Conspiracy of One

A series of short stories written for local teen mag that was in circulation in our area....feel free to share them with your teens and Jetts and can be used for a fun word devotions

Conspiracy of One

Marco sat upright in his bed. Something was wrong. He glanced around the boy’s room. All was still. His younger brother had fallen off the bed again; he was used to it now, so it wasn’t the ‘thud’ that had woken him up from his sound sleep and sweet dreams of…well…never mind. He checked under his bed. It was cluttered as usual but nothing out of place; he crept over to the closest and flung it open suddenly. One of the boys stirred and mumbled something in his sleep. The cupboard held nothing suspicious, so Marco tip-toed back to his bed. He listened very carefully and soon he detected what it was that woke him up. He heard footsteps. Stealthy footsteps! He glanced at his watch. Just as he suspected, it was two minutes before reveille. A look of dismay spread across his face. Gone were the mysterious footsteps, gone were the heroic thoughts of saving the home from ‘yet’ another robber. The only brain patterns running through Marco’s mind right now were, “I can’t get my proper eight hours of sleep.” It wasn’t like Marco to get up this early. Although he was on time for devotions by a whole minute before he was considered late, he was one of those few people who are quite strict on the charter quota of eight hours of sleep. While he was deep in thought, pondering how he would make up for his lost sleep, Uncle Malachi 1:13a burst into the door with his five stringed guitar singing a very unique version of ‘Rise and Shine and Give God the Glory.’ Poor Marco, already tired from his early rising, now got scared out of his darn wits that he almost threw his back out from jumping so high off his bed. Uncle Malachi 1:13a was unaware that he had almost given Marco heart failure, continued with his song until it was finished. Marco swore that, it was the longest version of the song he had ever heard, but did manage to give a feeble reply to Uncle Malachi 1:13a’s habitual, “What a good day it is to be a professional Christian. Are you a professional?” In which you had to give some response that you were at least coherent. If not he would ramble on and on till he got a reaction which sometimes included a pillow or two, such as JETT Marty did one morning, thinking that it was his brother, responded by a well executed throw that hit Uncle Malachi 1:13a right in the face, much to the disappointment of Marty because it was not his brother, and much to the fear and nervousness of Marty wondering what would happen to him. But, fortunately for him, Uncle Malachi 1:13a laughed and left the room praising the Lord.

Although not quite sure how he got there, he was some how on time for devotions. He walked over to the stereo and asked aloud, “What’s with the system? Why didn’t the music go off this morning?” “Oh, but wasn’t it so nice of Uncle Malachi 1:13a to do reveille?” “What?” thought Marco. “Uncle Malachi 1:13a got up early to make pancakes for everybody so he also decided to do reveille,” said Auntie Sunshine. “Oops” thought Marco, “Lord please forgive me all those bad thoughts I intended towards Uncle Malachi 1:13a.” It wasn’t that he didn’t like Uncle Malachi 1:13a, he liked him very much, they got along great. It was just that…well, he had gotten up early and was somewhat grouchy. Uncle Malachi 1:13a was a great FGA. “Probably just as zany now as he was when he joined the family thirty years ago” thought Marco. Uncle Malachi 1:13a was one of those few FGA’s that had chosen to keep his original Bible name from when he was a babe at TSC. It wasn’t that calling him Uncle Malachi 1:13a was so bad, although at times when they were out together it sort of got embarrassing. Like the time they were at the mall and out of habit Marco blurted out, “Hey Uncle Malachi 1:13a, let’s go check out that cool sports shop.”

We shall refrain from writing what he felt afterwards and if I put in words what he felt like you probably wouldn’t be allowed to read this.

