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Is the phrase "Once upon a time..."
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Monthly Writing Prompt
For this month's writing prompt write a scene using the following sentence to start;

The streets were deserted. Where was everyone? Where had they all gone?

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Our monthly writing tips are written by our very own TerishD. You can read more in Terish's Blog located in "The Abstractions" area of the forum.

Look Back

When not able to write ahead, it helps to look back. In my case I had written a paragraph ahead of the story. What I needed to do was add a section of exposition (talking) presenting some facts. In going back, I realized that I could insert a section where a 'tour' of the surroundings could be done. This allowed for character interaction, story development, and other things that enabled me to present the facts in an entertaining manner.

One should not face a writer's block with the mentality of bursting through it. I have found in my own experience that a writer's block is usually due to my mind indicating that it has a problem in 'channeling' the story. One reason might be a re-imagining of certain story points. Another reason however is that there is a problem in where you are at in the story, so you need to look back and find out the problem with the 'journey' that prevents the tale from advancing.

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 Money and the Ghost (All Parts of Three)

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Number of posts : 1286
Age : 58
Location : Ringgold, Louisiana
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Registration date : 2008-07-21

PostSubject: Money and the Ghost (All Parts of Three)   May 23rd 2012, 4:44 pm

A Fight for Recognition
Story Eight: Part One
The Money and the Ghost

A Caring Brother
Brian liked the way he looked. He did not mind being the typical large muscled black man. He also did not mind saying words like: 'man,' 'honky,' or 'bro.' The man kept rap CDs in his car, and felt pleased spouting standard black topics.

Truthfully, he was nothing like that. He did not listen to rap at home. He told everyone that the classical and pop music was his wife's, and she did like it as well, but he was the one who had bought it. Brian claimed to support affirmative action, but no one had ever given him a nickel because he was black. Every penny in his pocket was earned.

He supported his family, but he did not consider that a black thing. The white people supported their families too. Brian supported his family with the money he earned. There was another in the family that had promise of making good money. He was not going to see her work go towards only feeding white children.

Brian never went to college. He worked on the motorcycles of rich college kids, but did not hold it against anybody for being rich. Truthfully, he did not hold it against anybody for being smart. Brian felt that he was putting his mind to better uses than the college kids, and truthfully felt that it was stupid to spend so much money for a little education. Still, he would not complain about how anyone spent their money. He expected to be rich himself, and did not want anybody telling him how to spend his fortune.

The large black man looked at the décor of the college building. For the place to be so damn expensive to attend, he expected the walls to have at least a fresh coat of paint. He saw burnt out bulbs in the ceiling panels and thought to himself that some blonde white woman probably trashed the light bulb request because the janitor that handed it to her was black. Brian stopped making insults when he walked into a certain lab, the décor of the place was so shoddy that anything he said he would probably be taken as a compliment.

Two men huddled around a table. The stately elder gentleman was black. The younger was white and fair skinned. While they looked different, they were both staring at pieces of paper with plots drawn on them while writing long crazy formulas on other pieces of paper. Whatever they were doing they seemed to not be happy with, because the floor around them was littered with the carcasses of sheets of paper that were probably only minutes old.

As the large black man approached, the young white man told his superior, "It's Brian."

The elder man brought his form erect before turning and saying, "Mr. Clausen, I am glad to finally meet you."

Brian compared the man to what he had been told. Nathan Jackson was probably over six feet, but not as tall as the younger black man. He did not look in bad health, but certainly never had the muscles that Brian had. Now that he knew who he was up against, the large man felt it was time for business.

"I want to know what agreement you have with Sherita."

Brian was not stingy with his longings for success. He had his plans that he was determined to achieve, but he would not hold back any other family member. His sister was chasing a dream, and Brian felt it his duty to make certain that no one would stop her. He waited for the words from the college intellectual.

