Happy 2013!
I know that you have been holding your breath for the release of "Chronicles". Believe me, I will be the first one to say that its long pass overdue. Taking some great advice from my friends, I have spent the last few weeks make so major edits so that it is a great book and enjoyable, yet informative for my readers. Though I still have a little more editing work to do, I thought that I would let you read a snippet of one of the short stories in the book.
This piece is the opening portion of the second short story entitled, "Ten to One". It set in present day where a newly graduated college student attempts to make his way in the world as a gay, Black male all the while trying to "come-out" to his family and solve a murder mystery at the same time.
Enjoy!
K.A.
‘You
will never be alone in this world as long as you have me in your heart’. It was evening like these
that though
her words resonated in his head; the assassin felt the loneliest. And while he thought of
these words, he
couldn’t help but to notice the bus driver’s look of apprehension as he disembarked
the city bus to survey his new surroundings.
Walking a few steps down the dimly lit avenue, he
noticed a group of
men, huddled around a pile of bills. The
early evening was just transitioning into
dusk as the wind whipped at his ears
causing the tips to turn red. The
assassin thought back to what
the sterile automated voice said as bus driver
pressed the button to close the doors;
“15th and
Holman Streets.” The sound of dice hitting against
pavement brought his attention back to the
present. Now well aware of the contrast of his pleated,
khaki pants, tweed jacket and
backward-turned baseball cap which donned the
Greek letters of his college fraternity, with
the neighborhood inhabitant’s
baggy shorts, over-sized white tees rounded off with the
multi-colored
Timberland boots; which were complimented by the several different shade of
mahogany, chocolate and ebony skin tones; he began to rethink his current
excursion.
Walking past the group, un-noticed, he
launched his right hand into his pocket, retrieving a small
yellow Post-It that had on it the address,
“1603 Holman Ave.” Stopping at the address just a few
moments later, his mind
was flooded with a wave of confusion as he squinted through the dim light to
read the rote iron sign that hung above the gated entrance. Silently he mouthed its lettering.
“Linden
Grove Cemetery? This can’t be
right.” His voice unexpectedly sounded
against the still
of the evening, now a few shades darker than when disembarked
the bus. Apprehensively, he
checked;
then rechecked the address that he had penned down the night before. It was only
after convincing himself that he
had not misinterpreted his writing that he stepped toward the entrance
and
peered through the opening. Just beyond
the gate, the scent of pear tree blooms that lined both
sides of the
cobblestoned drive entrance peppered the air and his stare was met with
darkness. The
slight tussle of the night
wind intensified as he began to second-guess the message that he received
last
night on his voice mail; the one that commanded that he meet The Voice at this address. He had
met The Voice several times before, but never in a place as secluded
and desolate as this. Before
entering
the graveyard, he turned around to survey both sides of the street to ensure
that he was not
being followed.
Though he had been in many uncomfortable
situations in the past, he realized that this was just a little
too suspicious
to continue. Without entering, he turned
around and walked away from the
graveyard’s entrance; his steps quickened as he
mentally repeated his voice mail from last night.
“I
have a lucrative business proposition for you involving a six figure
amount.
Meet
me at 1603 Holman St. in Covington this Tuesday at 11:55pm.”
All of a sudden, he felt a painfully sharp
blow connect with back of his head and everything went black.
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