Well, it’s amazing what a good breakfast can really do for you, because after a good feeding devotions, and a good feeding on pancakes and a thick chocolate sauce, Marco was feeling quite his happy, cheerful, normal self again, easily forgetting the unhappy pre-morning events. Until…that is, Marco finished his JJT and was asked to burn the Selah trash. As this job hadn’t been done for a few days it was quite full. Marco made himself one rule. That was to never read what was in the Selah trash, because, he told himself, “One might find something he wished he never read.” Now this next part is not really Marco’s fault. After he got a nice big fire going, he sat back and watched it burn, while adding small amounts of trash every few minutes. When, of all the diminutive and small pieces of paper that was in the fireplace, his eyes landed on one of the papers that was going to change his entire world. It was half burned so all he got out of it was very little, but it was strong enough to keep him captive there for a long while. What it said was this, “Propose that reveille…pushed up…half-hour earlier.” This of course is improper English but as I said earlier, it was half burned. Marco’s face turned porcelain white. “No, no this can’t be happening,” whispered Marco. “Of course it’s not, I can’t let it happen, I won’t let it happen. Don’t they know anything about home counsel and that’s where you can bring your ideas and we can vote on it as a home?” Just then two rough hands grabbed a hold of him and half pulled, half carried him down the hall way to a small room. Once his stomach settled back down and his esophagus cleared, he glanced around the room. He saw three of his best friends, and his three best friends had three white, white faces. “There’s a foul plot afoot,” spoke Danny, “There are whispers floating around, but most of the talk is done behind closed doors.” “We don’t know exactly what they’re about, but we put all our information together and the only thing concrete in all our suspicion, is that there are plans to make reveille earlier without our consent!” “Our connections are secure though, and in less than a half-hour our fears may be confirmed,” JETT Marty piped in. “We also have strong evidence to confirm our suspicions,” Interjected Mike, “I mean it’s been three months and two days since Malachi 1:13a has gotten up early for breakfast. Why would he pick such a day unless he wanted to gain favor in the eyes of the teamwork? The new Teamwork member, there’s something about her I can’t really put my finger on. I mean she been in our home for less then three months and she is already on the Teamwork. I’ve been in this home since the beginning and this is a first that anybody that has come from anywhere to be voted into a teamwork position. I also sent a CQ to my links and they came up with nothing. I suspect that she is from WS or something like that. She doesn’t have a file on her at all.” Marco had been quiet this whole time and once he had heard the last piece of news he spoke with a very firm, authoritative, yet slightly worried voice. “Friends, after hearing patiently every word that you have said, I too have had my share of experiences.” He then related his entire morning to them. He even showed them the ashes of the burnt note which was still legible. JETT Marty refused to look at it. Said it was too shameful, while the others were too shocked to utter their usual “Leaping horrors and toadstones” exclamations.

Once gathered back in the safety of their room, they came up with a plan. Marco, the unanimously unspoken chosen leader, spoke. “Friends, we all realize the dangers we face. We are at the brink of losing a whole half-hour of our sleep for some unknown cause. Though we may be small we shall do all we can to fight against this injustice. We do have one element of surprise. They, at least of right now, have no idea that we know. Let’s keep it that way. Friends, let us be called Night Riders. Let us face the dangers of night, so that justice and integrity may shine for others. The Home Council meeting is in two days, we will strike then, and may God be with you.” Having said that he strode majestically out of the room, and when they talked about this in years to come, which they frequently did, they often said that a light shone out from Marco’s face, and JETT Marty swears repeatedly that he heard Handle’s Messiah playing faintly in the background.

