THE LION ROARS TONIGHT

Five more days...I think my hair is whiter than when I started this challenge back on November 27th. Was I insane to do this? Obviously...which is kinda counter-productive since I took this on to PROVE the brain is still working despite the TIA hiccup I had four?...five?...weeks ago now?

But alas, I am a creature of habit...I dared myself, and I never turn down a dare...so here is today's new tale...a lot darker, and probably scarier...especially with Christmas so nearby, but anyone who can face the Christmas shopping hoardes, is fearless. To them I dedicate this story.

The Lion Roars Tonight

by

L.J. Holmes



She'd heard the legend...who hadn't? The legend ranked all the way up there with the legend of the werewolf, or the vampire count. As with most legends, the telling and retelling of the scary tales had added to the mystique surrounding the original story...which was probably based on nothing more terrifying than a rabid alley cat.

BEWARE OF THE ONE WITH THE HAIR THAT GLISTENS LIKE THAT OF A STALKING PANTHER, A BODY HONED AND CHISELED LIKE THAT OF THE MIGHTY PUMA, THE BRAND OF THE TIGER ON HIS RIGHT UPPER TORSO, AND THE MESMERIZING GOLD OF THE LIONTYNE KING IN HIS EYES.

The legend, whispered on dark stormy nights, kept young and old shivering in their skins as lightning and thunder crashed like cymbals and firebrands with each eerie detail of the Legend's feats.

"He mauls, then devours all who cross his path," cackled many a spinstery old lady.

"No, no, no!" counter the wickedly demonic old men. "He ravishes young beauties who dare go walking unprotected in the night, and then at the moment of ecstasy, releases his victim from life in one mighty swipe of his sharpened claw."

Yes, she had heard them all ever since she was old enough to sit up and shiver before a crackling fire on many a tempetuous night. But she was no longer a tiny tot, shaking in her Doctor Dentons, nor was she terrified of the silver blasts of illumination from a lightning storm in summer.

She'd reached the age of majority...a woman now. Her long. flowing red-gold hair almost down to the middle of her back, her vibrant hazel eyes sparkling with intelligence, and her shapely body moved through the darkened night with the ease and steadfastness of one who has often walked this way.

Life had taught her there are many things that could cause her harm and fear, but rarely were they the manifestations of old legends.

On this particular night, she wore a deep blue velvet cape that shielded her body from the pelting rain. On her feet, she wore the same shade of leather boots...not really rain boots, but she'd treated them with waterproofing so they would stand against the flowing rivulets racing down the streets towards the gutter openings.

If it were not for the luminescent coloring of her hair, she would easily blend into the turbulent darkness surrounding her. But unbeknownst to her one in the shadows watched...and waited.

Logically, she should not be out in this, she reasoned, and then laughed that thought away. She loved Mother Nature in all her many guises, even when she raged with the force of a nor'easter. If anything, the power of the storm energized her, made her burdens seem miniscule...made her own person, seem little more than a speck in the overall scheme of things.

A sports car zoomed around the corner on two wheels sending a spray of water up in its wake that doused her completely. Although it was summer, the storm cooled air against her now totally drenched body made her shiver.

She should get back. The last thing she needed was to come down with pneumonia.

Had she not turned around at that very moment, she would never have known...or perhpas it would be more accurate to say, she would not have known until it was too late.

He was not far...had he been there a moment ago? She did not think so.

He was leaning, casually, against the door-frame of one of the stores along the main concourse. His eyes glittered in the dim light, much the way the eyes of a jack'o'lantern would glitter from the candle's flame within...But there was nothing hollow about the shadowed silhouette in the door frame. The golden eyes were attached to a very solid, very real man-creature.

A tremor orbited through her that had nothing to do with the icy tendrils caused by the wind against her wet skin. For one seemingly eternal moment, she froze. Just as quickly as her body went rigid, her mind began chastising her for her fooilishness. He's a man, nothing more, nothing less, and she was not without ample skills to protect herself against anything a man might try.

Squaring her shoulders, she placed one foot in front of another, ever conscious of the shadow framed by the storefront. He did not move. She wasn't even certain he breathed, but  sticking around to find out, out of the question.

