Friday, June 22, 2012

A Drop In The Ocean

A Drop In The Ocean
Copyright © 2012 by Ward Webb


The young woman stood framed at the end of the pier with her long, golden hair billowing around her narrow face as she stared down to the undulating waves exploding against the barnacle-crusted pilings. Thousands of razor-sharp shells dotted the wood like green crescents that turned the thick water into foam with a kiss.

A passing shower of mist had sent all the tourists indoors to mill around the massive souvenir shop for the time being, leaving her isolated on the wide platform on the far end of Ocean Isle Pier. Beside her sat a small stroller, covered over with a screen of plastic to shield the newborn from the sea spray that glistened in the air around them.

The scaly, wrinkled infant napped peacefully inside its bubble as the woman stepped away from the thick guardrail and squatted down to the damp wood beside the locked plastic wheels.

She slid forward and let her bare feet dangle out into space. She folded her arms over the lower horizontal beam and let her eyes lose focus as she gazed down at the foamy waters below.

Her voice came out soft and gentle; rolling with the same lilting rhythm the waves used against the tired, rotting legs of the pier.

She spoke down into the forty feet of space between her and the skin of the sea, but she spoke to the tiny sleeping child – her only other companion as the gray storm passed by the western rim of the island.

The lighthouse blinked and she sighed, cleared her throat and began.

“These things can't be safe. I don't know how they manage to keep them from collapsing. I've always been scared to death of piers but I figured today was finally the day to conquer that silly phobia once and for all and look at us, right out here at the very end! We are two brave women, aren't we Tonya honey? I can't believe I found these things so scary for so long. There's nothing scary about it at all! It's downright peaceful. Praise His name.”

The infant wriggled under the plastic screen but didn't crack its eyes.

The setting sun turned the storm clouds into vivid streaks of lilac, scarlet and ocher that burst across the eastern skies. The tips of the waves turned a pale lavender as the woman smiled and lifted the plastic screen away from the face of the stroller and allowed the salty wind to engulf the sleeping child within.

“Come on out of there and get some fresh air. Ain't that better? It's beautiful out here, right? You can turn and look back at the beach and feel like you're cut off from everyone. It's just all so peaceful and perfect. It's almost hard to imagine just a few hundred yards away the world turns into complete stinkie-doo-doo's. I can't believe anyone would ever dream of bringing a child into a world like this. It's almost criminal to think of being so selfish, but here you are! I guess it isn't your fault, Tonya, sugar. You didn't ask to be born. None of us did. That's the whole poopy-doodie problem with the world, right there.”

The damp wood beams drummed gently under her thick waist and the young woman turned around to stare down the bowed length of the pier.

A man, woman and small girl around the age of six came toddling down the pier, unaware of their damp companion glaring back at them from the far end.

The woman whipped herself back around to face the Atlantic and groaned with impatience.

“Great, just as soon as we started to enjoy ourselves someone has to come along and mess it all up for us. It's fine though. We still have a couple minutes before they get down here and I don't even think they've seen us yet. Thank you Lord. Let's get you out of that thing so you can enjoy the view a little better, little sleepyhead. Here you go! See there, Tonya? Don't that fresh air smell so good?”

She unbuckled the infant and lifted it up against her right shoulder. A thick stream of milky fluid trailed down from the child's bottom lip and hung against her thin, green sweater like a rope.

She bobbed up and down on her heels as she turned and let the baby admire the flattened expanse of darkening water below. A family of fattened pelicans skimmed the surface of the waves as the woman smiled and tucked her burnished hair behind one ear.

“Isn't it so pretty? You're such a lucky little girl not to have to experience the pains and agonies that this world has in store for you. One day people will write about me and I'll be a hero. They'll understand everything so much better in the future. No one realizes we're living in hell right now. It won't be until mankind has come through to the other side that we as a people will turn and look back on our past and reflect on where we went wrong. Then they'll see. Then everyone will realize I was just doing a good deed that spared so many from so much pain. I didn't get that, you see? I had to suffer and hurt for twenty-six years and where did it all get me? Where did all the patience and keeping-my-chin-up actually lead me? Nowhere. It's more bleak now than it was before. There's no hope for the miserable and anyone who tells you differently is just lying to you, Tonya. This is the only truth. Praise Him! This one moment that defines us is all that really matters when it's all said and done. You're just a baby. You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?”

The infant cracked it's eyes and bubbled foam from its cranky lips as it glowered at the setting sun and writhed in her arms.

The trio of sightseers continued their march toward the end of the pier. Their footsteps came firmer through the rails as the young woman cut her eyes toward their progress and wiped away the spittle with a loving finger.

Tonya's chubby legs kicked at the open air as the woman pressed her waist against the guardrail and leaned down over the lapping waves.

