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After the Ambush

After the Ambush

by thadd presley

Over the next few days, Victor slept through the day and traveled at night. He picked his way through rubbish and broken remains littering the gutters and alleys. He searched for anything he could use for bait or possibly barter. Anything to make life easier. All he had come across alongside the streets and avenues of the city were burnt husks of automobiles. They lined the roads in both directions.

Besides that, and worse in all the ways imaginable, were the staggering heaps of what he hoped were failed funeral pyres. When he saw the fifth or sixth heap of human bodies, some ashes and cinders, some only got hot enough to melt, while some were clothed, most were not. Yet, there they were, all together, holding up their part of the final conglomeration, marking their place in the long line of human development.

Moving deeper into the city, the buildings became more deserted than he had expected. Perhaps, the news of him had spread this far and he was being avoided. But, also, it could be the area which people were avoiding.

Sudden bangs echoed out of the night, along with them voices of men working. It wasn’t until he sat long enough to see the silhouette of a crane on the brightening horizon that he realized he was close to a shipping container yard. It brought two startling facts to light. He was traveling east, when he thought he was going west. Also, he was closer to a river than he thought. This was all good and bad news.

He was cautious as he made his way through the maze of towering metal crates, a chilling wind blew off the water, sending shivers down his spine. The long rays of morning light cast eerie shadows, adding to the sense of foreboding. Suddenly, a faint whimper reached Victor’s ears, drawing him closer to a particular container.

Can you hear me?” A young voice called. Then, there came a light tapping. “I know someone is there.”

With tremendous trepidation, Victor quickly walked across an aisle, closing the distance between him and what he thought had to be a girl’s voice. It was coming from a container. He would have never heard it, if it hadn’t been for the thick steel door being left open.

Then, he felt really dumb. He knew he’d walked into a trap. Fear gripped him and he tensed. His body and mind awaiting the blow that would surely come.

But, when it didn’t, he realized he’d been holding his breath. Slowly, he told himself, stand up and get a look.

Slowly he walked toward the gap in the container doors. To steal a glance inside would be asking for trouble and possibly closer to suicide than he’d ever been. But, he had to do it. He had to know.

Total darkness, of course. But, that wasn’t all. The air blowing through the gap was cold. Really cold. Upon touch the metal of the container was even colder. How had he not noticed the condensation before now? Whatever was inside was meant to be fresh and kept that way for a long time.

God, bless who ever left this door open. It was food. Inside would be pounds of meat and fruit and …

But, the voice…

Victor worked up his courage, deciding if he were going to die it would be to helping someone… not because there was a possibility of fresh food.

Easing his way through the gap without touching the doors, he stopped to wait for his eyes to adjust. It would take a few minutes, but the dim morning light wasn’t enough to help without it. Part of his plan was to stay quiet and still only until he heard the voice again, but even that took too long.

The unimaginable loudness that a scratch of a match makes in total silence is deafening. The darkness sprang into light showing a mostly empty container. Only six wooden boxes in the whole place. Three lines against the walls of each side. From one of the boxes on the left side wall, the voice called. “I see your light. Please, help me.”

Every nerve in Victor’s body jumped at the sound of her voice. He was sure about it being a girl. He stepped quickly and bent down to the wooden box. The tapping started again.

Quiet now. I’m here now.” He pried the lid up enough to get his fingers under the wood. Lifting it up in one motion, he revealed a haunting sight. She was laying in a bed of hay and wet sawdust. Couldn’t be more than 14 years old, maybe older because she was so starved. But, she was just a young, helpless girl.

Her small face was so pale and fragile. Victor’s heart sank as he realized he was too late. The girl was motionless, except for her eyes. Her body was nude, but covered with the straw. The parts he could see were smeared in a thick, dark, and oily mixture, like dirty engine grease. He reached down, his hands trembling, and gently touched her cold. It was cold, but not too cold.

Her eyes blinked then and brightened. “Are you real?”

Victor nodded. “I am.”

The Late Night Knife Fight

The Late Night Knife Fight

by thadd presley

Victor stood in the dimly lit alley, his heart pounding with anticipation. The air was heavy with tension as a man had just demanded money. Slowly Victor turned and saw the menacing grin grow across the face of a very fat man. There were thick patches of scars crossed his chest and neck. A single flickering streetlamp cast deforming shadows across the muggers lumpy face. The strobe effect adding another level of danger to the ambush.

