SHELTERED, excerpt #2

Emily hurried from the car to the house and tried to slip out of her shoes and coat quickly, hoping to get out of the cramped entry before she was forced to share the small space with Ben. Being fourteen inches apart in the car several times a day was almost too much. She smelled him, breathed in the delicious scent of his cologne. She had bought it for him for their meager Christmas exchange and he had worn it every day since.

Ben came in as she hopped up a step to the kitchen.

“Em, your pants are soaked. We really need to find you some boots.”

She only nodded and turned away. Her socks were wet, too, and she left a damp trail across the worn linoleum, the long frayed hems of her black pants mopping the dirty floor. She was saving up for boots . . . again. Perhaps, she thought, if she chose something more feminine than army boots this time, Cori wouldn’t take them.

Emily paused at the door to the staircase and listened to the newscaster’s voice as it filtered through Mrs. Kremer’s door. For the seventy-third night in a row she wished it was her mom in there listening to the radio. She wished the door would open and loving arms would enfold her. She wished . . .

The radio broke off mid-sentence and out went the soft glow beneath the door taking away that strip of hope. Good night, Mrs. Kremer. Emily only thought the words. She closed the staircase door and fingered the hook and latch. The one time she dared to lock it Cori screamed a tirade. It was all right, though, for Cori to lock Emily out. Maybe the new girl would stand up to Cori’s outbursts.

Maybe the new girl would be equally as bad.

SHELTERED

OUT OF EXODIA, excerpt #2

We’re on an outcropping of rock, our thousand foot descent abruptly stopped far short of a deadly plummet. Barrett has cushioned my landing and taken the shock of the long fall.

“Bear?” I don’t dare move, but his right arm still circles around me. Limp.

I can see straight up, maybe thirty or forty feet to the bank where frightened faces peer down at us. I scan the rock face; there are no marks, no scratches to define our trail, no path to ascend. My scrutiny ends a foot above me where only a dew-beaded spider web, one end split from its harness, proclaims our helplessness. I lift my right hand to wave and Barrett’s arm slips off my chest.

If his back is broken … if his breath is knocked out of him and I’m too heavy … if—

They shout at me from above, but I can’t wave for rescue. I can’t because I’m holding Bear’s wrist, not feeling a pulse, not sensing his life at all. My head is tucked below his ear, cradled like that child I saw in his mother’s arms. Tears track from my eyes as more faces appear above. I don’t need to count to know there are eighteen. Eighteen spot us. Hundreds more are hanging back.

Time slows to an eerie beat. Two minutes. Three. Four. I’m crushing Barrett.

OUT OF EXODIA

EXODIA, excerpt #3

I round a corner and head up Burnell Street. I slow a bit when I see a group of Red kids, probably all around fourteen, lucky to have missed the Culling Mandate, lucky to be alive. They’re bullying a smaller kid and for some reason I think of Lydia’s smile, her eyes, and the whole pleasure of her beauty and how she looked at me. And I imagine her now prodding me to intervene. So I do.

“What are you doing to him? Leave him alone,” I say this with all the confidence of my height and weight advantage, not to mention my combat training.

“Who are you to boss us around?” the ringleader says. He waves a stick in my face. “Are you going to kill us, too, like you killed Sarkis Tait last night?” He shocks me with these words. My heart skips a beat, restarts with a hollow thump.

I forget about Lydia. I forget about the pages of notes in my sack. My tongue is stuck and I can’t swallow. If my awful deed is known here, and among children yet, how is it that I have not been seized by my grandfather’s men or shuttled off by my mother’s servants?

I look at these children’s bold faces and panic. I run. I reach the fence, the capitol grounds, the side door. I make it through unseen. I search for my mother. She’ll know what to do. Maybe she’ll send me to my nanny.

Punishable by death … punishable by death. But maybe not. Maybe being the Executive President’s grandson will have its privilege.

Maybe.

I come to my room. My hand is on the knob, but I hear voices behind the door. And scuffing, and banging. Guards are searching through my things. It won’t take long. My heart’s in my throat now; my mind’s racing through a million things. I step away as quietly as I can, turn down the back hall and take the farthest stairwell.

And run.

EXODIA

Cover Reveal: Dangerous Obsession by M. M. Roethig

Here's a new book my an author friend of mine, M. M. Roethig. I thought I'd help her spread the word. DANGEROUS OBSESSION releases this month, September 15.

A dancer and a Marine—two worlds collide.

Chloe Johnson is no stranger to the spotlight. A prestigious member of the LA Laker Girls, she’s in the public eye regularly.  Her world is perfect. 

Eric Taylor, on the other hand, is damaged, both body and spirit. Injured overseas, he returns home with fresh physical wounds, invisible emotional scars, and a bad attitude. 