“Here you go now, darling. You're free now. Stop wriggling like that! You're a restless little lamb. Now. There ya go.”

From behind her the husband of the little family shouted out in alarm, but the woman didn't flinch. She leaned further over the open waters and let the bundle roll from her embrace.

She opened her arms as if welcoming home a long lost family member and let the tiny, swaddled bundled topple down into the dark waters and vanish without making the slightest splash. The pink blanket came loose and hung on the surface as the waves pushed the violet child against the wood piling. A faint spray of pink bloomed against the barnacles as a frantic man came rushing up and threw himself against her shoulders like a stampeding bull.

“Did you just throw that baby,” he began but with one glimpse down at the limp blanket drifting on the surface, he cut himself off and dived over the edge of the pier. As the ocean swallowed him, the woman called down over the rails.

“Yes sir! I sure did! That baby is free and soaring all because of me! Praise Jesus!”

Now the wood was really rumbling under her as she pulled herself back up to her feet and turned to see the approaching hordes.

Dozens of men and women were running at full speed along the length of the pier.

The wife of the man who had plunged into the water – and their nervous looking daughter hugged the edge and watched with their mouths gaped open as the end of the pier pooled full of horrified locals, all shrieking and asking the woman the same question.

What did you do to that baby?

A quartet of uniformed officers came running and the crowd parted. The woman stood quietly beside the stroller without making a sound.

She nodded and smiled at each of them like a gracious hostess but never said a word in response to any of their questions.

A faint satisfied smile was etched in her face as a voice from far below called out – coughing and sputtering with salt water, “I can't find it! Oh, God! Help! Help! Someone help! We need more people down here!”

A half dozen answering splashes sounded out from up and down the length of the rocking pier as people plunged into the water in the hopes of finding the child.

The police reached the end and enveloped the woman in their sturdy grip.

Pinning her hands behind her and pinching them tight in a pair of fetching steel bracelets; the biggest officer – a former high school football captain - shoved the quiet woman face down to the wet planks and crammed his knee into the small of her back.

The wind was pushed out of her as she lay patiently with her face against the wood. She peered through the crevice between two beams and looked down at the green, supple waves below.

The crowd pushed in a ring and stared down at the unmoving woman in horror.

The police started mumbling to one another, whispering into the CB radios on their shoulders, but no one made a move to pull the young woman onto her feet. The waves kissed the pilings below and people shouted back and forth from beneath the pier as they searched in vain for Tonya.

The wind whipped the plastic film across the face of the empty stroller and tore it loose. It billowed over the railing and disappeared down into the waves.

From the foot of the pier a heart-wrenching cry pierced the confused silence and everyone turned to see a frazzled woman in a blue blazer leap out of her Toyota and come running down the length of the boards.

The car coasted to a stop and bumped against a handicapped parking sign as the icy-eyed woman screamed down the length of the wobbling pier.

Two officers stepped forward and blocked her from springing onto the handcuffed woman's back and lashing her to pieces with her fingernails.

The only female officer took charge of the thrashing woman and pulled her back from the ring of onlookers as the other three helped get the unphased suspect to her feet.

The brown haired woman in her second-hand blazer continued clawing at the open air and screaming a high-pitched, primal wail that echoed across the long row of beach homes dotting the beachfront.

“Ma'am! Calm down,” the officer insisted and held the woman firmly by her shoulders. “What is your business with this woman here? Do you know who she is? Stop fighting or I'm going to have to put you in handcuffs, too! Ma'am!”

The businesswoman spit across the ring of people and hissed.

Her attention was locked on the indifferent smirk on the young woman's cheeks. The stroller was knocked aside as the trio of men pulled the grinning woman away to the edge of the wide deck.

Gathering her senses and quickly cutting her eyes to the crowd of neighbors, the woman sobbed as she tried to push the words out of her mouth. “She's my babysitter! I hired her to take care of my little Tonya while I went to a fucking job interview! Let me at her. Just let me have ten seconds with her face! Oh, God bitch – I'll kill you! You better hope my baby is okay! Bitch, you hear me?! I'm going to … Fuck. You. Up!”

The female officer looked across the deck at her colleagues and turned back to the woman, keeping her iron grip on the frail mother's trembling torso. “Just remain calm and let us take care of this, ma'am. We still haven't found your baby so as far as we know this might all be a big misunderstanding. Just calm down so I don't have to cuff you. We'll find your baby, don't panic.”

A raspy, heartless cackle filled the air and all eyes turned to the chuckling, manacled babysitter – shaking her head with amusement.

“Ain't no mistake,” the babysitter grinned from across the barren ring of slippery wood. “You don't have to worry - I spared your baby from a life of torment, I did. Tonya is free now – soaring with the angels, praise Jesus! I don't know why you're all so angry. I'm a hero. You're just ignorant fools – too blind to see what's right in front of you!”