The sweaty flesh was lumpy with cancerous lesions and bacteria filled boils, a grotesque sight at anytime, in any place, but here in a dark alleyway, during the middle of the night, it meant that Victor was in more danger than just being robbed and killed. Even a light misting or splatter of blood meant a infection. The strongest antibiotic wouldn’t be enough to kill the bacteria. There was a very smaller chance that the virus would mature and develop into cancer, but coming into contact with the man’s blood would guarantee a long, painful decline into the crushing mouth of infection and disease.

Victor measured the distance betweent them. Eight feet was close enough to demand money, but not close enough to take it. He could outrun the threat. Maybe. But, it would leave this scum to target and steal from someone else. And worse, even.

Victor tightened his grip on the handle of the curved blade, feeling its familiar weight and balance. Then, he loosened his grip. He swung the cold steel out in an arc, making sure the man could see it. He half expected the man to give up, considering his weight and miserable state of health, but the grin widened across the man’s face and opened into a wide gaping, toothless maw.

With a sudden burst of energy, the fat man lunged forward. The speed of the double-edged short sword came from the need to surprise and the painful anger of desperation.

Victor swiftly sidestepped the attack, his reflexes honed by countless battles. He countered the wild stab with a swift double slash, aiming first for the wrist, then for the soft skin just below the man’s ribs.

In a moment of shuttering disbelief, their blades clashed, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the alleyway and reverberated in Victor’s bones. The sudden halt of his swinging arm made everything clear. The fat man could not be under estimated. He was fast and he was strong.  Adrenaline rush into his blood, coursing through his veins like rocket fuel, drowning out everything except the fat man, heightening his senses and sharpening his focus to a level unknown to most people.

The following attacks turned the alley into a battleground of swirling shadows and slashing steel. The mugger out matched victor in brute strength. It was evident that if not for technique and skill he would already be wounded or dead. But, because of his practice and agility, he was able to time his strikes with precision, exploiting the man’s soft belly and hanging side rolls.

Victor noticed the fat man’s pacing and patterns slowed. As he lost his breath and strength his attacks grew more wild and erratic. Pain and desperation still motivated him. Victor knew he was very dangerous and to stay alive and unharmed he must force his mind to be clear and focused. He had to anticipate each jab and swing of the blade. While trying to only dodge and not parrying because a little slip could slide and cut his thumb or arm.

The chance of catching his disease from the fat man was probably enough to scare anyone from wanting to fight. Resisting him meant infection and infection in this place meant a painful death.. But, this was not the case for Victor. Knowing the man would target others only made him want to defend himself more.  It made him faster and smarter than the fat man.

With a final surge of strength, Victor seized an opening. He swiftly disarmed the man, sending his blade clattering to the ground. The man stumbled backward, his eyes wide with disbelief and defeat.

Victor stood tall, his chest heaving with exertion. He looked into the man’s eyes, a mix of pity and triumph in his gaze. He had won the fight, but it was not over.

There was no joy in victory anymore. The violence had taken its toll.

Victor’s blade found its final mark, opening a deep, bright-red gash under the man’s chin. Blood squirted and spewed like a liquid arrow directly toward Victor’s face, but by some miracle of muscle memory he managed to twist clear of the fountain.

First, he heard it and then he saw the blood pattering the ground. The fat man held his neck and turned from side to side, painting the final picture of his life. Death’s red graffiti bloomed and ran in jagged lines through the cracks of the filthy asphalt at the end of a stinking alleyway. A fitting masterpiece that perfectly described the brutal finality of their struggle.

As the first rays of dawn began to break through the darkness, Victor turned away from his fallen opponent. He knew that his nightmares were far from over, that more battles awaited him in the shadows of nearer the heart of the city.

With a heavy heart, Victor disappeared into the early morning mist, his steps echoing the weight of his choices. The knife fight had come to an end, but the red painting would forever remain in his mind as a reminder of the price for desperation and fear.

Stewed Thoughts

 

Today’s Special

Stewed Thoughts,
with Over-Ripe Opinions
Home-Grown Philosophies 

While They Last!!


 

Sweat Drenched,
Steaming.
The long, hot Nights
slowly melting
into Tomorrows,

Safely, Quietly,
within my Dreams,
There’s nothing between me

and everything.

As I evaporated
sliding ever closer
to the abyss of sleep,
Suddenly, dawned on me
was the Why,
things change.

Why everything,
Peacefully,
Miraculously,
So, completely,
Comes to me
As if I planned it
all along
The darkness begets dawn

The sun rises
beautifully, 
uncovering hidden relief,
burning through
all aspects of disbelief.
Drying the Oasis
of thirsty doubters to stone
until dust is made of the skeptic bones.

