Book 1
Book 2Vocational Education Program Administrator was his designated title. His dark blue jacket hung on the coat rack next to the door. The white shirtsleeves rolled half way up his forearms. He sat behind his desk with his face in his hands attempting to calm the migraine. The job was stressful and the main reason for his divorce. The stack of VEP applications on his desk were at an unmanageable level. His staff of four overwhelmed. There weren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week to complete all of the required inspections and paperwork. His most experienced and reliable inspector was on maternity leave. She would not return for at least 4 months and there was no replacement. The remaining inspectors slow, sloppy and teetered on the line of incompetence. His boss was breathing down his neck to increase productivity. Government funding for the program was dependent on the number of VEP applicants certified in a given year. His goal was 20 percent over last year. He looked at the stack of applications, he could fabricate the reports and save time, no one would know.
Character Development: The Truck Driver
The truck was government- issue, purchased from an army surplus sale. The driver worked as a subcontractor for the Office of Financial Affairs delivering cargo to different Vocational Education Programs around the country. He wore an old tattered shirt and a leather jacket that had seen better days. He smelled of armpit, cigar smoke and fast food.
The driver laughed as he pulled himself into the cab of the truck. His cargo this trip consisted of two dozen frightened children on a one-way trip to hell. There was only three ways out of the VEP program: escape, die or parental buy-out.
Character Development: The Retriever
He was in his mid-thirties but he looked older. 10 years spent as a retriever of runners had caused not one but two ulcers to develop in his stomach. He wore a black suit as required by the agency. A 9mm .40 cal semi-automatic pistol and a badge rested on his belt. The badge gave him the authority to capture runners. Dead or alive it didn’t matter. He had a quota and he was running behind this month.
The rain pounding on his windshield was making it difficult to see. He pulled into the Diner parking lot. The signal from the girl was weak but she was somewhere in the area. He slapped the side the tracking device a couple of times before giving it a big shake. The damn thing never worked right.
Character Development: The Diner
He was tall and lean. His dark curly hair handed down from his mother; “God rest her soul”. With a heavy sigh, he wraps the food stained apron around his waist. He loathed this place; the counter, the stove, the constant smell of grease. The diner and its associated debt belonged to his dead coward of a father.
The office of Financial Affairs had no sympathy for late payments. Family debt had to paid on time or face the consequences. The wolves were already knocking at the door. He considered running away from it all but his younger brother was still tagged as a commodity. His location could be traced.
Character Development: Debt
Family debt forced mothers and fathers to surrender their children to the state run Office of Financial affairs. As commodities of the state, children could be bought and sold until the age of 18. By law, the collectors could gather children to satisfy unpaid debt using any means necessary.
Her head ached, her eyes swollen from hours of crying. She pleaded her case and promised to sell a kidney but it was too late. She looked through the 8 foot high chain link fence as the guards loaded her son onto the truck. The boy was crying. He begged not to go. She yelled out his name and cried “I Love you”. Her voice drowned out by the other grieving parents.
Character Development: The Travelers
The diner was a temporary stopping place, a safe haven from the torrential downpour outside. The booth made of old wood was cold and drafty but offered a clear view of the road. Exhausted from their journey, her head of brown curls resting on his tired shoulders she whispers “I love you”.
The waitress brings the weary travelers two glasses of water and a day old cinnamon bun. The young man scratches his stubbly chin and nods in appreciation. He could offer no more. His pockets were empty.
She waitress sighs. There would be no tip from this table.
Dannick: The Awakening, PT1
(This is a rewrite)
My name is Ghent, according to the name tag over my left breast pocket. This name is not familiar to me but at the moment I must assume it is my own. I remember nothing prior to the time of my awakening; during my first conscious moments my mind attempted to search for answers. I was not afraid but lost in blankness; there were no images to retrieve, no clue to my predicament. Limited to a space no larger than a casket, movement was minimal; I used my hands to search for a button or a lever that would allow escape from my captivity. While blindly searching the walls, a light above my head began to flash and change in color from red, to yellow, to green. The hatch released allowing external air to rush in; the sudden change in air pressure caused my lungs to take a series of unexpected deep breaths. The inhalation of fresh air was invigorating. I reached out and pushed the hatch aside. My first images of freedom were a metal grey ceiling lined with pipes and recessed lighting. Curious about my surroundings coupled with the desire to flee my confinement I sat up. To my surprise, I was not alone.
A room of strangers, both male and female from various places of origin, we looked at each other uncertain what to say. When words were finally spoken the language unfamiliar but recognizable to all. My first attempts to speak in retrospect were comical. I started and stopped sentences several times in an attempt to fix the malfunction in my brain. The words in my head English but what springs forth from my mouth is not.
I look around, nothing is familiar. A placard on the wall suggests we are in a place called Dannick. None of us remember entering the pods; our minds blank in regards to past events. Attempts to brain storm for answers ineffective; our imaginations run wild with possibilities. We can only speculate as to how, when or why our destinies collided in this place.
