Thursday, December 29, 2011

Contest Time!

Hit And Run

Many of you know how I combine non-fiction with fiction. "Hit And Run," the story below, is more non-fiction than fiction.  For the person who can come up with the most  parts of this story that are true, we have a special prize: ebooks of all Angelic Knight Press books published to date and next month as well. These include, "Bipedal,", "Satan's Toybox: Demonic Dolls," "Blood Related,", "Satan's Toybox: Toy Soldiers," and "The Seven-Year-Witch." Or, if you prefer a paperback, you choose whichever book you want. I will keep this contest going through January 15th. Send your responses to

Simply say something like:
1. Blaze was hit on his bike
2. Blaze was at the store
3. Blaze gives money to homeless people

You get the idea. In case of a tie or multiple ties, all the winners win. How cool is that?

Give it a shot! What do you have to lose?

Hit And Run

     Just one more trip and I'm done with my shopping. These holiday weekends are rough; everything has to be done early because the stores are on shortened hours. For the life of me, I can't figure out the big to do about New Years. Shit, we've had so many years sprung on us by now that we should be tired of them.

     Yeah, right! The masses think that this one will be the great one, the one to erase all the hardships of past years. So, they all make resolutions they won't keep and hope for better times than the economy has showered on them lately. In reality, most people don't truly know what hard times really are. Damn, maybe they can't eat out as often and might have to own one car instead of two. How sad!

     For some, it IS tough. Families are forced to break apart so their children have a roof over their heads. Not all shelters will take both the parents and the children. The parents are treated as lepers merely for being out of work or having lost their homes to the banks. Not fair. Not fair at all.

     I'm not rich by any stroke of the imagination. Truth be told, I'm not far away from being in the same shape as the homeless and near homeless. My fault. I give my money away. My children are provided for: child support has been taken care of in advance. Pretty much, when I became "happily divorced", I gave everything I owned to my ex and children. I subsist on Social Security, but a great deal of that money does not go to me either.

     So what? There are many needy people who need it more than me.

     Yet, here I am, grabbing up food stuffs and taking what cash I can afford to remove out of the bank. Fred and Elaine, friends of mine, are living in their van while their children are staying in a shelter for children only. Fred is working, but he finds it difficult to keep enough gas in the van to get back and forth from work and to visit his children. Sooo . . .so I'll give him some money for gas and some food. The Wyoming winds can be biting and cold.

     I load the food into my backpack and a plastic recyclable bag and hobble out to where my bicycle is waiting for me. This should be fun: by carefully balancing everything, I should be able to keep my cane out of the way of the spokes and get this stuff to my friends. I've done it before. I can do it again.

     Finally, I have mastered getting on and off my bike from the opposite side. In a couple weeks, I go to the VA, and maybe they can fix my damn leg. I'm tired of being a cripple; a cripple who still rides a bicycle. Go figure.

     I'm halfway to where my friends park their van, when a big, red, extended cab truck plows into me from behind, scattering me, my bike, bag, cane, and back pack all over the road. The pain is numbing, attacking my mind. I have only time enough to catch a glimpse of the license plate before seeing the truck speed ahead after the driver glances down at my body. Then I see no more.

     Hit and run: third time in two years.

     Disorientation hits me. What's going on? I don't recognize anything. Now I do! Damn it! I'm in Colorado, watching my own funeral service. There is a tiny urn filled with my ashes, placed among many similar urns. I had opted for full body donation in case of my death. Why not? No charge and maybe someone could benefit from some organs.

     There's one major thing separating this service from most others, however. Other than the folks from the donation organization, no one else is here. Eight children couldn't come, I guess. too long a drive. Friends I had helped out; none of them are here either.

     A man lives a life, giving away all he has, not asking for anything in return, and receives just that: nothing.

     So what do I do now? Obviously, I haven't gone to either Heaven or Hell. Am I stuck in a sort of limbo, or is this all there is?: The mind goes on while the body is gone? Is eternity nothing more than aimless wandering, searching for what we never found while alive? Should I feel animosity towards the driver of the truck and try to find a way to get even? Or should I be happy because he got me out of an existence where I was the giver and never the receiver?

     Many questions, and I certainly have the time now to seek the truth and find answers.

     The one great truth I now know is that the mind is stronger than the body. There is no pain with in me now. None. My mind will conquer all.

     I am at peace.

Blaze McRob


  1. Wow...I'm speechless...the picture alone creeps me out something fierce, I'm not one for graphic horror. (shudders)

  2. The picture is a bit graphic, Sue. The story, though, is more philosophical.



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