"Mr. Clausen, I have no agreement with your sister. You have to understand that she came to us, Larry and me, with a concern that she felt needed to be kept secret. She had already been to the chemistry department, and they had given her a cold shoulder. My interest is in sub-atomic interactions. I have nuclear material. Secrecy about what isotopes I have is one method I use to safe guard my research. Keeping one more secret was not a problem with me. An agreement with your sister will need to be reached, because she does not know exactly how her shoes are being made. I can assure you however, that I will not overburden her. I wish her the best."

Brian did not consider himself stupid enough to consider the long answer as a good answer. "In other words, you will want a cut."

"There are a number of practical uses for your sister's technology. I can see us all living successfully."

"Those shoes are her idea, man."

"I assure you, Mr. Clausen, that I will place no claim on the actual idea. However, I will have my name on the papers that state how to practically apply the idea, as I am the one making the shoes."

Brian usually worked on the vehicles of rich college kids, so felt more than capable of understanding the phrasing of the college professor. "So, the shoes might be hers, but it will be your method that makes the shoes."

"Shoes are the worst application of the technology, but yes."

Brian really did not like arguing with another black man, so turned his attention on the white man. "What part do you play in this?"

Larry was not as tall as either of the other gentlemen, but he had never let his lack of stature make him feel short. He had a physique that stated that he did work out. Larry had never directly implied that he felt able to take Brian, but he had never stepped back from the man. Of course, there were times when it was not best to advance a conflict. While Brian felt that Larry was physically inferior to him, the man had a good quick mind that supported a rather pleasant personality.

"I thought I was the lab stooge and delivery boy."

Professor Nathan felt a need to clarify a point. "Larry has no claim on the process that makes your sister's shoes."

Brian felt some relief with those words. He saw Sherita spending time with that young white man however, and felt that something was going on between them. She claimed that there was nothing, but Brian just did not feel that a man and woman hung out with each other unless something was there. The words from the elder stopped Brian from chasing that thought and put his mind back on business.

"Good. Now, Professor Nathan, you and me and Sherita are going to need to sit down and come to some agreement."

The elder glared in a manner that made Brian feel that there was worry that he would not understand, which was supported in the stressed, slow style that the words were spoken. "Your sister needs to first understand that her application is the worst use of the technology. While she has had success as the superheroine, Ballet Slipper, I would highly recommend that she leaves that field of endeavor. If I sit down with you, I would present you and your sister with a number of industries who could use the technology."

Brian completely agreed with the professor on that point. "Being a superhero doesn't pay her anything."

A Dull Game of Cards
Annette yawned loudly in a public display of being bored. The poker game had gone all night, and here it was well into the next day, but Donald felt more than able to continue playing. For once in his life, he was winning. While Annette knew the importance of the situation, he understood that she saw no reason for him to continue playing. In fact, she saw every reason for him to take the money and leave. She did not trust lady luck to continue showing her favor to Donald, and worked to have him understand that he should leave before the spotlight of good fortune moved to another. What he felt she did not understand was the rules concerning the situation, and yawning would only have him tell her to sleep on the couch.

"Donald, I think I am pregnant."

He could not believe the lady. Here he was with more money than he had ever had, and Annette had to do something to spoil the mood. First, she complained about how poor he was. Now that he was making money, she wanted him to stop. Damn. He had to do something to get his lady to understand.

"You're not pregnant, Annette."

"I have stopped taking the pill, and I believe one of your condoms leaked."

Smirks and grins showed on the faces of the other men at the table, even as Donald continued to hold his features blank. "You haven't stopped taking the pill, Annette. I have been slipping them into your cocktails."

He was not lying. Donald had noticed that she had stopped taking the pills. He found the pill container on one of his times that he went through her drawers to feel her panties. He noticed on the next time that the pill container had not been touched. He thus started removing a pill and dropping it in a drink. He was not ready for children, plus the logic gave him a reason to go through her panties.

