, cell keys jingling in hand.
“’Cause if you can’t straighten this shit out and make things right- there’re folks in the town, me included, that will!”
Guy’s face tightened in determination.
“Then I guess I should meet these killers sir.”

11.30.05 In Dreams Come Responsibility
Looking back looking back. How prophetic he thought perusing his thoughts a month before the crisis. Before this great changing thing hit him and he was beginning to understand the necessity of the change. He commended her final honesty. He appreciated himself more: his thoughts his observations, but not his conviction, his greatest failure to himself. But once again he was given another chance, another moment to increase.
These truisms never disappear. These truisms always return to remind him when he has forgotten. So the Turtle looked away from the Butterfly because he realized that though she flew and it was beautiful thing he could not currently do, he realized he looked back at her flight and he knew he must concentrate on his long journey forward. So after this last look backÂ…
Â…this last look where he has been and where he has failed, the Turtle continues climbing JacobÂ’s ladder of destiny. Thru three baptisms he has been. The princess elf was a test of the wind. The moon goddess was a test of water. The butterfly was a test of fire and perhaps the most intense. But he saw the form behind it all and he was finding a peace to follow his continued journey. Thinking it was all about them when it was all about him which was all about us which is all about everything.
So he made a kiss and said goodbye. No anger no regret just a lesson learned. And his heart became full and hope danced in his breast and his spirit expanded to encompass all his joys and his fears. YeahÂ… he would be victorious.


So come on in and hear some stories. Cause I ain't got nothing more important to do.
In here I'm gonna post some serialized stories and siIce i have the summer to myself, I'm gonna post pages of my magnum opus epic Of Mythic Proportions. A story in three parts that spans from the beginning of time to six years in the future. Come on in.
Tellin' Stories!!!