*************

It was a few hours before the sun rose. It was the darkest and coldest part of the night. Marco wasn’t sleeping as deeply as he would have liked. He was lying in bed half asleep; when he felt something move past the open window. He knew that it was evil by the chills he felt running up his spine. No stray dog gave him those type of shivers. This time he could see a sauntering shadow slowly pass by. He breathed a sigh of relief when it left. His respite was short lived. The shadow returned, only this time there were more of them. He called quietly out to the other boys to wake them up, but they were fast asleep. He dare not get out of his bed for fear that the shadows would see him. So he waited in fear. Although he could not see them he could feel their presence. If they had tried to break in, Marco would have fought very bravely, but they didn’t make a move. They were just standing there, waiting. He never quite knew how they got through the iron bars that covered the windows, and although they never spoke they all seemed to react, and move without someone telling them. They were only a few feet from Marco’s bed; he could see their pale eyes shinning in the dark, and the ivory white fangs protruding from their twisted and gnarled lips. Not a moment later Marco’s defense mechanism kicked in. His hand groped under his pillow and swiftly pulled out his blaster and released the trigger. A blast of blue light broke the darkness of the room and engulfed the nearest demon. Unfortunately for poor Marco his blaster was not powerful enough to quell them all. Onward they rushed towards Marco, and just when he thought he was a goner, the door to the room burst open and there stood Malachi 1:13a, (Even though it was an extremely life-threatening situation, Marco could only thank God that he (Malachi 1:13a) was at least wearing briefs.) In rushed Malachi 1:13a with his multi-quad-laser-cannon, fixed up with a rapid plasma blaster at the top, and with a few rounds of ammunition reduced the evil monsters into nothing more then a bunch of snails coated in salt and left out in the sun for two days in a 45 degree centigrade heat. “…And stay out you nauseating sack of festering maggot brains,” yelled Malachi 1:13a. Despite what had just transpired, Marco let out a feeble laugh at Malachi 1:13a’s insults. Once they had calmed down, Malachi 1:13a sat down on Marco’s bed. “Are you alright? That was quite the attack. We have got to be more prepared.” But all Marco could do was to examine Malachi 1:13a’s weapon. It was magnificent. It was ten thousand times more powerful than Marco’s measly blaster. Marco’s mouth hung open in awe as he admired all the knobs and different functions that it had installed. When he picked it up, he was surprised to find that it was even lighter then his puny Blaster. “Where…where did….how did you get such a awesome weapon?” asked an impressed Marco. “Well, to tell you the truth it all comes down to what you have in your hand.” “What?” gasped Marco incredibly, “You mean to say that what you have, that weapon of mass destruction was once this little tiny blaster?” “Yup, you heard me correctly. It’s very simple actually, I’ve been upgrading it. A little every day until I became the proud owner of this, the Weapon Of Real Destruction or the WORD is what I call it for short. But don’t get me wrong, I had to really work hard at upgrading it. I had to forsake some of my favorite pastimes, some of which I really enjoyed. But I knew that it would be worth it in the long run.”

Marco looked around his room, all the other boys were still sleeping. He felt a twinge of pain. He knew then and there what he had to give up. It wasn’t easy to do what he did, and it was even more difficult to get his friends to agree with him but, in the end after relating all that he went through, they finally agreed and two days later it was they themselves that proposed to push reveille up earlier. Marco with the help of Malachi 1:13a and a few members of the Teamwork, improved and upgraded his weapon daily. It was a fight and at times he felt like giving up and going back to his old ways. But what happened on that night burned in him like a hot coal. And he continued to work on his weapon, and soon it became where he could not sleep with his weapon under his bed but had to put it on the floor because it was too big. At times in the night he would awake and find his weapon glowing and warmly pulsating. He knew that there was another attempted invasion, but he did not fear. He fully trusted that his upgraded weaponry system would be more than trouble for who ever got in his way.

***********

Marco jumped out of bed at the sound of his alarm clock. It was a half-hour before the rest of the home got up. For him, never more would he be caught with his boxers down. To tell you the truth he kinda enjoyed the peace and quiet before everybody else would awake. He reached under his bed and hoisted his weapon on his lap. It was huge now, almost twice the size of anybody’s in the home. He never bragged about it at all. The only times he showed it off was to show to other people that it can be done. However big it grew it never ceased to amaze Marco how very light it is, in fact the bigger it got, the lighter it became, and he carried it around where ever he went. Half-way through polishing his Weapon OF Real Destruction, he noticed that the room was strangely quiet. It had him stumped for a moment, but then he realized why it was so deathly still. The snoring! It was gone. How? Why? For years the birds in the early morning would chirp along to the steady beat of JETT Marty’s snore. What happened to Marty? While Marco was deep in thought, the room to his door flung open, giving him almost yet another heart failure. In walked Malachi 1:13a, guitar in hand and directly behind him JETT Marty likewise with guitar in hand and beaming from ear to ear. Both were singing at the top of their voices. No one, I mean no one could have avoided them. Once they had finished singing Marco couldn’t help but ask, “What was that song?” To which JETT Marty replied, “Rise and Shine and Give God the Glory.” “I never heard it sound like that,” said Marco. “I know, we changed the words,” responded JETT Marty with a grin that would have outshined the sun.