On the inside, I was troubled,
grateful,
but still I wondered
How did all this change?
Was it a miracle?
A mystery?
Maybe I sold my soul accidentally?
Or maybe…

I had curiously,
willingly
connected to an abundant,
inexhaustible, all-knowing
source

I was adopted,
brought in,
made an heir
to a powerful, timeless
force!

The world different
And I was changed
on the outside
and the inside

For the first time
There was nothing
between me
and everything.

Haiku Twenty Twenty-Two

From Page Number One
Haiku: Number: Two Zero Two Two
Thaddeus Maximus
__________________________________________


Whoa! And Wow Wee Wow
We’re all Willing Witnesses
To our Promises

 

We Are Constructs
Painful wrecks carefully chiseled
From God’s Own Image

 

Ring Ring Tinnitus
Musical Gift That Keeps Giving
I hear you, clearly

 

Click, Pop, Magic Knees
You are amazing, thank you
for everything

 

Patience, I see you
Growing, silently, But True
The things we will do

 

Gratification
The Great I… Always Me… Me!!
Get A Grip!! Grow Up!!

 

Elusive Story
My American Novel
I know you’re in there

 

Instability
Mental Chain Reaction
Chemical Spirit

 

Our Lives Read Quickly
‘Though Your Character Lives
Your Fable Will Fade

 

Great Shepard, My Lord
I am your littlest sheep
Please remember me.
________________________________
First Words Written in
the year 2022
Thank you for Reading

Thousand Acre Garden

That Garden, That Knowledge,

And Why We Keep Coming Back to the Table

For the first time, possibly the first time ever, we are all faced with a thriving 1000 acre garden of knowledge, topped to the brim, overflowing with information and teeming with teachers from countless colleges, and online classes. Any hobby, any subject, career or past time can be studied from anywhere in the world by anyone at anytime, at whatever pace suits best.

Any endeavor can be explored through pictures, books, and a myriad of multi-media. Lectures held either in person or remotely from over 70 years of archives can be attended immediately; language and location is no longer of any consequence.

Files of dedicated data are constantly compiled and stored outside of the normal channels of learning, the reasons for this ranges from professional, to corporate, to amateur. Every step breaking down every facet of any imagined interest into bite sized easily digestible portions ready to deliver. There is no limit to what a person can learn or where they can apply that knowledge after is is attained.

And, although this beautiful garden is a delicately designed, thoroughly thought out arrangement, perfectly planned with each lesson being it’s own individual intellectual treasure just waiting to be uncovered, this could not be further from the truth.

This garden is wild. The fruits it offers us is old and has appeared many times throughout past ages.

It is unkempt.

The fact that all this knowledge lies at the top layer, mostly exposed, or atleast easily accessible by anyone who is interested is enough to look must prove that this garden of knowledge is a natural phenomenon, like oxygen or sunlight. It’s certainly not something a human civilization or culture would created and hand out completely free for people to enjoy.

 

The seeds of this garden of knowledge were sown deep into the soil eons and ages ago by something set on the pursuit of educating and evolving a people and planet. This didn’t have to be planned by an alien race or an all-powereful deity.

This explosion of knowledge could just be part of a very simple primitive system.  Even the fundamental system that brought subatomic matter together, is the same that produced gigantic organic factories able to manufacture and pump out megatons of complex molecules into the universe.

Time and Gravity started with electrons and protons and grew into galaxies filled with stars and nebulae and planets, which in our case became a world filled with animals and cultures and who knows what else is to come.

All it takes is Time and Gravity and boom, you get everything we see, hear, taste, and think.

So, after eons, and ages, and ages of eons, Time and Gravity could be responsible for some very delicate and highly sophisticated factories that are able to pump out some very surprising results.

Maybe elements we call Language and Knowledge and Technology.

We know that many Mysteries and Secrets existed in the past and even still today.

At one time, not long ago, the formation of elements and the forces inside of stars was beyond the horizons of our imagination. However, we can now look in at atomic structures and out at astronomical structure and see science as just a fact of life.

 

Our history is just as elaborate and extensive as it seems to be. From the things Egyptians did to the things modern civilizations can not do, we are overwhelmed by the things we have forgotten. Just the magnitude of ancient truths we see, yet have no explanation for, should be enough to convince us that we are returning to a level of knowledge we once had.