The mother lunged and almost made it past the female officer but a burly fisherman came forward and with one quick motion, engulfed the grieving woman against his barrel chest and held her tight.

People gasped at the audacity of the babysitter standing within a protected ring of police as she smiled proudly.

Mumbled whispers ran down the length of historic Ocean Isle Pier. Words like monster and psychopath rippled in the warm evening breeze while the team assembled and prepared to march the woman back toward the gift shop at the foot of the pier.

The crowd parted and hugged the left and right edges of the wooden boardwalk as the waves far below disappeared and the sand began, glimmering pink with the sunset.

The distraught mother had collapsed and was allowing herself to be towed along inside a protective huddle of beefy men and clucking women. Each of them purring, cooing and reassuring her that everything was going to be okay.

The babysitter sat down easily on the wide backseat of the police cruiser and the door slammed shut with a dull thump that muffled the voices now raised in anger as the crowd followed behind with the sobbing mother in the center, the nucleus to their fury. Her pain fed the horde as they came toward the police sedan and the babysitter's smiling face shielded behind the glass.

As the officers fell into their sedans and prepared to haul the woman to the intake center six miles away, the howling mother came forward from beneath the folds of her skirt of sympathizers and threw her body against the scalding exterior of the police car.

The babysitter didn't flinch at the sudden blow on the glass mere inches from the tip of her nose.

She turned her entire body to face the bulging rage of the mother and beamed with pride. Her teeth sparkled in the rose colored sunlight.

Through the glass, the babysitter lifted her voice and called out with sincere curiosity, “Does this mean you won't be paying me? You still owe me for three hours, Ms. McCarthy!”

The agonized mother clawed at the glass and wailed, “Hell no, I'm not paying you! You better hope they find Tonya. No jail on this planet will keep me from getting to you if anything happened to my baby, you crazy bitch!”

The babysitter wilted against the vinyl seat and looked glum for the first time all afternoon.

“You're greedy, Ms. McCarthy. I don't think I can work for you no more.”

The mother blinked with shock as the babysitter fell back against the seat and nodded toward the female officer, “Driver, I've had enough of these snobby, selfish people. Take me somewhere nice. Somewhere I can have some peace and quiet and think for a minute. A bar. Take me to a nice, quiet bar. I would just love a nice, cold drink right now. Being a hero can make a person awfully thirsty. Praise God.”

She threw her head back and laughed as the police cruiser pulled off with a crunch of gravel beneath its bald tires.

The crowd of baffled witnesses watched as the three police cruisers screamed away along Beach Drive and disappeared behind a wall of wild sea oats.

The strangers swarmed and surrounded the grieving mother and drowned away the sound of the sirens growing softer in the distance. The grieving mother crumpled down to the asphalt of broken shells and sobbed into her hands, soft and weak.

At the same moment - a limp, fleshy bundle was pulled out the cold waters of the Atlantic.

With her tiny face torn to ribbons against barnacles as sharp as broken glass, Tonya seeped warm blood down into a hungry school of minnows that flickered around the man's thighs.

He waded slowly to shore under a hushed cloud of onlookers staring down from the pier above.





:-)

Monday, June 18, 2012

This Sweet Agony

In case you weren't aware - I have an incredibly hard time staying focused. That's why SOUTHERN GOTHIC exists now. I had no intention of writing another novella length freak-fest...I was supposed to be finishing the central section of the sequel to WR1. Rather than doing that - I was usurped back into the 1800's to save a little black child (who really didn't need my help in the first place).

Oddly enough - after two days on Amazon, SOUTHERN GOTHIC is now at #50 on the Bestsellers list, which makes me turn my attention to other projects.

Forget everything I've already told you. For now, this is the current plan of action.

I have opened my trunk. I have pulled out an old friend no one knows about entitled (rough) "130" and let a dear friend riddle me with questions...

Why is it a number?

Because numbers are eye-catching, but besides that - it applies to the material in the story. For those of you who have to sit in a room with me occasionally and listen to me rant - this is the story I've been trying to figure out for a good 15 years now. I got it.
It is being called "130" for now because each of the 26 sections takes up 5 minutes of real-time in this little town. Chapter One starts with Alba at 6:00am in the morning. Chapter Two is Bert, Three is Clarice, Four is Doug...so alphabetical and real-time...a cast of characters no less than 26 all intertwined during a 2hr and 10minute nightmare in this small town. That's why.

What's it about?

Hell on earth. For lack of a better description - let's call it a zombie tale, even though there is absolutely no trace of zombies anywhere in this. Let's just stick with that for now, okay?

What short stories have you selected for the collection?