When Chloe becomes the object of affection to an unknown stalker, she must leave her life behind and rely on a total stranger, and the only man she’s ever met who’s never happy to see her—Eric. Can she trust this hardened soldier with her life?

Adjusting to civilian life hasn’t been easy for Eric. Swearing off women forever, all he wants is to be left alone. However, his world is thrown into chaos when Chloe appears on his doorstep as an invited guest of Eric’s twin brother. Bewitched by her innocent charms, Eric fights to keep her at arm’s length, putting his No More Women resolve to the test.

Everything soon changes when Chloe’s stalker tracks her down, making her a pawn in a cat and mouse game of Dangerous Obsession.

A SOUL'S KISS, excerpt #3

I must have blacked out. When I open my eyes, I’m staring at my knees. They are covered by a brand new, clean hospital gown reaching to mid-calf. I’m sitting on the edge, the very edge, of a hospital bed in the recovery room. A nurse is turned away with her back to me. She fiddles with the monitor and runs her hand along the tubes that braid their way toward my head. My other head.

I hop down and look at myself lying on the bed. So pale. Still not breathing on my own. I sigh and then wonder how I can sigh. My senses seem sharper. I can read the fine print on a label across the room. I hear the two-beat thuds of a keyboard beyond the door. How can I hear individual letters being typed sporadically? The sickly scent of antiseptic cuts through the faint whiffs I get of the nurse’s mouthwash, deodorant, and hand sanitizer. She turns and looks at me—well, through me, I guess.

“How ya doing, Jessica?” she whispers as she adjusts all the paraphernalia attached to me. “Keep on fighting, sweetie. You’re gonna pull through.”

Well, that’s encouraging. Her words warm me. In fact, I feel warm all over. My feet no longer beg for socks; some ugly green footies are serving my toes very well. Huh. I touch my abdomen. No pain. I check for blood. No blood. There’s a pocket, though, and something is sticking out. A paper. Maybe a lab report? Or discharge papers?

Or love note?

Silly me. I try to pull the paper out, but it’s part of the pocket, stuck or glued.

“Hang in there, Jessica,” the nurse says. I get distracted for an instant and suddenly there’s no pocket on the gown. Of course not. Now I’m not certain I ever saw a pocket or a piece of paper. Those super sharp sensations I experienced a moment before flee as I watch the nurse squirt something into my IV line. I move toward the door and scoot out behind her when she leaves.

I wander around a while trying to figure out where my family might be. I am oddly calm, not fighting for life, or panicking. The hallways seem dreary and lifeless. The early evening light spoons dimpled shadows on the walls near the windowed waiting room. It’s empty. I take the stairs and search floor by floor. All the waiting rooms are vacant. By accident I find Keith’s room, but he’s sound asleep. I try twice but I can’t get into his head.

The last place I look is the main floor waiting room. It’s kind of noisy, but there’s a “grief room” in the corner. The door is shut and a sliding sign says “occupied.”  Hoping I’m invisible to whoever is inside I will myself through the door. Easy.

I’m shocked. Rashanda. With Tyler. Not who I was expecting to find hidden away in a grieving room.

In each other’s arms.

No way.

The tiny room has a love seat and two chairs. They are cuddled together on the love seat. Rashanda’s head is on Tyler’s shoulder, his arm around her, and his other hand holding one of hers. Cozy. I don’t know why I should feel the least little twinge of jealousy, but I do. They’re obviously very comfortable. So comfortable that they have dozed off. I get it. They haven’t slept much the last couple of days. This is traumatic for them. Still . . . this is . . . off.

A SOUL'S KISS

A SOUL'S KISS, excerpt #2

I see Carrie, a girl in my social studies class, and call out, my lungs finally working, “Hey, Carrie, can I borrow your phone a sec?” She totally ignores me and walks around the corner.

Then I see Kayla. She’s headed for Tyler who is being mobbed by a bunch of kids near the drinking fountain. She won’t ignore me, I’m sure. I come up behind her as another girl asks her if she knew that Keith Mullins was Tyler’s brother.

I stop short. Huh? Keith Mullins? The senior who is friends with Michael Hoffman? The guy I was in a car with yesterday? I could have been in that accident!

And then somebody else swings a book bag at my chest. On purpose.

It’s like they can’t see me.

I land on my back, the breath knocked out of me. I need a doctor with a set of those shock paddles.

I feel like a flipped turtle flailing away to right itself, and nobody is coming to my aid. Not even chivalrous Tyler. Kayla is only steps away and as soon as I get some air in my lungs I gasp a plea. “Kayla, hey.”