Still she refused to give in to fear and run. Each step seemed to take forever, and brought her closer to where he stood. The closer she got, the more the air seemed to be permeated with a raw animal musk scent that set every one of her nerve endings on high alert.

She was almost past him when a hand...or a claw, reached out and in one continuous move, pulled her hard against raw, solid strength. She would have screamed...at least she was fairly certain she would have screamed, but his pelt covered muzzle came down crushing her lips, forcing them open, claiming her mouth with a determination that stole her strength. Her knees began shaking, and her body quiver. There would be no escape.

Without breaking his assault upon her mouth, his free hand...claw?...reached down and tore the cape and blouse open. The claw, it had to be a claw, began cupping the supple flesh beneath.

Fire began licking her in places the beast was not exploring, deep in her womb and it spread.

Dear God, she thought frantically, this...creature...was making her climax, right here, standing in the pouring rain, her blouse in shreds, her lips swollen and her nipples tender and hot.

Without breaking stride he tore her skirt, again with one rip. Before she could try to squirm, he arched his body and with one powerful thrust, entered her deeply, completely.

She wanted to cry out...whether in fury or in ecstasy she couldn't be sure. Her body felt like a living blue flame, the hottest element within a fire, and it was moving through her like a furnace.

Rapidly he moved, this primal creature, mastering her with the sheer force of his control.

Lightning lit up the sky and thunder boomed at the exact moment he tipped her over the edge and her life erupted from her.

Death had come.


She awakened the next morning in her bed. Beside her, her legend slept deeply. It had been a long night for them, competing with the fury of Nature's temper. How she loved stormy nights when her beast came out to ravage and devour her over and over again.

A smile played on her lips. They were calling for another storm tomorrow night...Mmmmm she would have to make sure to repair, wash and make ready her "Lady in the Night" togs again.

She reached over, ever so gently and placed her lips on the brand of the tiger; a tattoo that spoke volumes about her beast's passions. Stifling a contented yawn, she grinned once more, snuggled down close to him and drifted off into sleep once more.

The closer we get to the Holidays, the more my jingle is merry.

So Happy Holidays all.

AN OMELET IS...

December 6th...only six more days to go to complete my challenge.

And today's is weird, but then a lot of my offerings of late have been weird. How weird? To paraphrase the little, news criers standing on corners at the beginning of the

last century hawking the latest bulletins from the newspapers of the time, may I just say...Read all about it!

An Omelet is a Terrible Thing to Waste,

by

L.J. Holmes

When you awaken and there is a strange man at the foot of your bed, you have every right to question where your sanity went while you were sleeping. Obviously it's not still with you.

So when I saw him there, looking different, and yet somewhat familiar, I had to check out the rest of the room. No men in white coats? Had I sleep strolled into some bizarre other dimension where we were about to rehearse a play I have no memory of signing up for?

Finding my voice took a few starts. You'd be amazed how blocked your vocal chords are when you awaken to a strange man at the foot of your bed. Clearing the throat makes some of the most godawful sounds, but eventually you can string more than a few hacking words together.

"Who," I asked a bit breathlessly...not the passionate kind of breathless, more the, 'have I stepped into the Twilight Zone?' kind of breathlessness..."are you?"

"Hmmph," the crazy man said, "You don't recognize me?"

I wasn't quite sure how to answer that. I knew who he resembled, but also short of a brain meltdown, which I probably was experiencing, no way could he be who I thought he resembled. So I stammered..."Uhhhh."

"Trust your first guess," he said with an awkward grin. He didn't open his mouth to give me a big grin...and then I remembered...wooden teeth. Do ghosts have wooden teeth?

Shaking my head, I scooted back so I was now resting against my backrest, after adjusting my pillows without once taking my eyes off of him. I know, seems impossible, but I'm multi-talented, and I was so not taking my eyes off of him. "You can't be him," I denied vigorously.

"Can't I?" he asked shrugging his broad shoulders. "You more than most know the truth."

"But," I argued, "if you are who you seem to be, why me?"

"Well now, why not you? Of course it helps that you can see me," he said with a twinkle in his wise eyes. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked pointing to the folding chair, my meditating chair, propped against my far wall.