Our matching jumpsuits suggest we are members of a group; possibly inmates or an elite band of warriors. I prefer to think we are the later or something comparable in respectability. I do not wish to be a criminal or an escaped test subject of a mad scientist.
Not knowing what to do, this place unfamiliar, collectively we decided to explore our surroundings. Our location has no windows. I suggest we are on a military vessel or in the deep dark depths of a research facility or possibly a fallout shelter; although a logical reason for being in either of those places is not readily apparent. I step toward the only door leading in or out of the room in hopes it is not secure. My exit is abruptly halted by an older man and four armed guards. The escorts looked as if they were ready to shoot anything or anyone that stepped out of line. I step back toward my own pod in hopes of not dying before I learned of who I am or where I came from.
The older man’s name is Captain Addison. “Welcome to the Dannick” he says with all the joy of a proud father. He called us recruits and congratulates us on finding our way to the Dannick. If we are recruits why are armed guards necessary. My mind is confused. I try to remember what I have forgotten, to make sense of my circumstance. Capt Addison makes it sound as if we are here by choice. He seems nice enough but I feel as if all it not what it seems. I am a recruit for this vessel but yet something deep within says I do not belong here.
A House in Pride: PT 15
A Day of Laughter
My home is full of laughter on this day. My older children play board games and reminisce about their childhoods. I joyfully listen to the endless dialog of memories as secrets held in confidence for years revealed without fear. They speak of their youth as if it were a long time ago. It was merely yesterday. I find it amusing, because their memories of the past differ from my own.
Juliet clings tightly to her grandmother. She assists with preparations in the kitchen. The rest of us must patiently wait until the evening meal to lay our eyes on the glorious feast whose aroma fills our humble home.
My mother-in-law believes that a mind not challenged becomes old and useless with time. She attends a culinary school, although I am certain improvement in the art of preparing meals is not necessary. The old woman can produce extraordinary meals with minimal ingredients. Last evening, she suprised us with a hearty salad that looked like a flower garden. It was beautiful; a variety of edible flowers and hummingbirds sculpted from simple fruits and vegetables. Without bias, I admit the culinary masterpiece was suitable for the king’s table. I have never seen such an amazing display of food, the cooks at the castle amateurs in comparison. My husband and children will forever snub their noses at my less than adequate bowl of salad vegetables from this day forward.
The thunderstorms continue. I have spent hours on this day occupying a rocker on my front porch. I find the clap of thunder and lightning strangely soothing. The constant rain makes me miserable. The town criers announce drier weather is on the horizon. I pray this is so. The constant dampness plays havoc with my feet. Today I yearn for a dry pair of warm socks that would subdue the ache in my cold toes. There are days when I hate being old. I desire the days of my youth when running and jumping in puddles of mud bare foot during a rainstorm brought great pleasure.
A House in Pride: PT 14
The Constant Rain
Rain serves its purpose but there comes a moment in time when enough is enough. The land around my home mimics a marsh. The soil is unable to absorb a drop more of precipitation. A small lake has formed around my husband’s tool shed. Unfortunately, there will be no reprieve from the rain for a few days. The town criers report possible flash floods for our township. I return to work at the castle tomorrow. I hate traveling to work in torrential down pours. The roads become slick and muddy. A moment’s lapse of focus and you find yourself sliding down a treacherous hill.
The heavy rains bend the stems of several flowers in Juliet’s garden. My child is heartbroken and frantic. In an attempt to save, her prized flowers, she has bandaged several of the broken stems with supplies from my first aid kit. The care given, tender and caring much like the love a mother gives to a crying child who has scraped a knee. I have little sympathy for my child’s plight. There is no shortage of flowers, they continue to grow and spread at an accelerated rate. A few broken and bent stems will not diminish the beauty of my youngest child’s garden.
Juliet is not happy. I have restricted her access to the outdoors. I fear she will acquire another illness if allowed unrestricted contact with the wet weather. My youngest child broods with all the emotion she can muster. She sits by the window and stares outdoors languishing hoping I will feel sorry for her. The child is relentless and challenges my resolve. I have placed cowbells on the back door. I consider nailing the windows shut. I have instructed my older children to keep watch on their sneaky sibling.
My mother-in-law comes for a visit. She is a good woman with a good heart. I am fortunate; she has always treated me with kindness. I enjoy her visits immensely. I will be anxious until she arrives this evening. I pray the rain doesn’t give her trouble and that her journey is uneventful. She travels via stagecoach with a hired driver. She cares little for modern transportation. Meek has never been a word used to describe my husband’s mother. She is formidable. I have learned a great deal from her. In my early years of marriage, I depended greatly on her ability to keep my husband in line with his responsibilities. Men are sometimes slow to mature. They cling fiercely to their friends and the ways of their youth.
In my husband’s less than gallant younger days, he enjoyed a good stout drink. He spent many hours with drunken friends at Jamison’s tavern. The establishment is old, dark and dank, a refuge for the less desirable. Upon my tearful notification, with temper flaring my mother-in-law would retrieve her oldest son from the den of lowlife ruffians. After a stern talk and possible whipping with a long switch, this wonderful woman would toss my wayward husband upon our porch. Not once did I need to enter Jamison’s to retrieve my inebriated husband.
