For Jacquelyn, The Long Icy Road Home, 'Project 157'

Sitting on a cold, wet bench, my head lies in my left hand, and my right hand holds a heavy bouquet. A dripping, misty drizzle gently cries over the cemetery. Somehow, all the colors are brighter, and the air smells so fresh.

The headstone reads: 'Jane Ashbury, Beloved Daughter', and indicates seventeen years with a solemn dash.

It says nothing about my undying love for her. It says nothing about her boyfriend.
I miss her more than her parents: her boozing, workaholic dad, and her neglectful, derisive mother.

Her smile haunts my flickering memory, a memory which stabs in my mind like a thorn. I remember the moonlight on her skin, and the freckles on her shoulders.

I remember the oncoming headlights, and the screaming breaks. I remember the broken glass, the twisted metal, the smoke and fire.

Gently laying the dripping bouquet on her headstone, I pick up my crutches and limp slowly into the rain.

End

For BVSED, Blitz, 'Project 157'

Escaping the mafia is no easy task, especially on a broken leg.

Galloping through the rusty warehouse, I slammed against the nearest door and made a break for the old chevy parked out back. Keys still in the ignition.
Gunshots rang out behind me, just as the engine roared to life.

Swerving through traffic, I raced that old boat all the way to the next town before pulling into a gravel lot.

Panting heavily, and dripping with sweat and blood, I sat there for a few moments, trying to pull myself together.

At that precise moment, I heard a banging, and a muffled yell from the trunk of the car.

There it was again.

Gathering my remaining courage, I climbed out of the car, limping around to the back. Carefully, I opened the trunk.

Inside was a beautiful girl, pretty banged up herself, with raven black hair. The last thing I saw was a tire iron, then

End

Project 157

It's official.
http://www.facebook.com/157stories

For Ravyn, A Covenant, 'Project 157'

After fifty three years of marriage, I wouldn't have it any other way.

We have an old house on the cliff overlooking the sea. It took us practically our entire lives to save for it. Often, we sit on the porch and watch the splendor of the sunset cascade over the horizon - turning the sea a myriad of deep purples and fiery reds.
At night, the sea breeze washes in through or window, and I lay with my eyes open thinking of our children and grandchildren. Eventually, we fall asleep, cuddling like two spoons in a drawer. Just like we did when we were newlyweds.

I wake to the same sea breeze. I nuzzle her soft brown hair and kiss her ear. It is unexpectedly cold. I whisper her name, and gently nudge her, with my hand.

Slowly, she wakes, and my seventy five year old heart started beating again. Today would not be our last.

A Late Night Snack, for Aunt Tess, 'Project 157'

Even as an adult, I can’t sleep with my back to an open closet door. The shapes inside take on strange forms, and murmurings of doubt nibble at my brainstem.

Tonight, however, was another matter. Mostly, because my latest girlfriend was spending the night, and not much sleeping was going on.

Well after midnight, we passed out exhausted, and I didn’t give my closet a second thought. In fact, I had drifted off with it yawning open, something I would otherwise never do.

Several hours later, in that surreal time between night and early morning, a cool breeze blew through the house.

I woke up the next morning thinking she had left me for work. It wasn’t until three days, thirty-six texts, and several desperate voice mails later that I found her bright pink shoe on my closet floor.
Also, her left arm.

I guess I can be glad there’s not a closet in my jail cell.

End

Two Dudes in White, for Michael, 'Project 157'

Two men in white apparel stood frowning on my doorstep. I peered through my peephole and cleared my throat. "Who is it?"

The tall one replied, calmly as you like. "Do you like salt?"

"Sorry?" I asked through the door.

"Salt, you know, the mineral."

"I guess." I answered, "Can I help you?"

"Actually," said the other one, "we're here to help you."

I carefully opened the door, leaving the chain on. It wasn't a good idea to let strangers in, especially in this town. "Well?"

"You should pack your bags." Said the first one.

"It's gonna get kind of toasty around here." Finished the second one. "Mind if we come in? Some of those smelly fellows down the way seem to be following us, and we'd rather not be sodomized."

"Okay, but only for the night." I unhooked the chain.

"That will do nicely." They answered in unison. “By the way, the Big Guy says hello.”

A Tea Time Encounter, for Scott, 'Project 157'

There were thirty or so in our company, loitering under the desert sun at the edge of our finished work. We had excavated a giant crater in the rock and sand, with our discovery wedged at an odd angle in the earth. A massive metal disk, silver in color, looking like a giant shining tea plate almost thirty yards across.

But that’s not why our mouths were hanging open. “They’re never going to believe us, Will.” I said.

“Not sure I bloody well do!” He replied, mopping the sweat from his brow.

For at the center of the saucer, a door was opening, throwing out arms of bright light and tendrils of smoke. A rushing sound filled the air like a pressurized vessel being opened.

Will replaced his hat. “Well, Greg, in any case, this should be an interesting day.”

And with that, a humanoid silhouette emerged from the opening; tall and thin, with an enormous head.