Sea of Love

As We Cast Ourselves Onto The Sea of Love

Thadd Presley

Anyone who talked to, or knew anything about, those who went out onto the sea and over the horizon in search of the elusive dream, must imagine crossing that strange ocean and how it will feel when first they set their feet and plant their flag somewhere in the pristine sands. Stories told of warm beaches and  hinted about the many ways it changes a person’s life.  No one knew for sure what lied out in the depths nor could they name the island.  No one ever dared a guess as to what it would be to go there and no one thought to ask the best way.

It was enough, only, to have hope and strength enough to set off alone into the vast ocean with nothing but a small boat and excited expectation. Arriving alive upon one of the sandy islands with a face full of sun during the day and eyes filled with countless stars at night was more than most would ever acheive.

“I’m going to that place lovers go,” one young man burned into a small piece of leather and that was enough, that was just the way of it.  All the directions around the compass and all the destinations on the world map meant nothing if love didn’t set the wheel and drive the vessel.

No one took provisions or asked for a map, no first mate ever boarded with the explorer.  It was a lone voyage.  On occasion, there were a few words quietly spoken by some who cared to announce their departure, but it rarely surpassed: “Bon voyage.  If I don’t return just know I am happy and I did as I knew best.”

An endless blue sky sat above a never ending ocean, indistinguishable except for sliding wave or a floating cloud. Then, with a pull of anchor, onto the sea of love they went.  Just a hope and a prayer.

A Low-Life at High Tide

 

A Low-Life at High Tide

by Thadd Presley

 

Breakwater Town
Out on the prowl
A million waves crash with one sound
To a short, fat light house

East-End friend
Best of the best of them then
Out on the point
Just more of my kind
That chick was way out of joint
I was a low-life at high tide

The battery at dawn
A quick shot across the bow
Is my soul for sale
or am I just a pawn?
For cryin out loud
It’s far too late for that now

Sudden movement of the crowd
She was left with no soul of her own
Everything’s not lost, it’s just for a sale
For crying out loud
It’s too late to save me now

No fool like an old fool
Super cool dude from the old school
I’ve been like this a long time

I’m a low life at high tide

In Shades of Red

 

The focus of “In Shades of Red” lies solely on the words of Jesus Christ.

It serves to only highlight what Jesus said. You will find the books, chapters, and verse numbers of the Holy Bible have not been included. My hope is that the reader will have a greater a chance to hear what Jesus taught and to see what His life meant for the rest of the world.

 

In Shades of Red – paperback

Medicine People


Medicine People
by Thadd Presley

 

The man pushed the needle under her flesh and smiled when blood spurted into the chamber. He whispered into her ear, as he pulled the plunger back. “Drugs aren’t good or bad, you know?” Her blood mixed with the thick, brown liquid, delighting the man. “You’re like a medicine man,” he mused. “You’ve heard of medicine men haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. Already able to feel the strong concoction. “They’re like Indians…”

“Yeah, well kind of, but many cultures have them. They’re the people who had the guts to try things the others were too afraid to do.”
She nodded. “Like shaman?” She pronounced it slowly: “Shay-men.”

“Exactly. They’d go into the spirit world and come back with knowledge that can only come from the other side.”

She liked the idea of that. It made her smile. “Like wisdom.”
“That’s right! And it changed everyone’s life? The medicine people found out things from the ancestors and from the angels. Things that never made sense to the people at that time. The ideas were decades and centuries ahead of the time. Thousands of years, sometimes.

“Yeah.” She was mumbling, her eyes were only pin-pricks between a sliver of eyelids.

“Are you afraid?”

She laughed. “Not even.”

He pushed the plunger and the liquid slid effortlessly into her vein. Numbness flowed up her left arm and across her chest. As it slowly crept up her neck, her eyelids closed out the world. Then, peace engulfed her. All the stress and worry stopped as she slipped from this world and entered the spirit world.



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Thadd Presley’s Songwriter Handbook

I have written a songwriter’s companion. It’s a short, comprehensive collection of modes and how they come together for each note. I uncovered — I daren’t say discovered — what I call a Musical Matrix while writing out the modes for each Note. I was designing an easy go-to chart of parallel modes, so I could create better chords using modal interchange.

I’m excited to share the musical collection because I’m sure it will help other’s like me, at a similar level, begin to write with chords they had yet realized would work. Not only does it make new chords possible, but it makes finding a lead scale easy to find as well.

I haven’t got a fancy name for the book and I’m not charging anything for it because I’m sure this “Musical Matrix” I have uncovered is not new. However, it is very helpful. If I must create a title it could be:

“Notes, Their Modes, and the Matrix of Music”

or, even better

“Notes, Their Modes, and The Sigils of Music Unsealed”