Donald kept his focus on the game, but saw Annette squirm out of the corner of his eyes. He suspected that she wondered how he knew that she was not pregnant. His hand was good, so he did not want to smile, even as he remembered not having sex the day before due to her claiming that her period was about to start. Still, the fact that she could not remember that interchange between them, which he considered to have some importance to her, when he was having to remember the play of every card reduced his impression of her. He thus easily kept his focus on the game, while she squirmed as her mind sought another plan to achieve her goal.

"Donald, darling, leave the game now."

With a confident smile on his face, he poured some more whiskey into his glass while answering. "Annette, I am winning. I cannot just get up now. It would be rude. These men want their money back. They will not get up peaceably from the table until they recognize that today is my lucky day. Right now, they are hoping for my luck to change."

He honestly considered the situation with his wife entertaining. While she attempted to influence his actions, she had no true power. Donald looked at his cards and the faces of the other men in the room while considering that he would remember this day very fondly.

The glance that Thomas had on his face upon slamming down his cards caused Donald to become concerned. His face displayed intense anger, and the focus of the eyes upon Annette declared that he felt the lady should have been left at home. She had stayed away from the table, but Donald knew that when a man was losing, he sought reasons other than simply bad luck. Things looked worse when a man that generally did not win happened to get good luck on the night he brought his wife. While one explanation was that she was a luck charm, the other was that she was an agent helping with a scheme. Donald thus looked to his wife, although actually focused on Thomas at the edge of his vision concerned for what he might do.

Again Annette made a plea to her husband. He and the other men however put their focus again upon the game. Thomas however looked at the lady as he quietly folded. All eyes however turned to her as he then reached behind him to bring out a gun. He did not release the safety, but he simply put the weapon on the table to stress a point. Annette seemed to understand, as she went quiet.

"Bitch, if you open your mouth again, you better be under the table about to give your husband a blow job."

Donald held his voice calm as he told his wife, "Annette, I might be winning, but I am winning these people's money. Some decorum is expected."

A Sudden Change for the Worse
Annette felt like crying. She suddenly did not want the money. All she wanted was her husband. She wanted to be away from these people with her husband in their home sharing a simple evening together. Their apartment was only an efficiency, but they still did not make enough to even pay a simple cable bill. Their television worked fine, but the coat hangers sticking out the top of it sometimes did not obtain the best signal. Still, it was home, and she wanted to be there with her husband.

Suddenly, Annette felt a pain in her chest. Her first reaction was to state her situation to her husband. She however knew that he would dismiss it as another attempt by her to control. She however felt that this pain was very real.

The need to do something for herself combined with the need to get her husband away from the gambling table while he was winning filled her essence. The money that he had gained would be enough to satisfy some serious needs. Annette felt a strong desire to control her situation for the benefit of herself, her husband, and their marriage.

She fought through the pain. The experience somehow felt like those told to her about childbirth. Of course she was not pregnant, but Annette had entered her relationship with Donald willing to bear him children. She saw the money and did not want things for herself, but for them both. She did love him, and even felt that he loved her. Annette thus did not complain about the growing agony within her, but held herself firm praying for some guidance or revelation to come to Donald.

Fantasy puts more requirements on the writer than any other fiction, because the world must be made as real before anything else can be real.
Adult Christian fiction quite different than all the usual lame stuff in that market.  "Dilemma of Dreams" now in hard back.

Last edited by TerishD on June 2nd 2012, 4:10 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Part Two   May 28th 2012, 3:41 pm

A Fight for Recognition
Story Eight: Part Two
The Money and the Ghost

The Situation Explodes
Donald turned to find his wife taking multiple short breaths. One of her breasts jumped out the bra designed to show the maximum cleavage and danced as her chest pumped up and down. He was actually not scared for his wife, but feared that her performance would cause Thomas and the others at the table to consider actually using their guns.

All of the men backed from the table as a hand shot to Donald's neck. While the man acted as if he truly felt the grip of his wife, she appeared insubstantial. Her face now looked better as a ghostly mistiness smoothed out certain faults in her make up. A strange glow brought out the highlights in her hair. The same mistiness and radiation made her dress look to have not been bought at a discount store. No one was certain if the lady was dead or not, but they all were more concerned about whether or not they soon would be.

