Arson Dark -Novel Excerpt

Shady Vale supermarket sat atop a hill overlooking Pike’s Creek Baptist Church. The supermarket could be called a “mom and pop” store as the owners- Daniel and Bonnie Gillespie- owned the business and purchased most of their products from local farmers and food distribution centers. Yet, their customers flocked from local communities and the store was competitive, being the biggest grocer in the refion. With the advent of bigger named franchises infiltrating the community, and because of a tough economy, there was always a chance of going out of business for the Gilespies, which is why Daniel often quipped,
“Damn corporations want to ruin everything I’ve got!”
To which Bonnie would consol,
“No need to be afraid, we have the community. And they’re like family.”
Doubts ran high, however, among the farmers who knew they would have better security by going through those larger companies, and thereby would be able to pass their farms along to future generations.
“You watch him while we enter the store.” A man quarreled with his sister.
“No! We should’ve kept him at home in bed!” The sister remarked.
By their side was a man in his late 70s, and grandfather of the two who also happened to be supporting them by providing a home and food with retirement pension from the Navy. His Alzheimer’s was in its earliest phase, and it would only get worse for him as he’d often forget where he was and who he was. Delusional, he stumbled, then leaned on his grandson’s shoulder.
“Let’s just go!” The sister growled before angrily shoving into Shady Vale.
As they did so, their grandfather belched loudly and grunted out,
“The fires coming your way, ingrates!”
This, to be sure, drew great attention from the small crowd of people gathered in the grocer. They dull, grey and blue eyes sat upon the old man, some smirking, some pointing and laughing quietly. The baggers and cashiers also stood silent, their empty eyes piercing the trio.
“Take him down the isle, I’ll get what I can find. Just stay with him.” The brother said authoritively.
The sister placed the old man’s arm around her shoulder and supported his weight down the middle of the store, cutting into the crowd, still laughing and pointing at the old man teasingly.
“Three loaves of bread, three gallons of milk, and three tubs of butter.” The old man mumbled.
Pigs heart was on sale in bundles just as the heart of the twon seemed to be obscured and easily taken over. Their midst overrun with rumors and conformity that the most obsolete and obscure thought should be hammered into their ideology like a rusty nail standing out in the summer heat along a splintery, wooden fence.
“That old fucking man over there has lost it.” A man in a cowboy hat whispered to his eight year old daughter.
Daniel, staging and cleaning a shelf of dried goods overheard the man and walked to him, an angry scowl on his face. He approached him, and, after flipping the cowboy hat off, bellowed,
“Anybody from around here, and anybody period , in my store, is a customer! You just remember that Todd!”
The daughter, in her pink and white pokadotted dress, stared up at her father anticipating his next move.
“Well you just keep an eye on that senile old quack. He scared my daughter half to death with that six six six crap! Who the hell needs three gallons of milk?” Todd quipped.
Daniel, with a quick glance at Bonnie, grabbed Todd by the collar and forcefully escorted him out of the store, the daughter in shock, following mechanically. Once they arrived at the entrance, Daniel flung him out, shouting,
“Go to wherever ignorance thrives. I don’t want you here no more!”
Todd stumbled outside, spit out his chewing tobacco, creating a nasty puddle of mucus and brown liquid, and took his daughter by the hand.
“Let’s go, we’re not welcomed here.” He said genty.
The two headed to their car in the snow-riddled parking lot. Impending doom stood straight, its contenance relying on the town’s oblivious nature. For about a mile out, the smell of gasoling loomed about the First Baptist Church on Herd’s Avenue. Inside Shady Vale, the old man and the sister crept into the beer cave, finding refuge from the onslaught of prying eyes and angry faces. The brother gathered the groceries in a cart and was checking out. He caught a glimpse of where his sister had stood and nodded. After he paid, the sister and grandfather rejoined him, appearing as puppet and puppet master would, shuffling along until meeting him. Once outside, they stopped, an expression of awe shared by each of them.

What Drives You? -Poetry

What is it that drives you? I ask the man in blue
For the cufflings are gold laden, and they’ve paled, school
Now letting out, the breaches are left stoic
The turbulence of a life so insane, ultramafic
In the lava, in the ashes
Heroes and ghosts, syringes and relapses
For that thing called the soul is placed on a leash
Once the lease is left unpaid, the pavement leeches
For the veins, hear the trains
Sleeping on the tracks, hemorrhaging the brain
Awaiting through the cracks, eyes eager and strained
Light breaks with the window, a scream with no sound,,,
No meter or candy-coated spires
Just towers, casteles toppled by fires
And cowards skewering the turf for your cufflings
Watch their hunger sing out through extremes
And all that’s left is the question:
“What drives you?” Juxtaposition
Of words and laughter, smoke in mirrors
Because even death stirs to wake, strikes clearer
Regardless of the day or night
Regardless of our hopes, or sight
And your kingdom sits in place
Awaiting the curious race
Like curious waltzes on storm riddled bays
Caution for steely, drunk-driven strays
March desolate in the winds

Trying to Write- Personal Message

Phew!

I have been working on my novel "Arson Dark" which is now at a whopping 60,000 words.
As for the blog, I have been trying to keep up. Here are two more posts, and hopefully, when the whirlwind known as my life slows down a bit more, I can continue to blog and finish my novel.

Adios and All the Best,
Derrick

Ember-Poetry

In her eyes, a transgression
Ravenous orbs tightly binding each mystifying memory
I remember you, the girl caught in barbed wire and haunting passion
For the harmonious, lengthy world so unexplored and a life so full of mystery
Incredible: This revelation I have of you
To so fully remember that cold, barren December
When Heaven's gate rusted over, and the empyrean world broke through
Our reclusive realm, and gone you were, leaving me with the last bit of warmth
From a hot, burning ember

Suffering...Tranquility- Poetry

For the strongest of men...
Suffering is tranquility
They abide by all that is holy
In knowing
That death
Is merely a succumbing
To the vastness of time
They take guilt in their stride
They ride away, drunken at dawn
Leaving behind the maidens and her sons
To take care of
But within that strength
Comes a weakness...
And it is such when the strongest of men
Can no longer ride away
So he stays, his new maiden alight
In the likeness and mercy of the sun
Until he ceases to breath one morn'

Like Mike- Poetry

I’m a little like Mike
You see, I had an abusive daddy who cheated on my mommy
And my childhood was brought to an end when I tried to make
My father a friend
And instead, he made me enlist
A whole childhood killed, crestfallen, joy desists,
I wore, I can remember, at the age of seven
The white glove on my right hand as I moonwalked
Across the carpeted floor as “Black or White” boomed like thunder
On the radio, and so
The noise was simply more than noise
As what Mike sought were to renew those joys
Through his music and genuine humanity
To those crestfallen individuals and communities
His legacy will haunt and stay with me, for I identified
With more than something most people saw on the outside
You see, what we leave behind speaks louder than what we lived for
And so, through this verse and what my mind bleeds on the paper
The colors black or white, the soul the spike, with greatness in sight, I feel
I’m a little like Mike