*************

At times Marco thought that what happened on that night was just a dream. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, and I’m not one to decide on such matters. But let me tell you this, Marco was actually glad that he got attacked the way he did. It opened his eyes and made him aware that anybody could be attacked at any time or any where. It also made him thankful for if he hadn’t prepared the way he did, he would not want to be under attack by some of the monsters that he faces now with the scrawny and pathetic blaster that he had. And let me tell you this, in the dead of night and a warm glowing light appears, all evil…and I say this again, all evil, from miles around flee in terror.

The END

Wires Barbed

Written on the spur of the moment after watching the news one evening

Wires barbed:

Liberation denied

Sounds of rebellion now dead

From the barbed wire hangs

Dreams of broken generations

Forever in want

Clouds without rain

Wind without feeling

A falling abyss

Desolation thrives

Eyes cry empty tears

In vain hearts beating

Aliening powers deprive

Crushing of blows

Gorging, feasting, on diminishing souls

Amongst this land fear is god of all.

Behind wires barbed

Lives are shattered

So much slaughter and disaster

Plundered more than earth

Stolen was life at birth

How can you take what they don’t have?

Behind wires barbed

The murder of innocence

Defiling of virtue

Morality cries in woeful shame

Heads in sicken dishonor

Face west tries to ignore such pain

Perpetrators of darkened good

Release perverted forms of play

Silence of the night

Scream louder then bullets by day

As the sun turns upon the earth

Justice is slaked, is parched for thirst

So behind wires barbed

The dead are living

Lungs still breathing

Human struggling

Parishes by evening

Behind wires barbed

Lives are shattered

So much slaughter and disaster

Plundered more than earth

Stolen was life at birth

How can you take what they don’t have?

Behind wires barbed

Sun glints blinding still

Refracted light glimmers ill

Barbs of razor in the breeze still dangle

Rusted with blood,

Signatures of the Death angel

Haunting wind carries on

Lingering hatred all but gone

Anger morphed into impaired grief

Words ignored mutterings brief

Misery rains, flooding despair

Apathy frolics, pain just stares

Feelings void, existence bleak

Just the empty frame, life extinct

Engulfing a race, swallowed by men

Generation gone, every one of them

Treacherous sparrow

For all you Prose lovers out there.....grin

Treacherous sparrow

Thou betrayer’s conquest

Vulture of gluttony

A thousand veins of marrow

Evermore dancing, rhythms burning in chaos

Tears weep for those drunken in sorrow

Treacherous sparrow

Fields of lilies betray thy anguish

The dying sun,

Eagles of purity battle the waters deep

Baying dogs,

Molten lies solidifying

Obsession rots conglomerating the fountains of my soul

Treacherous sparrow

Thy leaded wing

Serves no purpose

A cloud, a passage way for kings

Enchantments cursed, light of day ends

Annihilating spirits feast on the tears of gods

A loathing clawing,

Rectifying the sanctuary for the wayward specter

Splinter is no man’s song

Slivery glow

A hallowed tune, undying glory

Fragrance words

Sinful poison, stealthy darkens the eyes.

Treacherous sparrow,

Thy way is dark

O’er shores of misty time

Seeks to fly forever no more

Scene from a book

A few pages slipped onto the floor from the wooden desk....Would you read more...???? A scene from a spy book...

He sat down in a corner. A corner that was dark and hidden away in the shadows. He couldn’t understand why he was ordered to this place where normal humans meet and socialize. He was above most humans and considered the average person dumb, easy to manipulate and control, and there was nothing he hated more than the large masses. Anyone with the capability to command their attention knew that the masses were the easiest to use and…of course, the most deadly.