I nodded and watched the impossible to be here visitor walk to the chair, wrestle it open, plop his impressive self down and turn those powerful eyeballs back at me.

I gulped. 'Oh Lord! I've gone over the edge!' No other explanation made sense. My sanity had been comforting while I maintained it. Now that I'd flipped, I wasn't sure I liked the dark side of my brain.

"You can stop frowning," the apparition said. "I really am here, but don't worry. You're not the only one waking to find one of us waiting patiently to talk to you."

"I'm no one," I insisted. "But you..."

"Me? I'm a dead man...a long in the dirt, dead man. And I really am who you think I am."

"If you are, why would you seek me out?"

"You're smart, and you'll figure out how to present my presence and what we're going to discuss for the masses."

"Huh?"

"Interesting word, 'huh'. Okay, let's get down to business. You do recognize me, right?"

"Well," I said with a reluctant twist to my lips, "you look like..." I so didn't want to name this apparition, or figment of my imagination, but as twisted as my mind must now be, it urged me on. "George Washington?" It came out as a high pitched squeak, but it was now out.

The man in the folding chair grinned. "I knew I hadn't been forgotten. Had a bet with Ben Franklin and John Adams...who are, by the way, visiting with others at this very moment, along with several others," he said all seriousness all of a sudden.

"Why?'

"That's what we're here to talk about. Everyone thinks once you move beyond the veil, you have no interest in what's going on here, but it's not true. At least not for all of us."

George's eyes met mine and held them like Krazy glue. "You want to take notes?" he asked.

Actually I wanted to go back to sleep and really wake up from the dream I obviously was snared in, but I dumbfoundedly nodded, reached inside my bed stand, pulled out the inevitable notebook and pen every writer keeps close at hand, and opened it to a blank page.

"Are you ready? I promise I'll speak slowly enough, since I know you never took shorthand."

I raised my eyes and felt them go wide with shock.

"Again, we do keep tabs, especially on those we mean to reveal ourselves to. You're smart as a whip, but no body's secretary, so why bother with learning shorthand?" he said in a deep, resonating voice.

Sitting here, propped against my bed rest, staring at the maybe ghost of the first President of the newly formed United States, was surreal. Hearing his voice, I understood why he once commanded the entire army of the Revolutionary War.

"Your history books no longer teach the truth,"he said starkly. "They teach a minuscule, white washed version, and that's why so many of us have elected to reach out and share the truth with a few that can in one medium or another, remind our descendants why we did what we did."

'Oh Boy!' I thought. I have a bad digestive system under the best of circumstances. Somehow I doubted my intestines, all the many miles of it, were going to be happy when all this was done.

"The Revolutionary War," George began, his voice bouncing off of every wall in my bedroom, "was a vicious battle. Wars are not pretty and should never be undertaken without knowing the full devastation it brings into all the lives of those who engage in them.

"Wars of late have been waged by people who have never stepped into a uniform, have no family member wearing the uniform, and don't understand from personal experience what war is. To them it is like directing a game.

"And that's just it...it's not a game. It's not a chessboard with pieces to be sacrificed to save the King. We fought our war to end the rule of the King, and it was a bloody, godawful war," he said taking a deep breath before continuing.

"The winter in Valley Forge alone came close to destroying our focus. Had I not been there, in the trenches with my men, I don't think we would have won our war.

"Many stayed in Philadelphia, it's true, but I was right there, and when I became President, I could have held onto that position for the rest of my life...but we would have replaced one king for another.

"The men that followed me into office, and those that made up the first Congresses all knew what it was like to be in the trenches. Today only one in five hundred of those making up high ranking positions have either served or have family members who've served.

"In my day, it's true, we did not include women, such as yourself, to become a part of government. That is one progressive move we all approve of. Surprised? Just as you are a product of your time, we were products of our time.

"There are other forward thinking things America has accomplished, but war is not a whim, and to not treat it with the reticence it deserves, and not make all subject to it's destructiveness is wrong.

"In my day, we valued the truth of war and appreciated what winning it meant. We fought for our land, our dignity, our right to be respected, and our future. Men and boys from all walks of life joined the cause, always knowing today might be their last day.