“She can’t hear you,” someone says, kneeling down next to me. The voice is familiar. I can’t decide if I’ll be elated or deflated if it’s gorgeous Michael Hoffman coming to my assistance again. A hand takes mine and pulls me up. The bell rings and everyone scatters to class, a few of them, no doubt, facing detention for reaching the limit on tardies.

“Thanks,” I say, brushing off my butt. I have that funny feeling like I’ve forgotten something. Where are my books? Did I remember to bring back the drama script? I pat my back pocket, uncertain. I need to go to my locker before next hour, but now it’s too late.

“You’re welcome. How do you feel?”

“Okay,” I say and finally look at the angular face of tall, dark, and handsome Keith Mullins. Keith Mullins! “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Keith’s eyes flicker back and forth from my right eye to my left eye. One of his eyes is more dilated than the other. He has a bump on his forehead that his hair partially hides. We spend an uncomfortable moment evaluating one another, alone in the hallway.

I remember something and say, “I heard you broke your leg.”

“I did. It’s in a cast, slung up on some kind of contraption.”

“What?” The tender tissue around my eye protests the scrunching I’m giving my forehead. “Huh? What are you doing here? Weren’t you in a car accident?”

Tyler steps out of room 236 and crosses in front of us to head to the boys’ bathroom.

“Tyler, look, it’s Keith.” He completely ignores me.

“He can’t hear you,” Keith repeats, almost like a chorus. “Or see you. Us, I mean.”

A SOUL'S KISS

OUT OF EXODIA, excerpt #1

I CLIMB DOWN, duck through the crowd, and run nearer to the edge. I clasp my hands over my ears to muffle the painful cries. I see ribbons of blue diminishing into the depths, but I’m not close enough to see the bottom. The crashing sounds of metal are distant pings underscored with explosions. The thump of each body hitting the rocks so far below is not audible even to me, but I know when each scream breaks off.

Lydia and her mother, Jenny, come up on either side of me. Lydia pulls my arms down from my ears and takes hold of my hand. There is only a single breath of silence before a cheer goes up.

“We’re free!”

The joy is palpable. From their sleds and packs people pull out banners and flags. Children grab the ends and parade around while adults shout and sing and whistle and make more noise than a thousand lions.

Mira leads dozens of women in a dance line that follows the children as they snake among us. When she passes us she pulls Lydia away and I hate that I’m no longer touching her hand. Without her euphoria coursing through my being I feel as if my special gemfry powers are shutting down.

Suddenly the shouts and claps fade to nothing. I spot a large group of Reds who have stopped their jubilation and appear to be marching toward me. As they pass through the crowd people act bewildered, ashamed, even horrified. All eyes are riveted on this group. The spontaneous excitement of our victory over the Blues has morphed into a wretched misery. Too quiet.

“The Mourners,” Jenny whispers.

“What do they want?”

“You.”

OUT OF EXODIA

EXODIA excerpt #2

I walk away from the fence to get another perspective of my home. At night it doesn’t look much different than the dilapidated dwellings I just passed, only bigger. I feel no tender pull to return home.

I hear a growl that makes me stop mid-stride. My head and hands and feet freeze. My eyes track around the shadows. Before I get to the edge of my peripheral vision I see the dog. He’s a stone’s throw to my right. If I charge the fence and leap up I’ll make it. He takes a single step and his throaty rumble is only slightly louder than the pounding in my chest. I hope I’m only imagining the slow advance of other dogs in the distance. Stalking shadows. Though a pack of wild dogs tearing me to shreds seems like justice for the crime I committed.

The growling intensifies, grows deeper and my fingers tighten on the knife. I judge the distance. I need to run.

I need to run now, before he launches himself, knocks me down, and locks his fangs on my neck. My knife is only a few inches long, not good for much more than peeling an orange or picking at my dirty nails.

His front leg moves up. I’m wasting precious seconds. My legs move before I consciously command them. I run full out toward the nearest section of fence, ten feet closer than Barrett’s spot to cross. The wild dog lunges, crosses the distance between us in an instant. I jump too soon and catch the links lower than I should, but I clamber up a couple feet as the dog hits the fence, and his hard body sends a quiver along the wires. I almost lose my grip. His claws reach the metal inches below my heels and I crab up a little higher. I transfer my knife to my mouth so I can get a better hold and climb to the top.

The barbs are fortified with razor wire here so I cannot climb over. The dog has yet to bark. His growling gurgles with the saliva that drips off his fangs in anticipation. No other dogs have joined him. He is a lone killer.

Like me.

EXODIA

Musings on First John (5: 21)

²¹ Dear children, keep yourselves from idols.

And that, folks, is the end of our 6 month “musings” on First John.

