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Little Book 11

After being able to tell everyone about how great it is to get something published last week, this weeks update sucks in comparison.

I was going to write about it last week, but good news over crappy any day.

So, on the Thursday before Thanksgiving, I was in a head on collision. A truck crossed into my lane and hit my poor little car.

I was lucky, I walked out of it and nobody else was in the vehicle. My car was not lucky, and the picture below will explain why in much better detail.

All I can really say now is that if you want a safe vehicle, go with a KIA. It really earns the safety rating.

Also, I can guarantee that somebody in a story is going to get hit head on by a larger vehicle. It is really, really frightening.

L. E. White


photo (2)


Little Book 11

“Twelve Hail Mary’s and ten Our Father’s. Please consider seeking help my son.”

Joey stepped out of the confessional with a disgusted look on his face. He had wasted over an hour talking with the old priest but the man thought he was crazy. It had been difficult to convince the man that he didn’t need to go outside despite the screaming, but it had worked. The problem was that despite being a priest, this padre was a non-believer in every other way.

Joey walked to the pews and sat in the front. He sat up straight, placed his hands on his knees and closed his eyes for a moment. Claire and her kind couldn’t come into the church, but he had been able to carry the ledger in. What if he left the little book in the church?

“Someone will find it.”

His eyes flew open and Joey jumped up, reaching for his gun as he turned towards the voice. A few feet away, on the same pew, sat an old man.

Joey froze; his muscles rigid, his gun half way out of the holster. He couldn’t move, not even breath, despite straining as hard as he could.

“You will not draw a weapon in this house,” the little old man said. He didn’t turn to look at Joey. Instead, he sat with his hand on his cane, staring at the windows.

The moment that Joey decided not to draw his weapon the force that held him in place was gone. He almost fell, stumbling to catch his balance when his body tried to finish his attempt to stand. He took two deep breaths to try and calm his nerves before moving back to the bench.

“Coming here was a good idea Joey.”

“How do you know my name?”

The old man did not turn and look at him, but Joey could see the corner of his mouth quirk up in a grin. “Really?”

“No,” Joey said, shaking his own head as he tried to figure out who this was. “It’s just hard to understand.”

“Then don’t try to understand it. Just feel it out and go with your gut. That will make this easier.”

“My gut said to draw my gun.”

“No.” He shook his head when he answered. “You have taught yourself to react like that.”

Joey looked at him for a moment before licking his lips. “Alright, is there a way out of this for me?”

The little old man turned and Joey gasped. Large round eyes the color of pure gold regarded him. “The only way to save your self is to repent.”

“I tried that.”

“No. You confessed but you have no intention of changing your life or your behavior.”

Joey bit his lower lip and looked down at the floor. He ground his teeth together for a few second before lifting his eyes back up.

“No. There isn’t any other way out of this.”

Joey clamped his mouth shut and glared at the guy before sighing and turning so that he could slouch back. “All I ever wanted was to get out of the hole I grew up in.”

“I know but this is only the way to a deeper hole.”

Joey frowned. “What about the book?”

“That is the easy part. Just dip it into holy water and then give it back.”

Joey looked at him and nodded before standing up and drawing the book out of his pocket.

“You never asked me who or what I was.”

“I don’t have to,” Joey said. “If you are here then that is my answer.”

The old man smiled and nodded as Joey turned and walked towards the doors of the church.

“Good bye,” Joey said as he drew the book out of his pocket. He lowered it towards the bowl of holy water. Time seemed to slow down as Joey drew closer. He was sure that he was pushing the book closer, yet it didn’t seem to move. Joey pushed harder, his arm even started shaking, until it felt as if a bubble snapped and his hand shot forward.

“Damn.” Joey jumped and dropped the book. The tiny conglomeration of paper and glue fluttered towards the floor, not giving any indication as to why his fingers had just been numbed by a static shock.

Joey tried picking up the book with a cloth or a pair of pencils. He either got shocked for his efforts or the ledger itself tried to bite him, the covers flapping like the jaws of a small, vicious dog.

Joey stomped down on the book. He felt pin pricks of pain as the book tried to shock him away, but Joey ground his teeth together and reached down to pull the ledger out from under his shoe.

The moment his fingers touched the cover, the shocks increased in intensity. He could feel flashes of pain shoot up his arm, making his arm jerk and heat flash across his chest and he fought to lift it up to the basin.

When his hand was almost over the water, the book changed tactics. His mind was filled with images of prison. Joey couldn’t see the room he was in anymore as he imagined trying to protect himself from a group of men in jail.

He brought his arm down on the edge of the basin and splashed his hand with water. When drops hit the book it screamed like a child and released a flash of power that knocked Joey down and made him drop it into the water as he fell back.

The book sank, the screaming trailed off and Joey rubbed his arm and chest to fight the tingling stabs of pain from the shock. “It’s over,” he said as he turned to look back into the now empty church.

Joey opened the doors of the church, and found Claire waiting outside with her arms crossed.



Categories: Flash Fiction, Random, serial
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