I’m cutting this close . . . This is supposed to go live in less than three hours.
I was a bit distracted by something odd; I had many, many messages letting me know of “likes” to the previous post. And all of them from readers with weird long names . . . and all of them from Russia. I had over fifty notices of “likes” and the visit map showed the majority were from Russia. I occasionally get one or two views from there so this jump was . . . different.
As I write this, all them “likes” and “views” have since disappeared. I assume WordPress took care of something or other that was happening. Still . . . I now have to wonder if I’m about to get elected President.
Anyway, as I’m late in writing this, I thought I would copy and past one of my many flash fiction pieces since I got such a tremendous response to yesterdays fiction . . . not!
I mean, I knew from experience that my fiction gets minimal views, so it wasn’t a surprise and as the following is a rerun, it’ll draw even fewer pair of eyes.
An Ordinary Hero
Copyright 2014-2018, E. J. D’Alise
The farmhand lifted his hand, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. He looked around. His adopted parents were working another part of the field, and his step-brother was getting a drink from the well.
The sound of horses drew closer. Twenty-seven riders crested the hill on a trot, they and the horses covered in dust.
Leaving the road, they rode toward him, spread out as they neared, and stopped after forming a circle around him.
“Are you Codrin Kouns?”
“I am,” the farmhand replied.
As he did so, Codrin focused his Chi as his now dead mentor had taught him. He’d never believed the legend, but it didn’t hurt being prepared.
Another rider spoke, this one a female.
“I am Tepin Nazarian, ruler of this land.”
Codrin registered her beauty, but also a coldness about her. He’d heard stories of her tyrannical rule and cruel treatment of her subjects. It was also rumored she liked broccoli. Codrin shuddered at the thought.
“You are the one from the legend; the one destined to end my rule.” As she spoke Tepin raised her hand. Twenty-six riders raised their bows in response, their notched arrows now aimed at Codrin.
“If you’ve heard of the legend,” Codrin replied as he steadied himself and gathered more Chi to his bidding, “then you know it’s futile to fight it.”
Tepin lowered her hand, and twenty-six arrows all but shredded Codrin’s head.
“Idiot!” Tepin said, and then she and the riders turned their horses and faced the rest of the people in the field.
“He probably believed all that Chi crap. Still, it doesn’t pay to have these legends linger.” Tepin pointed at the family now huddled by the well. “Kill them.”
Tepin the Terrible’s reign lasted two hundred years. During that time, she dispatched dozens of wannabe-legendary characters and ate lots of broccoli.
As I said, this is one from a few years ago but that just gives the opportunity for readers to skip most of this post and just look at the pictures . . . if even.
And now, the photo:
That’s a small part of a long mural lining a portion of Palani St. just before it turns into Aliʻi Drive. There’s another mural on the other side of the street. I’ve photographed them both a number of times and I’m not yet happy with the results.
Still, one of these days I’ll have to break down and show the dang thing.
Due to my solitary nature, I’ve never been one to have a group of friends (male or female) and especially not a group that would come by the house as depicted below.
I mean, we’ve had friends and we’d occasionally host poker parties or — when I was still playing — Magic The Gathering game nights. Still, those were mutual friends and not someone I hung around as in “doing stuff with the guys”.
Certainly, I would never invite anyone over without it being planned.
What I mean is, I’m with Ethel on this one.
Another mandala-like doodle . . . I really should get more creative, but I do like these kinds of patterns. This one is called Impossible Labyrinth.
And . . . that’s it
Some of these posts will likely be longer as the mood hits me, but most will be thus; short, uninteresting, bland, and relentless.
You can read about Project 313 HERE.
That’s it. This post has ended . . . except for the stuff below.
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. . . my FP ward . . . chieken shit.
Finally, if you interpret anything on this blog as me asking or wanting pity, sympathy, or complaining about my life, or asking for help and advice, know you’re likely missing my subtle mix of irony, sarcasm, and humor.