There’s actually quite a bit to this one verse. First of all, the term John uses here that is translated as “children” is actually a term of affection used by Hebrew teachers (2000 years ago) to their disciples.

The advice he gives in his closing is to keep ourselves from “idols.” That could mean images of heathen gods or anything that keeps us from putting Jesus first. Is there anything that keeps you from putting Jesus first? 

Musings on First John (5: 18-20)

¹⁸ We know that anyone born of God does not continue to sin; the one who was born of God keeps him safe, and the evil one cannot harm him. ¹⁹ We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one. ²⁰ We know also that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true. And we are in him who is true—even in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life.

The Apostle John has almost finished his first epistle and I’ve taken about six months on this blog to reflect on it bit by bit. Here John tells us 10 things that we (should) know. Because sometimes we read scripture and miss all the treasure that is in a short passage I’m going to list it out and let you fill in the blanks (yeah, I was a schoolteacher).

1. If you’re born of God you won’t continue to ________.

2.   ____________ will keep you safe from sin.

3.    ____________ cannot harm you.

4.  We are _________________ of God.

5. The whole ______________ is under the control of Satan.

6. The __________ of God has come.

7.   ______________ has given us understanding.

8. We can know Jesus, who is ______________.

9. We are in _________________.

10. Jesus is the true ________________ and eternal life.

Musings on First John (5: 16-17)

¹⁶ If anyone sees his brother commit a sin that does not lead to death, he should pray and God will give him life. I refer to those whose sin does not lead to death. There is a sin that leads to death. I am not saying that he should pray about that. ¹⁷ All wrongdoing is sin, and there is sin that does not lead to death.

Wait! What?! There are sins that can lead to death? Really? Well, of course. In the book of Acts we see that Ananias and Sapphira were instantly judged and killed for the sin they committed against God. I started to do quite a bit of scholarly research on these verses to get it clear in my head what the Apostle John means here. He doesn’t explain what a “sin unto death” is, so we can assume that the people he was writing to already had some understanding of this. I found that scholars were divided on the subject and there was quite a bit of varying commentary on this.

When I get confused by the professionals I look to Scriptures. The best place to look for the answer is in the Bible. In Matthew 12: 31 Jesus said,

 “I tell you, every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven men, but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven.”

Aha! There’s your unforgivable sin. Don’t blaspheme against the Holy Spirit. Now don’t be scared to death (as I was as a teenager) that you might accidentally commit this sin and damn yourself for all eternity. To blaspheme against the Holy Spirit is the willful rejection of Jesus and attributing His works to Satan. That’s what was happening in Matthew 12 when Jesus warned against it.

Musings on First John (5: 13-15)

¹³ I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life. ¹⁴ This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. ¹⁵ And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him.

In this part of John’s concluding remarks he reminds us of why he is writing this letter: to assure us believers in Christ that we have eternal life. He speaks also of the confidence we can have in asking God for anything and being assured that he will provide it. But wait, is that really what it says? Look again. Ask anything “according to his will.” Well, that changes things. If I ask God to let me have a winning lottery ticket, um, that most likely is not in his will for me. But good health, a great job, and a wonderful spouse are in his will for me.

One Bible commentator has put forth that this phrase “according to his will” means “that which he has promised in his word.” Search the word for God’s promises and then pray for them. Here are a few:

Love (John 3:16)

Forgiveness (Ephesians 1:7)

Salvation (Hebrews 7:25)

Peace (John 14:27)

Joy (1st Peter 1:8)

There are many more promises for freedom, growth, health, family, strength, blessing, finances, forgiveness, guidance, marriage, and even deliverance from addictions, fears, or depression. You can find those here: http://www.amazingfacts.org/bible-study/gods-promises.aspx

Musings on First John (5:9-12)

⁹ We accept man’s testimony, but God’s testimony is greater because it is the testimony of God, which he has given about his Son. ¹⁰ Anyone who believes in the Son of God has this testimony in his heart. Anyone who does not believe God has made him out to be a liar, because he has not believed the testimony God has given about his Son. ¹¹ And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. ¹² He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life.

The apostle John has given his own testimony many times, but here he tells us that while we (most of us) accept a person’s eye witness account, we have a greater testimony available to us. Lots of people say they have to “see it to believe it.” Those are the ones who would doubt John’s testimony regardless. However God gives us His testimony (that Christ is our only Savior) by placing it right in our hearts. This is why it’s impossible to argue with Christians about these truths: we know the Truth in our hearts. Those "see it to believe it" people change their tune when their hearts are changed. It's amazing to witness.

John finishes this passage by explaining exactly what that testimony is: God has given us eternal life through His Son Jesus. Know Jesus, know life. No Jesus, no life.