"Donald, take your money and let us go home now." Annette's voice did not sound far away, but truthfully spoke with the acoustics of having been said through a microphone from a studio.

"Like hell!"

The expression on Thomas’ face caused Donald to become even more afraid. He had warned Annette that the men would not let their money simply walk out. Donald’s face contorted feeling that his wife was about to truly become a ghost. The sound of the safety being released on a number on weapons had the man feeling that he would soon be an apparition as well.

The wall behind the lady exploded as a number of bullets tore into it. Most of the missiles were illegal in design. It was not that the men were criminals, but that the special ammunition gave them a feeling of power in that they had acquired something that they should not have and which the use of would not penalize them because what they planned on doing with it would be the serious infraction that the police would want to deal with. Yes the projectiles were destructive, but when money and one’s life was on the line no laws applied.

Donald did not feel relief in seeing that his wife showed no damage from the gunfire. Annette looked to the wall behind her and smiled as if pleased that none of the bullets had harmed her. The smile disappeared as she turned back to her husband however. Donald felt pain, then looked to where the eyes of his spectral wife focused. One bullet had been sprayed a little wide of its mark. One of the shoulders of Donald's shirt was turning red.

The Situation Spreads
Brian actually felt that it was safe for him to drive Ballet Slipper's motorcycle around town. The bike had a sound of its own, but he felt a personal need to assure that the superhero, his sister, could be able to depend upon it. He had taken off certain accessories around the front and back and placed a leather covering over the gas tank and seat, but a true motorcycle expert would be able to recognize the machine. The normal person however would only see a large black man on a motorbike, and not make the connection to the small colorfully garbed superheroine.

The man turned as a section of wall in an alley suddenly erupted in dust. Armor piercing and explosive tipped bullets showed little respect for the sheetrock and cinderblock construction of the building wall. Brian did not know what was going down, but the screams that he now heard told him that something was happening which would be reported as soon as a news crew could get on the scene.

Brian felt relieved as he did not hear a third ring, but as his sister instead spoke a greeting he issued a question. "Sherita, where are you right now?"

"Heading into the courthouse, why?"

"Are you somewhere that you can change clothes?"

"Yes, I am in the parking garage. You got me the keys to the custodian's closet, remember?"

"Your bike will be waiting for you."

Superheroine Takes Off
Sherita did not know what was happening, but would save that discussion for later. It was best to keep conversations over the ether as general as possible. She accepted that Brian felt that a job for Ballet Slipper was occurring, so turned back to her vehicle.

She was the one that developed her shoes. She had never told anyone, because she always thought what she was doing was stupid. Her mother had often yelled at her for sliding around in her socks and doing spins. Sherita had won a few trophies for doing stunts like that on roller skates, but the weight and design of the wheeled shoes never pleased her. The first attempt was nothing more than sinking ball bearings in glue. The failure of that design had not stopped her, and while other girls were in their rooms playing with dolls, writing in their dairies, or whatever (she was really unsure what other girls did alone in their bedroom, but knew that what happened during slumber parties was not normal activities) she was attempting to make the shoes she wanted.

Ballet Slipper was not a fluke, but had Sherita grown up in any other town she probably would not have ever become a superheroine. Her town had a superhero however, and she became fascinated with the reported stories of the mysterious flying black vigilante. Getting a shoe design to actually work, Sherita felt that she had a superpower, so created her secret identity.

Sherita had gone to Brian hoping to get a motorcycle. He wanted her to spend money, but she did not want people recognizing her vehicle. Well, she did, but not as a purchase. It took her coming home with a beat up machine to get Brian to understand what she expected of him.