The club was filled as usual, being the hottest and most expensive joint in the city where only the city’s posh elite could afford to frequent the trendy dance floor and smooth rich liquor. Ian’s tastes were impeccable, and he had and only ever used the best of the best. His clothes were always appropriate, his hair and his regard to jewelry only helped to enhance his looks. And of course his thirst for the finest in alcohol made him a bar man’s best friend. But there is only one word that can really describe Ian, and that was charm. He surrounded himself with it, he had an air about him that would make women flock to him in numbers, and when it suited him, he could and easily become the social highlight of any blue-blood event. His dry humor and extensive knowledge on virtually every subject made sure that he was always the center of attention. But all that is just a front, a front that works and never fails. It was a front that has ensured him victory every time and brought defeat and pain to his enemies.

The music, the lights, the atmosphere soon induced him to want to wet his throat. Not with water but with the wetness of strong spirits. He walked calmly from his corner seat and onto the dance floor. His posture was ramrod straight and the crowed of half dressed people cleared and made space for this human perfection. Many of the girls who were trying to get at least some sort of partner for bed, looked at him with longing eyes. Tonight was not their night and he passed by them without so much of a glance. No sooner had he sat down on the plush leather bar stools was the barman at his side. “Hey, what can I get for you sir?” “Double scotch.” “Sure, one minute.” The barman reached for a tumbler and after a few fancy tricks that failed to impress Ian began to fill the glass. Ian stopped him with a firm, iron grip. “None of that cheap mixed water, where’s your best?” “All…all I have is….Just a minute sir, I have something you you’ll no doubt enjoy,” replied the jolly bartender with a smile. Ian smiled back but it was the smile that was anything but humored.

The man returned within a few minutes wiping off what seemed like a very old bottle, and the dust certainly helped add that effect. “Here you go sir, the finest I have, purchased it off E-bay we did…..paid a pretty penny for it too. But why don’t you give it a try. It’s a 1921 bottle, only 3000 bottles were produced by a single man whose name was…..” “Paul Britman, it is rumored that his scotch was the best that was ever produced,” Interrupted Ian. “Unfortunately a fire burnt down his factory in 1922 and killed him and his secret recipe; luckily for me I have the last thirty bottles.” The bartender burst out laughing an opened the screwed lid to the precious liquid. But before he poured his customer Ian motioned that he should serve two shot glasses. Happily he did and before he drank toasted to his health. The bartender slowly sipped his, savoring the malt taste, but Ian downed his, barely even tasting it. “So what do you think? Do you think that it is the best ever produced?” “As I said….It is rumored.”

From his body language Ian made it clear that he was not interested further conversation and the barman left him to tend to other customers, wowing them with his bottle flipping and other jovial matters. The DJ changed the music from techno to the sensual, throbbing beats of tribal music, inducing the passion of the night. the strobe lights were replaced by deep red and blue flares that when mixed with the smoke machine only added to the sensuality. Those on the dance floor slowed from jumping and soon began to swirl and grind against each other. The heat increased and so did the lust. Hands groped, lips met, and bodies joined as the rhythmic pounding of the bass led them to further ecstasy

It was then that something caught the ever moving eye of Ian. It was two girls, and it seemed that the music was centered around them. Their hips rode with every pulse of the beat their legs glided with ease and their bodies glistened in the strange lighting as sweat ran down their perfectly formed bodies. The light man saw them two and soon all lights were being focused on these two masterpieces. They were Asian beauties and they were dressed to kill. One of the girls wore a black glittering shirt. If one could call it that. It had long black sleeves that covered both hands like a glove, yet it exposed her entire back, tying around her neck. The front of the shirt came down and the material stretched tightly across her chest stopping right under her small yet perfectly formed breasts. Her legs were toned to perfection and were covered with enticing fishnet stockings. She wore a white skirt what was cut longer in the front then in the back and to top it off, she proudly showed off the sexiest red colored thongs that were visible showing from above her skirt. She had the perfect combination of good-school-girl-gone-bad.

The second girl was a little taller then the first, but just as beautiful. She wore an extremely tight leather pants yet they seemed rather flexible because it didn’t hamper her erotic movements. Her top was also made of leather except that it was left open in the front, with three big silver rings clasping the material and keeping her large breasts from being exposed. Her hair was divided in tiny braids that whipped around her face and shoulders as she danced in wild abandonment. The two girls were cavorting, dancing and sensually touching the other. Although their movements were no more explicit then the couples next them, they just oozed with wild passion and energy. Then, just like that the spell was broken, the music changed, lights flashed, and the crowed cheered as a new DJ spun the disks around and the party atmosphere returned.