"Once you've spilled blood, watched your friend, spill blood, then you know what war truly is, and you'll give it the wide berth it deserves. War has become too easy because so few who make the big decisions have donned the uniform, lifted the gun and faced their own mortality and the mortality of the enemy."

The silence that followed George Washington's words hung heavily in the air between us.

"Mr. President," I finally said after gulping a time or two, "what can I do? Again, Sir, I am no one. I have no power. I haven't the ear of anyone who does have power. I am nothing more than a woman with disabilities too numerous to mention."

"No," George disagreed shaking his white powdered, and bewigged head. "Many who rose to the status of 'hero' during my time, were alleged no-bodies before their heroic act got them in the history books for all time. Betsy Ross sewed some strips together, added some stars, and created a flag, yet today she is praised because she knew how to thread a needle.

"There is no such thing as a nobody, and that is why wars should never be started without careful thought and everyone having a stake in the outcome. 

"I don't know why the draft was eliminated, but in doing so, America is no longer equal. All men," he said, and then nodded his head wryly, "and women, are created equal. No one is more dispensable than another. And that's what we, the Founding Fathers want you, our descendants to remember. You cannot afford to treat one cog in the overall wheel as less important than any other cog. 

"Child, somehow you must share my words with the rest of the descendants who've inherited this amazing world we fought so hard to begin. 

"Abraham Lincoln did not want to declare war against his brethren, and he battled long and hard against it. Gettysburg, another town in Pennsylvania carries the moans of so many lives cut down, over what was the right thing for all of America. That war was regrettable, but necessary.

"Times changed and he recognized what some of us in my time did not...because of his wisdom, the President currently living in the White House was given the opportunities my generation denied his people. 

"War is not clean and we should never jump into one without knowing what war is.

"That, My Child is my message. We need to bring back the fairness of all being subject to paying the price for the decision of war. When the draft was ended, the depth of the destruction war brings has been lost to the masses. It needs to come back."

"Mr. President, who will listen?"

"No one, if the words aren't out there, but like the pebble in the lake, it makes little impact, one would think, but the ripples that pebble releases  eventually alter every inch, every fathom, every creature within that lake. 

"So you have my message. I will leave you now, and let you figure out how to spread my message."

I watched what moments ago seemed to be a solid man, fade into sparkling motes of energy and then just disappear.

Looking over the notes, I felt my gut flip a time or two. I am not a militant person, but everything the President said made sense to me. 

In that moment though, I knew my title...An Omelet is a Terrible Thing To Waste. Because I had a feeling my brain had cracked and an omelet a la brain was on the menu.

Thanks for stopping by again. Check in for the next in my daily challenges...and


Happy Holidays

THE MOMENT OF UNDERSTANDING

December 5th...after today seven more days to go.

I'm running out of ideas...and that's scary. I really feared I'd have nothing to bring to the table today, but then this came...

THE MOMENT OF UNDERSTANDING

by

L.J. Holmes

Madonna and child.

For the first time he understood

Kneeling before her,

His eyes tenderly passed over her.

Her beautiful features,

Softened as she nestles,

The down-covered head of their child,

To the nourishing swell of her breast.

How could one woman,

Once beautiful, angelic temptress,

Of a mere woman,

Come to mean so much to him?

With reverence he had no idea,

He was capable of feeling,

He extended one tensile finger,

And ever so lightly reached towards her.

He skimmed from the full upper curve,

Of her baby-fastened breast,

Down to the suckling lips of child,

Onward to the sleek contracting cheeks.

Yes, for the first time he understood.

Love is so much grander,

Than he'd ever known before,

Deeper than his heart could contain.

Love is an ache beyond his loins,

A heaviness in the region of his heart,

And a swelling pride from his very soul,

Love is one word...wife!

IT'S MY JOB

December

4th is here and so is my next orginal. Wow this has not been easy. I think I have a head ache...is it from the trials of creating so much new stuff in such a short time, or because the topic of this one is headache fodder? Don't know. But I am determined to muddle through...so let's get to it.

IT'S MY JOB

by

L.J. Holmes

What's the big deal? You all act like I've got stuff attached to my teeth, or I haven't changed my underwear in a week.

I'm sixteen, for pity's sake, not over the hill like the rest of you. It's not my fault, you know. Surely you see that. I mean how can I be to blame for being the drop-dead gorgeous hunk that's me?