She had spent money, but each purchase she cheerfully approved. The alterations to the bike were supposed to be handled as secretly as she had worked on her shoes. Brian was curious about the hardware his sister was buying for her machine however, and caught her one day practicing sliding around. Seeing the tubing to spray grease upon the tires, the older brother got insanely curious about what Sherita was doing. Learning of her shoes, and her desire to use them as the focus of her becoming a superhero, Brian went on a tirade about what practical purposes could be done with the technology. Sherita had forced her brother to accept her application of her invention, but he already felt himself responsible for watching over his sister. He took the motorcycle from her and told her that he would get it working properly, but for her to get back to improving her shoes.

The custodian closet was not the cleanest place in the world. Changing clothes in a public restroom was not a way to maintain a secret identity however. Sherita was the one studying law, but it was her brother who had managed to acquire keys to various janitorial closets. Brian liked to maintain a tough guy attitude, but he did not hang around with such people. Sherita had often met his friends, and actually liked a couple. Who Brian had spoken to or what he had said to get the keys she was very uncertain.

The motorbike was waiting in front of the door that Ballet Slipper stepped out of. She walked around the bike to inspect it simply because it was what her brother had taught her to do. He was leaning against the doors to the elevator attempting to be unobserved, but he still had things to say.

"Jackson and Tate. Turned on your scanner, so I can tell you that it was just called in. These guys have bullets, but do what you can. A mention on the news can only help."

"What did you see?"

"Nothing, just a section of wall turn to dust. Be careful."

Being a Ghost
Annette was scared. She could not touch Donald like she wanted to, and he was dying. She wanted to comfort him so much. There was another man in the room, but he was dead. That scared Annette as well, because she was not certain how she did that. She had touched the men that shot at her, and they had screamed. One thought he could kill her, and hollered as he kept swinging his pistol loaded fist through her. Annette had swung her arms at him, and he collapsed lifeless to the floor. The other men ran. Donald did not run, but he needed to. He needed to go to a doctor. Annette was scared that if she touched him to help him that he would die.

Her mother often spoke of having out of body experiences. She claimed they were real, but no one took the stories seriously. Her mother was considered one of the best sources of gossip in the neighborhood, but that was not something Annette felt those of her family needed to speak about.

She looked to a bright spot between her breasts, and recognized the charm on a necklace that her mother had bought her. They were attending an estate sell, and she became fixated on the item of jewelry. Annette was not surprised when her mother bought it. Having not made any statement of liking it herself, Annette was surprised to be given the purchase.

Her mother had said at the time, “No, this thing is too powerful and I am too old. It is best if you learn of its benefits. You will need something to protect you and your family.”

Annette did not wear it often, as she really did not like the necklace. Upon her death bed, her mother had however made her promise to wear it. Annette had started wearing it simply to honor her mother, but now feared what the item had done to her.

It was the money that returned Annette to solid form. She desperately attempted to pick up the bills. Donald was dying, but even if she could get him to a doctor she knew that she could not pay. They were rich however, if only she could pick up the money. Not only Donald's winnings, but that of the other men as well. After all, they had put him in his condition. As Annette attempted to slow down her thoughts and actions in order to manage some movement of the paper currency, her physical form returned.

Others Try to Act
Ethan stopped himself from running. He felt certain that he had been conned. He looked down into his right hand and smiled realizing that he still held his gun. It was out of bullets, but there was another clip in his boot. He did not carry the extra clip because he felt he felt he would need them, but because of the premise of reasonable doubt. If he fired the gun, he could switch clips then tell the police that his gun was in his possession and never fired a shot. The police might have their evidence, but his lawyer could still point out to the jury that they found him with a full clip. He really did not care about the law at the moment, but about his honor. He felt robbed, and he was not one who wanted to be thought of as a victim.

The sight of Annette leaving the building folding a number of bills was enough proof to Ethan that he and his friends had been duped. He had already unloaded an entire clip at the lady. He did not even think twice about firing one more bullet.