My children are always overjoyed to see their grandmother. On her last visit, she claims her journey to our home was uneventful except for a brief encounter with a masked highwayman. After a long chat initiated by my most favorite in-law the thief left with nothing but a loaf of freshly baked banana bread and a strong need to go to chapel.
I am able to keep my family from starving but I won’t win any awards at fall festival. My mother-in-law is an excellent cook. I envy her skill in the kitchen greatly. I look forward to feasting on meals she will undoubtedly prepare in my humble kitchen. My husband takes after his mother. He is an excellent cook. By request, for dinner last night he prepared his famous meat pies. They were heavenly. I stuffed myself until I couldn’t eat another bite.
I have given my husband a honey-do list. The first and most important item on his list is to locate and purchase a bed wedge for my mother-in-law. The poor woman is unable to sleep lying flat do to breathing difficulties at night. The wedge will allow her to sleep at an almost sitting angle on the bed in our guest room. The last time she came for a visit I found her sleeping in my husband’s chair next to the fireplace. She claims the chair was quite comfortable but I have my doubts.
A House in Pride: PT 13
Reflection
Today I reflect upon a lost memory; words my mother said to ease my pain when my best friend Inez, selfishly discarded me to marry a man of good character.
Life’s journey follows many paths. Along the way, find contentment in the success and happiness of others. Weep for those less fortunate. Offer a shoulder in time of need. Your friend follows her heart. Rejoice in her good fortune.
In retrospect, my mother was wise. I had forgotten those words. How many other important lessons have I discarded or lie dormant in my mind? It was many months before I could forgive Inez. I expect it to be many months before I can find resolve and forgive myself for the premature death of a child.
Inez remains my friend to this day though our conversations are few; her husband is indeed an honorable man. An excellent horseman, his speed and agility enabled Juliet’s flower water a quick and timely distribution to those gravely ill. Everyone has recovered, for this, I am grateful. My heart aches for little Suzette. I harbor great guilt had I interpreted my dreams correctly the child would still play. I wish time could rewind; I would heal the child and save her parents from their immeasurable grief.
Tomorrow at sunset, Suzette’s parents will lay their only child to rest upon Dannick, a sacred place where all those who have died wait for purpose. By request of the grieving parents, the entire town prepares for this somber occasion with a celebration of life instead of a sad depressing funeral. The students from Sir Wheeler’s Guard decorate the road leading to Dannick with colorful lanterns. The last time I saw lanterns displayed, an officer from the King’s regiment had fallen in battle. If I were a wondering traveler, I would without doubt assume I had stumbled upon a celebration, not a wake for a child.
I have washed and pressed our finest robes in preparation for the celebration of life service. Juliet, fully recovered from her illness, has written a lovely poem to Suzette. The words meant to honor will bring tears to the eyes of many. Emma has carefully attached bells to our shoes, an ancient ritual; it honors and announces a child is on a journey to the afterlife. With help from my crafty husband, Mr. Fredericks has fashioned together a lovely cart to carry Suzette to her final resting place. The weather is expected to be nice, the moon high in the sky.
Our beetle has returned to his place of responsibility upon the front porch. I have forgiven his untimely departure. I rejoice in his return. A bachelor no more, our six-legged armored sentry has found a mate. A gorgeous emerald beauty of colossal size, she will undoubtedly bring forth extraordinary progeny. In appreciation for keeping all that I possess safe from evil, I placed a feast of aged apple upon the rafter for the couple’s consumption.
My garden has fallen into disarray. Weeds invade and choke nearly all of my plants out of existence. Cucumbers are the only plants thriving. I do not favor the cucumber. I prefer squash, melons and beets. My potatoes, lettuce and onions eaten by greedy ravenous gnomes; their droppings are everywhere. I have sent my husband to town on an errand for additional traps. I managed to severe the toes of one little beast with my hoe. He scurried off quicker than I could follow. I will part his head from his shoulders should he make a second appearance and attempt to freely consume the food meant for my table.
Yesterday the University Emissary approached me, as I attended my garden. He inquired about my name and association with my daughter Emma. He then thrust an envelope into my hands. The boy left in a hurry, I was unable to inquire about the significance of the letter. I stood in the center of my garden staring at the envelope, grandly embossed with the University seal. On the front, my daughter Emma’s full name. It took all of my self-control not to open the correspondence. Respectfully, I placed the envelope on the mantel above the fireplace in the family room. Impatiently, I waited for my second child to return home from the market.
Children often have difficult time deciding on an occupation. Emma struggled with her choices for a long time. She is a gifted artist but had little potential for income. Very few artists make a decent living being artist. A fact, Emma was all too aware. After much deliberation, she decided to pursue a medical career. The opportunities in this particular vocation are great. Sadly, her choice in career will take her far away from her home.
A great burden of debt lifted from our house. The letter from the University contained a grant award letter endorsed by the King. Joyfully, grant money will pay in entirety Emma’s yearly tuition. The grant money was a surprise. My husband and I were expecting to be indebted for the full cost of our second child’s education.