I've selected 20 because that's a nice, even number. Nine of them have been released before in various magazines and newspapers over the past couple of years. Four of them are currently available as ebooks on Amazon for .99c. The remaining few will be stories I've written that no one has seen before. Most of these are in what I call my "vault" (where I keep 20 finished stories solely meant for magazines - and magazines only). You guys never see these stories so it should be fun.

What will the title be?

More than likely something eyecatching and topical. Fuck: A Collection. Oh Snap: A Collection. Assy-Pie: A Collection...something like that. I hate titles. If any of you have a better idea - please fast forward that suggestion to my personal email (wardwebb2772@gmail.com). I'll give you lots of accolades and credit - I may even use your name as a character in a forthcoming tale - if you don't mind being crippled, deformed or murdered in some weird, exotic way. I can't help myself. Y'all know how I do.

Besides the short stories - what is the status on the release of your novels?

I will tirelessly push myself to get WR1 into your hands before the end of the year. I'm actively trying to finish the center section of the second book in the series. This is a key moment in the overall saga, so I don't wanna screw it up. I've told myself and all my beta readers - as soon as I'm satisfied with this middle portion of the sequel - I'll return to volume 1 and punch up the fine details. From that point - we're good to go! (Cover ideas....see previous email address)

What is WR1?

WR stands for Whirligig Ranch. 1 indicates which volume in the trilogy I'm talking about. What is it? The greatest fucking thing you'll ever read. That's what it is.
If you want a sneak-peek at this delicious, life-changing work - buy MATTROPOLIS and check out the bonus feature at the end of the story. I included the first chapter from Volume 1 at the tail end of this bed bug infested love story. I think it was the most suitable place to introduce the world to Singer Bardin, Lady Buggargon, Max Bidewell and Teddy. Queen Mother does not make an appearance until Chapter 4, so unfortunately she does not appear in this opening chapter. I'm so sorry.

What happened to the Civil War novel you were writing? You released the first chapter about an escaped slave named Bell and then....everything vanished. Is that still in the works?

That is The Binding - and that, my friend - is done. This novel came about because my grandmother asked me to one day pen the story of our family - and since we've been in the same place for 300 years, I had to take it back into olden times to begin this series of adventures. The Binding is the first in a planned 4 volume series centered around the old plantation house we still currently run. It was a very agonizing novel to write, but I wrote it. As far as my plans for this - I think I'm subtly creeping back into that era whether I mean to or not - look at SOUTHERN GOTHIC, where did that even come from?
I'll eventually return to the sequel of The Binding and once I have 50% of that hammered down on paper, we'll talk about releasing that hot mess onto the world.
For the record - The Binding tells two interweaving tales from two families living in Edgeboro around the turn of the century. One is a dynamic land owner - one is a meek family man living in town and trying desperately to solve a murder before the tensions over race relations cause the tiny community to explode into the stratosphere. Both stories bounce back and forth against each other, mirroring socially relevant issues of that time - until you reach my big, explosive finale.
My great-great-great grandmother is a star. You'll see.

So what's coming next - and when?

The next thing I know of - are two short stories coming out sometime in the next month or two. No sorry, make that three. I can't keep up with this stuff...Two will be printed in magazines you can pick up at any B&N and one will be included in a paperback anthology that's due out sometime around Halloweeeeeeeeeeeen. Other than that...who knows?

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

The Dirty South

This all started because I kept being haunted by the image of a little black girl struggling her way through an endless field of mud. You know the type that's so deep it's exhausting? A mile of that.

She wouldn't leave me alone. I kept seeing little tired hands struggling to pull the next leg free only to take another step. And then one afternoon I wrote it down...and this happened.

Her name came easily - Miracle.

As soon as I had her out of that horrible field and standing on a small county road - I realized where this was leading. Enter: Ruby-Lee Braswell.

The two girls represent two different cultures, during the years shortly after the Civil War. I set it on the same exact road featured in The Two O'Clock as well as the closing scenes of Earth Angel. I believe anyone familiar with those two stories will recognize this strip of land.

The story takes a turn for the spooky and honestly...I had nothing to do with that. By that point, I - like you, was just along for the ride. I'm apologizing in advance.

I look forward to introducing you guys to all these new friends I've planted in Edgeboro County.

Ruby-Lee Braswell: 12 year old daughter of a former land owner who now lives a life of leisure on Johnston Street. The house with the green shutters. You know the one.

Miracle Henry: 12 year old former slave who's finally old enough to leave home according to her parents to "make her own way in the world"wastes no time hitting the road as soon as the candles on her birthday cake were blown out.

Captain R.L. Bascombe: owner of Four Oaks plantation, survivor of the war who paid a great cost.

You can check out the little teaser/trailer do-hickie here!!!

Only a few more days and this should be showing up for Kindle.

I can't wait to hear from all you guys about these new adventures. It'll be a hoot and a half. Until then, keep reading Sweet Peaches!