Fiction Friday: TG #1

            I can’t do anything yet. If I act too soon, everything will fall apart. I’m not making the same mistakes. I learned to be more patient since you last saw me. I learned more than patience; so much more.
            I need one guard to walk a little closer. As long as the other two don’t move too much, everything should be fine. I’ll only have a few seconds before anyone else shows up.
            I’ve broken into so many internment camps and this won’t be the last.
            The guard walks into the right spot.
            My heartbeat pounds my chest, but I can work through it. The stress bothered me the first few times I broke into internment camps.
            Time to move; the guard won’t stand there forever.
            I hooked up a net to a jeep with a pulley system in the front. I fire the net at the first guard and retract the cable. The net drags the guard as he kicks and screams. Before the other guards can comprehend the situation, I throw a bola at one. A bola is a throwing weapon with weights on the end of connected strings. I hit him in the face and knock him out. I aimed for his legs. I’m close enough to the last guard to take him down by hand. I flip him over with one hand, spin around and knock him out with one blow. The first guard struggles to get out of the net. I get to him before he can untangle his radio.
            I’m certain someone heard him yelling.
            A camp this size would usually have more guards. Before my onslaught, I heard a guard say something about budget cuts. I wondered if my vigilantism influenced the government. As yet, I have no notion that my presence worries anyone in government, but they know of me. They captured me once.
            I open the gate easily, but my concerns are for the people being held captive; the prisoners being locked up because they exist and having committed no crimes, hated for who they are. Society got persuaded by hate speeches started by one man. The politician turned dictator. Ronald Teagun. The Tommy Gun. He earned his nickname because of his own love for firearms and T-gun was slang for the semi-automatic Thompson rifle, or Tommy gun. The only difference between Teagun and the Thompson; Teagun had killed more people than all the Thompson rifles combined. Then the election made him the leader of the richest country in the world. People are idiots.
            I know where the prisoners are being held. My mission is to get them to safety and then destroy the compound. Years ago, I wouldn’t have thought I could do something like that. Now it feels like second nature.
            Four more guards come from around a building. I throw a smoke grenade and switch my face cover to infrared visuals. The guards stumble through the smoke and I pick them off one at a time.
            I find the building with the prisoners. I place explosive charges on one side of the building and then on the fence nearest the building. My planned exit strategy.
            Another guard wanders over without realizing I am there.
            “Hey! Who the hell are you?”
            I detonate the charges and the wall falls on him. People are clamoring inside, and this makes it easy to take out the guards. There are so many prisoners, mostly women and children. Many of them have torn shirts around their heads as hijabs. Devout to the end I guess. I hear someone shouting at me, but I only catch two words.
            “Al Hafiz!”
            They speak Arabic. I only understand Al Hafiz because I chose that for my codename. I guess they’ve heard of me. They are all staring at me, confused. They don’t know what to do. I blow the charges on the fence giving them a way out. It probably made a cool silhouette from their perspective.
            As they all run to the open fence, I run off to blow the compound. I am hoping the camp’s armory has more explosives. I can only carry so much with me. Unfortunately, there are more guards to fight. I see prisoners fighting them. And the prisoners are winning. They take rifles and create a nice distraction, so I can get to work.
            I am forced to break into every building. Normally this would be time consuming, but the breakout has everyone preoccupied. Three buildings later, I find the armory and it has a ridiculous number of explosives. I take all I need and even a couple more Kevlar vests; you can never have too many. I set charges on every building. They are close enough to set each charge off after each explosion. All the explosives in the armory will create an awesome big boom.
            I set the charges; I punch in sixty seconds on the timer and run like hell. The guards and prisoners keep fighting. I throw a flash bomb to disorient everyone. I throw people through the fence. I remove weapons, so no one can keep firing. And then I hear the booms. It almost sounds like fireworks; almost. I run a separate direction from the prisoners. The guards don’t care about anyone anymore. Both objectives are complete; another successful mission.

An excerpt from the novella The Tommy Gun. Available for free on Kindle on February 22, 2019 only.

The Shop is Live

Today is the day! The Online Store for all things me is up and running. This is exciting for me because I feel like I’m one step closer to my dream of becoming a full-time writer. I’ll be able to afford all my expenses and can spend every day doing nothing but writing new stories and poetry. This isn’t just a dream for me. This is a calling. I honestly believe I struggle with so many things in life because I’m not doing what I was created to do. I was put on this planet to write and writing is what I will do.

What are some of the fun things you can find in my online store? For starters, this is the only place to acquire signed copies of all my paperback books. Not only that but they are discounted compared to costs on Amazon with a few minor exceptions. If you purchase from my store and request shipping, the costs are about the same, but it takes longer for you to get it in the mail. Why bother? Buying from me means you are directly supporting the author and you copy will have my signature inside. Totally worth it.

I also have a few options for commissioning custom poetry. For a cheap price ($1, $5, $10) you can pay me to write you a poem or your choice in any style. I am not commissioning fiction as even the shortest stories require more time to complete. Poetry doesn’t take nearly as long and it’s something I’ve been doing for over 15 years. I maintain all rights to these poems, but we can discuss purchasing of the intellectual property. Before you ask, yes it will be expensive. But that is not something I’m prepared for at the moment.

Prints of poems are also available. These are my original poems as 11×17 posters. Words can be visual art too. Only a handful are currently available, but I hope to add more if sales support that. My favorite part of this store are the T-Shirts. That’s right! I have shirts available with different titles of my poems printed on them. For the moment they are around $30 mostly because I don’t have any in stock and will have to order them one at a time as orders come in. I hope to lower the price once I have steady inventory.

If you wish to order any items in bulk, please send me an email or contact me through my Contact Page and we can work out a discounted price for the items. If you want to support me without spending money, you can always write a review on my Facebook Page, review one of my books on Amazon or on Goodreads, or tell your friends about me. Support me on social media and talk about what you enjoy. You can even send me an email saying nice things that I can use as a testimonial. Happy shopping!

Poetry Monday: Alpha Male Syndrome

All these childish boys
Competing for the top prize
They want to be the smartest
The fastest, the strongest, the toughest
The meanest, the sexiest, the best
They want to be the Alpha
The man in charge
The man about town
The one all the women want
And all the men want to be

These are the dreams of boys
Sadly, some people stay boys for life

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.