Being a hunk is really not an easy thing to be, you know. On my shoulders I carry a major responsibility. Girls from far and near take one look at me and go all gooey and dithery inside.

Should I hurt them by looking away, or not treat them to the wonder of time spent with me? They know, because girls always talk, that I'm a gift, but only temporarily. Don't frown...it's not becoming.

Imagine the pain I would cause these poor dears if I didn't accept their obvious invitations to date them a time or two and, you know, explore all their seductive possibilities. That would be so much unkinder, don't you see?

I am careful, quite conscientious, you should know, about taking precautions more than a tad seriously. My seed will not be planted yet...not when there are still so many landscapes for my plow to till, and we don't want to talk about evil beasties invading the perfection I was born to be.

Okay, let's get this out of the way. I have never yet proclaimed undying love to any of my many. That would be dishonest and amateurish...also beyond redeem. I do not con the sweets I nibble, nor promise more than a dip or two.

There are those who say I am immoral. Immoral to me, would have to be promising a band of gold or tin when I am, after all, just a boy...I'm sixteen...especially since I know, without doubt, tomorrow or the day after, another lovely will wink, and my duties, as a drop-deap-gorgeous-hunk, will take over once more.

So what's the problem? Why all the flack? It's not like I mine two at the same time on the very same night. I'd be far too exhausted if I did that, and then what good would I be to all those others waiting for me?

Oh yeah! Check it out! See that fox over there? She just looked my way and licked her pouty lips. Just because I'm dating three others, should I disappoint her and pass her by? What kind of a hunk would I be?

Think about how hurt she'll be if I don't sidle on over there and draw her towards my rightness. Why she might even become despondent over me.

Nope! It's my patriotic duty to spend time with her and share the gift of my grandiosity.

The world just doesn't fully understand I do all this, not for my own pleasure, but out of sheer duty. So when you frown, and judge me harshly, just remember, someone has to do it, so it might as well be me.

SEASONED TWINS by L.J. Holmes

December 3rd already. With the completion of this story I have only NINE more stories to go to meet my personal challenge. Will I make it?

SEASONED TWINS

by L.J. Holmes

His hair is sparse...time moved on...and his muscles, well, they've sagged or just disappeared.

Looking into the stark reality of the mirror, she sees her waist has thickened, her complexion sallowed from all the many days gone by as time moved on in it's relentless way.

Seasoned they both are.

He still calls her "Hon" and holds her hand, and she still reaches out for that connection, that bond. Age may have slowed them, changed them a bit, but when he looks at her through his tired eyes, he sees his young and beautiful wife.

Time moves on.

Passion has deepened, is slower to warm, but fills every muscle instead. Long ago she knew he was her symphony and he knew she was his song, his friend, his lover for life.

Summers, winters, autumns and springs...they've seen them all, over and over, and loved their way through with a quietness and awe, a respect that shows love is enduring, and a source of pure strength.

Many of their friends were unable to weather life's storms. They turned to them for answers, a pattern, a plan. But love is a lifestyle, not a job or a whim. Your mate is your future, your life, and she is your twin.

THE FRILLS ARE MINE

December 2nd and time for the next pearls of original tales from the convoluted brain of me...L.J Holmes.

My daughter tells me I'm nuts to have twelve blogs...having twelve blogs is a cakewalk compared to coming up with new stories every day between 11/27 and my second time over the hill birthday on 12/12. Will this brain that has recently suffered a

mini-stroke stand up under the pressure...and if it does, will anything that comes out of it be worthwhile?

Here goes installment SIX:

THE FRILLS ARE MINE

by

L.J. Holmes

My name is Lou. Actually my name is Louise Anne Corey, but I haven't used my full name since I was eleven years old and came to live at the Silver Saddle Saloon. I came here after my parents and my brother were killed by a band of marauding Indians while we were heading to Oregon. This is California, or at least that's what Lil, the owner of the Silver Saddle tells me.

Lil took me in 'cause I had nowhere else to go and she liked the way I look. She told me I had nice bones and the men who come down from the hills with their pockets bulging with gold would like me too.

