cj Sez: The closer it gets to the first Christmas without my
son, Mark, the harder it is for me to concentrate on creating new words for
this blog. So, in the holiday spirit of “books make great gifts and anthologies
an even better option,” here’s an excerpt from my short story, “Ida, Fate, and
Mister Leon,” in the Mobile Writers Guild new anthology STORMY PIECES.
§§
When the downpour
began to walk up the road in thick sheets, I knew I needed to stop. I pulled in
under the county road overpass even if it wasn’t a safe place to be since wind
tends to get surly when it rushes through a narrow slot. Thinking that Deena
would be terrified if I’m too late, I was thumbing down to re-dial when the
passenger door jerked open. A man dressed in an oversized tee shirt and baggy
cut-off chinos slid in beside me and pushed long, black dreadlocks away from
his face.
I thought I’d
locked that door. “Where’d you come from?”
“My ride dropped me
off down the road. I’ll just sit here ‘til the storm passes.”
“Yeah, sure,” I
said.
The wind turned
horizontal and yowled louder. Branches banged off the sheet metal. The truck
bucked and pitched, and my heart thudded into my throat when the heavy rear-end
wobbled as though it might lift, tow hook and all. There came a few minutes of
peculiar quiet, and then everything started all over again. I exchanged
big-eyed glances with my passenger. When Mother Nature’s freight train barreled
into the distance, the pine grove across the road was a mess of kindling wood,
soaking up a pouring rain.
“Wow, that was
something, wasn’t it?” I said. It’d been my experience that when people survive
a common threat, they tend to become something akin to buddies, if only
temporarily. He just eyed me. “I’m Roberta Joanna Thibideau. People call me
Bobby Jo or BJ.”
“You the BJ painted
on the door?”
“Yep,” I said,
trying to sound humble.
“I never met a
woman who owned a gas station before.”
“Now you have,” I
said and stuck out my hand. “What’s your name?”
“Leon.”
“Nice to meet you,
Mister Leon.” I dropped my hand when he
kept his buried under his shirt.
“Nice to meet you,
too,” he said as he pulled out a handgun and pointed the muzzle at me, head
high.
§§
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| Promo courtesy of Carrie Dalby Author |
 |
| Promo courtesy of http://www.poisedpenpro.com/ |
And when you’ve
finished reading an anthology, we all would sure appreciate it if you’d take a
few moments to leave a brief review. Please and thank you!
§§
cj Sez: That’s it for today’s post. You-all guys keep on
keeping on, and I’ll try to do the same.
P.S. TO ORDER a book by any
author on-line and support an indie bookstore, contact The Haunted Bookshop
here: https://www.thehauntedbookshopmobile.com/contact-us
If you’d like me to
autograph or personalize one of my stories for you, be sure to tell them, and
I’ll run by the shop.
➜ Follow me . . .
➜ on Amazon: Amazon Central Author Page
➜ on Facebook: cjpettersonAuthor on Facebook
➜ on BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/cj-petterson
➜ on Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3fcN3h6
The "first" everything was so hard without my husband. It must be many times harder without your son. Many many hugs, friend.
ReplyDeletecj Sez: I very much appreciate your kind thoughts, Kaye. Thank you.
ReplyDelete