Fantasy puts more requirements on the writer than any other fiction, because the world must be made as real before anything else can be real.
Adult Christian fiction quite different than all the usual lame stuff in that market.  "Dilemma of Dreams" now in hard back.
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PostSubject: Part Three   June 2nd 2012, 4:12 pm

A Fight for Recognition
Story Eight: Part Three
The Money and the Ghost

Superheroine in Action
Ballet Slipper stopped her motorcycle as a wad of paper bills suddenly erupted near the doorway to a building. She saw the man holding the pistol. Where the money came from was not her immediate concern, but the man with the gun was. Ballet Slipper activated her shoes and sent herself gliding towards him. She could have run, and truthfully considering how her shoes operated she should have run, but the man could have heard her running. He turned towards her not because he heard her, but because he was just scared and looking around. Because she was quiet, he did not register the coming superheroine until she spun and knocked his legs out from under him.

A police cruiser pulled up. As she sent a couple more attacks upon the armed man, one of which was a kick to disarm him, Ballet Slipper recognized the officer as Bert Novak. He patrolled her neighborhood, so had spoken to him both in and out of uniform. The fact that he never made the connection she felt was a good indication that her superhero outfit did its job disguising her. It further helped her ego to hear him speak well of the female superhero. Ballet Slipper looked to Officer Novak feeling that help had arrived.

The policeman did not step out his vehicle with the attitude of taking charge. He did seem to have that intention leaving the patrol car, but then simply stood. Ballet Slipper chanced looking at him to see a strange confused expression on his face. Wondering if she would have to protect him as well as herself, she returned her attention to taking charge of the man she had put down.

Rising from putting straps around the man’s hands and legs, Ballet Slipper wondered why Officer Novak did not do or say anything. The amount of damage done to the building indicated to her that more than one person had been involved. She thus worried about the other bad guys getting away, and some coming back to cause more harm. Having the officer and some backup she felt would really be appreciated, although looked about with suspicion when he held himself frozen in place.

The money did attract Ballet Slipper’s attention. She became alarmed when it seemed to attract the policeman’s focus as well. He suddenly bent over and began picking up bills. Accepting that it had value and was possible evidence, Ballet Slipper also began picking up the bills. It however caught her by surprise to see the officer run into the building with a mass of cash. Wondering what he was doing, she followed him. Seeing Officer Novak run into a room, grab a purse lying on a couch, then stuff the money inside she felt was particularly strange.

“What are you doing?”

Ballet Slipper felt scared when the cop turned to her with tears in his eyes as he said, “My husband is hurt. I need to pay the doctor.”

She looked to the man that the officer pointed at. Ballet Slipper was studying law, and not medicine, but she knew enough to know how to check for vitals. She needed to take off her gloves, but chanced leaving fingerprints as she checked on the man. She then pointed to Officer Novak with her information.

“Call it in. He’s still alive.”

“Call… it in?”

Recognizing that time did not need to be wasted, Ballet Slipper moved to the policeman and grabbed the communication device on his shoulder. She identified herself, her address, then said that there was a need for an ambulance. It pleased her that the officer that replied did not question her identification, and said that words of an explosion had automatically put an ambulance in route. He then asked about the officer whose device she used.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “He seems possessed.”


“Listen, Officer Novak is not hurt… physically. He is acting strange however.”

“Okay, Ballet Slipper. There is a lot of help heading in your direction. Please do what you can until you can be relieved.”

After thanking the officer, she turned to the policeman to say, “Let us go get more of the money.”

Officer Novak seemed to have an expression of relief when he nodded. He then began moving about the room grabbing what wealth was present. Ballet Slipper told the policeman that she would go outside and get the money out there. Seeing him nod, she raced outside hoping to not only get the cash but meet the other officers so as to prepare them for what they might find.

There is Not Enough Trouble
Ed Daughton stopped his running to look at George Pratt that ran with him. Ed did not know why they had fled together, but a sense of camaraderie restored his sanity. Neither immediately said anything, but when Ed mentioned buying the other a beer he saw George turn back in the direction they had been running from. He then reloaded his pistol before walking saying he knew where they could get the money for more than one drink. Ed checked his own weapon before moving with him.