The two girls seemed forgotten as they sauntered up the bar. Ian eyed them with an amused look, and his mouth cracked into the smile that girls fell for. The girls saw him smile and approached for they liked what they saw. Ian gestured for two more shot glasses, and when the bartender approached he poured all three of them their drinks. “You have impeccably tastes,” spoke one of the girls after sipping her alcoholic beverage. “Might I ask why you don’t dance?” asked the second girl who obviously made no effort to hide her growing attraction to the dubnier assassin. “You may,” “So then…Who don’t you dance Mr.….?” “Mr. Fleming, Ian Fleming, and maybe I’m not that interested in dancing.” “Then what are you interested in Mr. Fleming?”

The elevator rose slowly, at just the right speed. The two girls clawed at him, their lips fighting to possess his, their hands roamed freely across his body and muscular frame. And his large arms encircled around their petite waists. Their lips were full and fresh, with a hint of mint that he could taste when they kissed him, their skin was smooth and created desire in the mind of the assassin. It was then that he felt hands come in contact with the two hidden knives that were always on his body. The hands froze for a moment as they touched the cold blades that had silenced many lives. “You come fully loaded, don’t you Mr. Fleming?” “In more ways then you think,” he replied before finding her soft lips yet again.

The doors to the elevator opened and Ian walked calmly out followed by two half-dressed girls who were breathing heavily. No sooner had he shut and locked the door did he find himself get thrown to the floor, the two girls pounced on top, eagerly stripping the beautiful stranger. Clothes, flesh, soft moans were all a flash, as the three were consumed by the moment. They ravished him with their bodies and he them with his skill. Their cries of ecstasy rang out as orgasms shot throughout their nervous system, followed by the heavy breathing of Ian.

All too soon silence engulfed the room. Smoke rose from the cigarette that hung lazily from Ian’s mouth as he lay wrapped in the bed sheets. The two Asian beauties lay on the floor still recovering their breath and a wry smile spread across the face of Ian. It was a common sound to him and yet, it still held his interest. “Strange,” he thought, “Must still have a soft spot.” He closed his eyes and dragged slowly on his cigarette and blew two smoke rings, one through the other. Yes, Ian was relaxed and unarmed.

When he opened his eyes he saw that the two women were now standing at the foot of the bed, each pointing a handgun directly at his head. Ian didn’t budge, didn’t flinch. He knew that every dog has its day, maybe this was his time now. He shrugged and sighed uninterested at his now would be killers, Ian who had always admired beauty couldn’t help but appreciate the view. The two girls didn’t even bother to get dressed and were standing before him totally naked. “Men, they are so easy…so predictable.” Said one mockingly and obvious the leader of the two. “Yeah, just show them a bit of body, offer them a bit of pussy, and what ever guard they had, just gets washed away.” “Kind of a waste though, he is so cute…cutest one we’ve had.” “I know, but orders are orders.” Ian smiled again and looked over their bodies with a keen eye. They were sure beautiful, and man, were they good…in bed…that’s it, no more, no less. It was damn shame he thought.

The two girls let out a short gasp and fell to the floor. Ian didn’t move from the bed and once again silence entered the room. With a sigh he threw his legs over and walked over the fallen girls, gun in hand, silencer attached. They lay there gasping for breath and this time it wasn’t from pleasure. Two shots from under the sheets had entered their fragile bodies. One lay with a bullet through the lungs and had shattered her ribs slowly suffocating her while the other was almost dead with a clean shot through the neck, her blood staining the wooden parka. Ian walked over to the one that was still alive and looked at her with an air of non-interest. He kicked the gun out of her open hand and proceeded to dress. As he buttoned his shirt he bent over and whispered softly, “Thank Mannie for the most enjoyable evening.” And he walked out of the room not even bothering to close the doors. The elevator swung open, “Women…so predictable…always over confident.” The doors shut behind him.