At first Lil kept me away from the saloon 'cause I didn't know how to dance, I sung like a frog with a bad case of consumption, and my figure was only just beginning to show signs of the curves that were yet to come. I was a kid.

In my early days with Lil, I slept in her rooming house across the dusty street from the saloon. During slow times, Lil spent many an hour showing me how to flip my skirt to the tunes I often heard pouring out of the saloon on the nights the miners were in town. My voice? Well if the piano player bangs the keys hard enough, you really can't tell that a cat serenading beneath the moon sounds better.

I was fifteen when Lil finally decided I was ready to turn in my dust rag, which is how I earned my keep, for the wilder, crazier world beyond the swinging doors of the Silver Saddle Saloon. But nothing could have prepared me for this new, and unpredictable world.

My dancing, which was little more than tossing my skirt high enough into the air to give the drunken patrons ample glimpses of my gartered legs and petticoated waist, brought many a cheer, and many an offer of further games. Those were conducted upstairs in the privacy of the bedrooms provided as an extra service by Lil. My dancing also, more times than not, would start major brawls as one man fought another for the right to cart me up to those skimpy rooms.

Mine was not the only form of entertainment offered at the Silver Saddle Saloon. Because it has the word "saloon" in its title, it's quite natural for the miners to expect they could drop a nugget of gold onto the bar and be served chest searing whiskey.

Alcohol and money combined to make for drunkeness. Drunkeness and uncouth ruffians led to disagreements over some of the most ridiculous things, but these disagreements sometimes led to everyone in the saloon ripping into each other with their fists, broken bottles, or worse. It was not at all unusual for these fights to lead to gun play, sometimes in the saloon; sometimes out in the streets.

Gold, alcohol, and women...together these elements led to many kinds of crimes. but perhaps the slickest crimes committed inside the Silver Saddle were those committed by card sharks.

What is a card shark?

I wondered that myself the first time I heard some of the other girls working for Lil talking about it.

A card shark is a professional gambler, and according to Lil, these pros go from settlement to settlement plying their trickery on the unsuspecting who have more money than sense. These professionals know how to "stack the deck"...which is another term I did not understand.

Stacking the deck, Lil says, means the shark knows how to shuffle the card so he is dealt the winning hand each and every time...I know! I find that amazing too!

I remember watching a shark once. His name was Cal and he was out of St. Louis, which I was told is in Louisiana.

I watched him shuffle and could hardly believe my eyes. How he can know what cards are going to turn up when he moves those cards around so fast is beyond me, but he won each and every time until he challenged Old Leroy.

Leroy is a big, old...thirty-five is old...miner, who spends the week up in the hills with his chisel and a crusty old mule named Jack...short for Jack-Ass. Leroy is known all around Deadweed for his mean temper. He's also known for being a sore loser.

I'll never forget the day Cal challenged Leroy. It was right before the Founding Day Celebration. I remember because the sheriff got Mr. Tibbs and Mr. Whitmore to put red, white and blue paper all over Deadweed, and had Barney build a platform just on the outskirts of town.

Anyway, it was a Friday night. Leroy always showed up on Friday nights, and he'd downed three of Mike's...Mike's the brakeep...Stove Burners. He was working on the fourth when Cal issued his challenge to the burly drunk. Leroy is not one to pass up a dare...just in case you ever run into him in the future.

Both men set themselves up at the round wooden table farthest from the swinging doors. Cal called for a fresh deck that Lil ceremoniously produced.

I was up on the stage finishing up an energetic routine with Sue, another of Lil's girls, so I didn't see Cal shuffle and deal. I didn't actually see the first three hands, but Leroy was losing and losing big. Everyone was becoming nervous because they could see Leroy was turning that awful purplish-red color he gets just before he explodes.

My set ended and I bounced off the stage and was latched onto by a young miner sitting two tables away from the Big Game, so again, I was kinda distracted from the real drama unfolding nearby.

Back at the table, Cal shuffled for the fourth hand. Leroy was betting everything he had in his pockets, so he'd get back what he'd lost so far. The shuffle was more blindingly rapid than usual...or at least that's what Molly, another of Lil's gals said aferwards; then came the deal.

Cal dealt the first card to Leroy face up. It was an ace. A smile of wicked satisfaction spread across the otherwise ugly face of the burly miner. Cal's own first card was a four.

