Too Late

Copyright © 2010
by Andrew Chandler

A few drops of rain slid down the sleek black rain coat and dropped to the pavement. The man was unperturbed that he was drenched in rain, because he was determined, determined to find him. He spotted another man running toward him; he had a gun. Gunfire resounded around them, the man standing in the rain doubled over and held his gut.
“Oh thank goodness, I thought someone else might have gotten you before I did,” the man with the gun said, helping the other man to his feet.
“I know,” he said “Okay tell me everything.”
“K,” said the other, pocketing his fake gun “all I know is that Cobra is making something BIG, a super weapon, bigger than an H-Bomb it's kind of like a laser cannon, first thing he is going to do is blackmail the governments of the world. When he gets his money he’s gonna take them out, and anyone who tries to start over at a government. Hey, remember before he turned how he always talked about a free world?”
“Yes, I remember. Of course I remember,” and he pulled back his hood, and a real gun.
“Cobra?” the other said in astonishment “Where's Robby?”
Cobra sneered, “He got away, but you are not so lucky.” He pulled the trigger.

A Lesson Taught

By Andrew Chandler

Copyright 2010

A tall figure in a long black cloak appeared out of thin air, along with a smaller figure at his side, clothed in a similar fashion. Death swept his long black cloak across the horizon bringing dark gray clouds in its wake. Lighting struck and it began to rain hard. The remaining residents of the poor town shut their curtains and locked the shutters. Mothers snuggled their crying children and willed the day to pass.

The master smiled at his apprentice as he always did and gestured around him at the corps laden battle field.

“Humans are a strange and curious race, but very much like any other,” the figure paused, arms still extended wide. “They will fall into temptation and greed or get angry, sad, hateful, jealous or just not in their right mind.” He lowered his hands and gave a great and mournful sigh, “The resulting wars and battles that tremble the earth, kill many.”

“And giving us more work to do,” the apprentice said grumpily.

“Exactly!” the master said smiling, and withdrew a small scythe from under his robe and handed it to the younger figure, then pulled out his own and began their harvest of mourning souls.

Kidnapped!

Andrew Chandler © Copyright  2010

Brandon exited the restroom stall and walked to the sink. There wasn’t any knobs or handles so he waved his hand under the nozzle and water washed over his hands. He reached out and squirted some soup from a dispenser into an outstretched palm. As he rubbed his hands together he heard the creak of the restroom door and turned his head to see the new comer.

A tall burly figure stalked through the door wearing holey jeans, chains, and a hoodie with no sleeves (the hood was pulled over his head in such a way that it clouded his face from sight); the other feature Brandon noticed was that the man had a tattoo of a black dragon snaked up his arm… or no just a muscle twitch, but what really caught Brandon's attention was the fact that he had brass knuckles in both hands.

Brandon turned his head and tired not to think of the man. He finished rinsing his hands and reached for a paper towel.

“Hey kid,” said a gruff voice, “got a light.” Brandon slowly turned around and stared into the darkness that enveloped the man's face. A cigarette stuck out of the dark.

“I'm... afraid not,” Brandon said, a little nervous.

The figure sighed.

The man pulled back his hood. A mass of scars, burns, and two crimson eyes.

“Yeah...well try your breath dragon!”

A fist. A glint of brass.

Then blackness.

Brandon yawned and blinked, “Hey were am I?” A rush of pain, discomfort, and realization hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. Brandon tried to feel his face for broken skin or blood, but his hands were handcuffed together behind him. He tried shifting his weight, a sharp jab to the side made him stop.

“No funny business 'k kid, I've got me a heater, so none o' that mystic magic stuff.”

Brandon slowly turned his head and looked at the man with the gun. The man was right he did have a gun, two guns in fact, and so did the man siting beside him; they sneered at him, Brandon gave a weak smile. And turned to the girl siting next to him who had a steering wheel in her grasp and shifting the stick. Well girl was too young a word, Brandon thought teenage female worked better.

“Uh...?” Brandon started but there was another jab of the gun and the man behind him almost screamed, “No Talking!” The driver turned, her expression menacing, and went back to her driving.

Time slowly passed as it does on the freeway until they exited. Brandon stared at the exit sign and tried to memorize the numbers. Who knew when the next time would be when he saw a phone.

The road jostled them as they drove, the wheels would sometimes get stuck in pot holes and it would take a few seconds before they drove free. The large clumps of trees were now dotted along the flat landscape. The large clumps seem to merge together the farther they went down the road, until just one huge forest rolled past, hiding the road from the sun. They came to a stop at what looked like the outskirts of a a small town; it (the town) like the road was canopied with trees, blotting out the sky completely. All-of-a-sudden a massive blue-green fire ball shot into the air and exploded on under side of the canopy; leaving no apparent harm to the tree branches.

“I figured something like that, eh?” said the other man who hadn’t spoken yet.

“Yeah, you felt it too?” the driver spoke for the first time, her voice was as slick and smooth as oil.

“Of course I did,” he retorted, and mumbled something incoherent.

“Who's stay 'n with the lizard,” said the man who yelled a lot, there was a hiss and a “'K, you do it then.” The three captors bolted out of the car and streaked toward the flashing lights.

This left Brandon a little confused, but he thought he might as well take advantage of the situation; he morphed his mouth to have the capability to breath fire; and skin into scales, tough, thick, blue, but most importently fire proof. But he was still half human.

“You shouldn’t,” a voice like wind made Brandon stiffen.

A shadow moved around his feet. Something padded up his left leg.

It blinked. Brandon jumped hitting his head on the ceiling and crashed down painfully twisting his arms and legs. He’d only just then realized that his legs were cuffed too.

There was a soft chuckle.

“Who's there?” Brandon said not too sternly.

“The questing isn't whom, but what,” said the soft voice “What is a specie of small dragon called Sermothens, known for their toxic poison, powerful enough to kill dragons.”

“Is that a threat?”Brandon squeaked.

“In a way, yes,” the voice became more conversational then threatening.

Kidnapped!

Andrew Chandler © Copyright  2010

August 23, 2010

TOPIC: KIDNAPPED

someone is kidnapped. who is it? who did it? why?

-Andrew Chandler

Wake Up Call

by Andrew Chandler

Copyright © 2010

Sandy flung her eyes open then sighed and frowned and listened to the loud banging. Her nine year old brother Tim walked through Sandy’s bedroom door relentlessly banging the backside of a pot with a wooden spoon, a wide smile on his childish face.

“Mom told me to wake...,” Tim began but was cut off when he tripped on a pile of magazines Sandy had neglected to put away. Flinging the wooden spoon and landing head first into the pot, his hand still around the handle. Sandy laughed out loud, rubbing in his failure. 

Tim stood up looking half hurt, half indignant. “It’s not funny,” he exclaimed, he lifted his other hand to the pot to pull it off. He tugged. “Uh-oh!” he said quietly and tugged again, eyes wide. 

Sandy sat up on her bed legs dangled over the side, not knowing what to do or say. 

Tim and Sandy stared at each other, Tim’s hands still grasping the pot which was tightly wedged on top of his head. Sandy then smiled and stared to giggle, and giggled some more. Pretty soon she couldn’t stop. A couple of seconds later she was rolling on the floor, tears of mirth sliding down her face. Tim was in a panic, he turned and tugged and pulled, eyes wide. Tears moistened his cheek. Once Sandy saw his tears she stopped laughing and slowly got up. 

“Please help me get this thing off,” Tim pleaded. 

“Okay, but first I need some breakfast,” she said mischievously.