Both paused seeing a crowd gathering. Ed noticed that no one approached the scene, so pushed through the throng to see what was stopping them. Seeing the local superheroine run around chasing bills was just too unique and strange, and caused him to come to a halt.

The sense of unease in the crowd was not helped when gunshots were heard. Ed thought of fleeing, but looked through the turning people to see George with his arm in the air. The man then yelled while firing a couple more shots clearly intending to scare off the others. Ed had to agree that he did not consider the cash as free money, but his money and George’s money. Knowing that Ballet Slipper did not use weapons, or dress in a manner indicating that she was wearing bullet-proof clothing, Ed hoped that she would flee the scene as well. Hearing some in the crowd scream before rushing away, Ed felt that he and George might have the opportunity to take charge. Ed however felt uneasy when he turned back to see Ballet Slipper rushing forward.

The superheroine was fast. Whatever method of travel she used allowed her to travel at a good clip with little effort. Hearing George yell for him to run, Ed turned and hoped that he could still move fast enough to outrun a lady.

George did not flee in the direction they had come, but loudly mentioned going for his car. That sounded like a good idea to Ed. He kept his vehicle in a garage, and usually moved about using public transportation or his own feet. He was proud of his car, so did not want it connected to any illicit activities. There were still advantages to having one’s own method of travel, and turned to follow George glad to know that he had option available.

Ed stopped running to see his comrade halt, take out his gun, then shoot the front tires of his vehicle. Looking back he saw Ballet Slipper glide around also showing amazement at the sight. George then dropped his gun and raised his hand. The sound of cop cars arriving, then Ballet Slipper signaling for a patrol car to come in her direction had Ed drop his own gun and raise his hands.

Action and Confusion
Ballet Slipper had no idea about what was happening. All she could do was promise the officers that she would take the time to supply her own report. After seeing the two men taken into custody while speaking of a card game gone wrong, she went back to check on the officer she had left behind.

Officer Novak called her over. Ballet Slipper gladly went to him hoping that he could supply answers. He instead grilled her about what he had done. Hoping to help him explain the recent events, she willingly went over to relate what she could.

Everyone turned when the paramedics came out of the building with a lady following after them promising the men that she could pay for the treatment of her husband. Ballet Slipper had to ask the Officer Novak if he recognized the purse, because she did. When he said that he did not, she instructed the officers around her to constrain the lady.

No one really knew what to do when the woman knelt and wailed about the money belonging to her husband, and that she was going to use it to pay for his recovery. Ballet Slipper found herself not doubting the story told, although wondered how it fit into the events. Seeing another bill moved by the wind, she went to pick it up, then brought it to the lady. Finding herself thanked, the woman promised everyone that she and her husband would be following the straight and narrow.

Officer Novak came up to her say, “Take off, Ballet Slipper. Thanks for your help, but it is our responsibility now.”

She nodded while replying, “I will get that report to you.”

“No rush. This is going to take some time to resolve. Still, what information you supply will be appreciated.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“I hope. Still, the medics are going to check me out. Thanks again.” She began moving to her bike, but found Officer Novak to walk with her until he felt no one would hear. “You’re working for the Owens law firm, aren’t you?”

She looked at him assuming that he had finally made a connection. “It is just an apprenticeship.”

“If you need me to cover for you one day, I would be honored. I don’t know why you are running around as a superhero, but I am glad to have you on our side.”

“My shoes are not good enough to sell to anyone, but when I finally feel that they are perfected no one will be able to argue that they are a solid proven technology.”

“That makes sense. I am proud of you. Now, take off.”

Sherita thanked the man, then climbed on her bike. Feeling a need to discuss things with her brother, she took off. She was doing good, but accepted that being a superhero was not really a goal in her life. Riding away, she began to think about her future.

Fantasy puts more requirements on the writer than any other fiction, because the world must be made as real before anything else can be real.
Adult Christian fiction quite different than all the usual lame stuff in that market.  "Dilemma of Dreams" now in hard back.
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