The spectators gathered around the table let out a huge groan of relief. Maybe things would turn out all right after all. No one wanted an exploding Leroy.

The second card went down face up. For Leroy another ace, for Cal a king. Leroy's confidence restored, he ordered another drink, gulped it, and belched it as the next two cards were dealt face down.

Cal, an actor of great ability, peeked at his cards and remained stony faced. Leroy on the other hand, grinned from ear-to-ear like a man who knows he's got this hand made. Another card was dealt face up. For Leroy a two, for Cal another four.

Leroy was so wrapped up in what was buried in his hands, he didn't notice Cal's four had come from the bottom of the deck, but old Skeeter, a semi-friend and frequent rival of Leroy's did. He knew better, though, than to try convincing Leroy of anything when he had that pair of aces showing.

Leroy pushed all his gold nuggets into the center of the table. Cal matched the bet. Leroy proudly turned over one more two and declared two pair, aces over dueces and was reaching for the pile of gold when Cal reached across the stop him.

One by one Cal revealed his hand. One king and two fours were already showing. Cal flipped over another card...the third four, and then the final card, the fourth four.

By now the whole place was aware of the vein popping at the side of Leroy's neck. Those of us who know him, dove for cover. That's when Skeeter yelled out that Cal had dealt to himself from the bottow on the deck.

That's all it took.

Leroy reached across the table with his ham sized hand, grabbed Cal around the throat, pulled him out of his chair into the air, and squeezed.

There are those who tried to stop the inevitable. Perhaps if they hadn't most of Lil's patrons would not have gone back to their hovels with gashes from broken bottles or lethal fists.

I myself, got tossed around and my dress shredded as I tried to crawl to the nearest exit. Mike very wisely, ducked behind the bar and stayed there till the dust settled.

As for Cal, Leroy squeezed until Cal's eyes bulged, his skin turned a deep, deadly maroon, and his neckbone snapped. (He was buried the next day on the hill outside Deadweed in an unmarked grave, but Leroy went back a couple of days later and placed a wooden plaque that read...He Cheated In Life, Let's See Him Cheat In Death.)

All in all, life in Deadweed is unpredicatble and dangerous, but it's the only life I know. I know my parents wanted better, but you roll with the punches, and well, I did survive. Many others did not. 

GEMINI RISING...by L.J. Holmes...this is different

I used to write a LOT of poetry...I always thought it was

BAD poetry because I loathe pentameter...but in the spirit of my daily challenge I decided to write a poem and let Y'all...(Thank you Gail)...decide.

So Are we ready?

Gemini Rising

by

L.J. Holmes

Confusion, illusion, seduction, reduction, life in doubt,

The yin, the yang; the in and the out,

Homonyms, synonyms, and antonyms too,

All fuel the language of love gone askew.

What is true, and what is fiction?

What is harmony, and what feeds our friction?

Can it be that life, is really not a fairy tale?

And in love, we're all sentenced to fail?

Have we all gone crazy, grabbing for the brass ring,

Or do we go crazy, once we've grabbed the damned thing?

What are the rules, that govern the heart?

Are we all doomed, to have our world's fall apart?

"Show me," I begged a wise man announce,

"A marriage that maintains its passion and bounce."

He looked long at me, through lowered eyes,

"Would you want to remove all surprise?"

"Love's like that mountin," he softly claimed,

"Down here it's warm, the landscape is tamed,

"But beyond the shrouding upper mist,

"Glaciers scream, and ice floes list.

"Would you wish for one, and not the other,

"Are we lone islands, or a network of sister and brother?

"Love is no different than all cycles of life.

"There can be no husband, 'less he has him a wife."

With that last syllable, fracturing on an Arctic wind,

He turned like a dervish, in a mind twisting spin.

One minute there, the next he was gone,

Leaving me to ponder, till the break of new dawn.

Back in my home, my body toasty and warm,

I reviewed what he said, seeking a magical charm,

That would finally enlighten, my troubled old mind,

But love is what it is, neither cruel nor kind.

And now that you have been so kind as to endure this I give you a TRUE pearl of BAD poetic mastery...ah and Thanx!