tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27698770747141755042024-03-14T07:39:18.300-07:00Donald E. Allen The StorytellerI am a writer becoming known for my poetry as well as my fictional short works. I have chosen Blogger as a means of sharing some samples of these very different forms of written entertainment with you. So relax, come back often, and enjoy; the poetry, the memoir, the fiction, that I share with you here. All works displayed on this blog are copyright to the author. © 2010-2015 by Donald E. Allen. All rights reservedDonald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-7989893936348505992015-12-04T12:22:00.000-08:002015-12-04T12:22:06.409-08:00www.facebook.com/AuthorDonaldEAllen/<br />
<br />Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-26967332243581426872015-07-29T07:15:00.000-07:002015-07-29T10:49:10.480-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Neither the Lady nor the Tiger <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Eureka! I’ve found it!,” exclaimed professor Gowski.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Found what Professor?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look at the video, look at the video and tell me what you
see.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“OK, Nothing. I don’t see anything…. Wait, Oh my god … it’s
a….a… Professor, it was a UFO.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Keep watching the video, son.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing on the video. How long do you want me to keep
looking? Oh wait, here it comes again on
the far left of the screen. IT’S GONE!
Professor it disappeared into thin air.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No young man, into a worm hole! It came out of one worm hole
on the right, and then departed our corner of the universe via a worm hole on
the left. And best of all, I have captured the exact location of both the entry
and exit worm holes on our observatory’s radio telescope.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But Professor, our radio telescope is an old model, It
isn’t capable of deep space observation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Exactly! These worm holes are not light-years away. They
are just a few hundred thousand miles above the Arctic Circle of our beloved
Earth.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They’re that close to Earth, Professor?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, isn’t it fantastic? We can reach them with existing
technology!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this point, the head of the United Nations Space Agency, pressed
something in his hand to stop the video playback on a super-sized overhead
display, and he began to speak. “Now Astronauts of Earth, you know why you have
been gathered here. You, the best of the best,
have been selected to represent our planet as we explore the universe,
and bring a message of peace to all the inhabitants there of.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked around the room as all assembled started to
applaud. Counting myself, there were only two Americans among the
astronauts. There were three Chinese, four Russians, an Australian, an Italian,
and two women from “This” or “That”-astan. Every one of them was applauding as
if the louder and longer you were able to slap your palms together and smile
for the camera, the better your chances of making the final cut for a spot on
the flight team. I was hardly clapping more than that which would be called “polite.”
Because the whole, “Hey let’s all jump in a low orbit supply-shuttle and chase
a UFO through a worm hole to who-knows-where idea-- fell flat with me. Sorry my
fellow Super Hero’s, but the idea of the Great Unknown doesn’t exactly thrill
me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s why I decided to stay home. I opted out. I became a
Space Agency outcast. They retired me early, they tried to screw with me by
sending my pension checks to the wrong address, they have even been repeatedly
screwing with my medical coverage, but after seventeen years… at least I know
one thing. I am still alive. I still go to bed at night next to my wife.
Seventeen years and still counting.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As for those dozen Astronauts from around the world, who marched
into a recycled, museum-display-space-shuttle, blasting up, up, and away, no
one knows what happened to them seventeen years ago when they reached that
blank spot in the night sky, that worm hole, and disappeared before you could
blink… NEVER to be heard from again?<o:p></o:p></div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-35054254464604437822015-07-07T11:39:00.002-07:002015-07-07T11:47:30.071-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Channel Surfing <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
have not yet written today;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">a
trip to the dentist, then the drug store,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">followed
by the supermarket, the card store,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">finally
back to the drug store.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Now
it’s getting late, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">almost
time for another painkiller.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Maybe
I’ll wash it down with some Scotch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Good
scotch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Can’t
stand the cheap stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Love
the good stuff, one shot, maybe two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Painkillers
in different forms, pills and liquid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Then
maybe I can get something written.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
put on the TV <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">and
look for some inspiration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
see cops busting bad-guys,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Hawaiian
cops and robbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
hit Channel-up and some old man is choking to death<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">on
his own phlegm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Don’t smoke</span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Quickly
I press Channel-up, again, and again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Trying
to Channel-up far enough—fast enough <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">to
get away from my 30 years of smoking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
Channel-up so far that I find myself Channel-down…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Channel-down
and back in time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
see Little Joe and Pa and Hoss;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">an
entire cast of dead people from long ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">I
thank God I’m alive <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">and
I start to write.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-16276252855079564702015-05-07T17:00:00.000-07:002015-05-07T17:00:29.218-07:00<h2>
The Disappointment of Raymond Bradley</h2>
<h1>
</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Charwoski, I think that if you listen to me for just a
few minutes, you will understand why I am the most qualified person for the job
of Sr. Accounting Clerk. You see Sir, I started here five and a half years ago
as a Junior Associate Accountant. I worked the first four years of my career
under the tutelage of Mr. O’Brien, and he taught me everything I know about the
company. I was sad when he retired, but he is quite happy in Florida, and he has
three cats to keep him company. He is also very active in his Senior Club and
has served as the clubs Treasurer for the past three years. And—</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mrs. Johnston, stop looking at me like that, stop it, STOP
IT RIGHT NOW!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>You see</b>, Mr. Charwoski, she hates me. She has hated
me ever since I showed her expense report to the Independent Auditor’s Review
Team. DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT. I’M WARNING YOU, MRS. JOHNSTON.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, like I was saying, Mr. Charwoski, um, I have the most
experience, and so when smarty pants Ms. Jones here, got the job instead of me
it was very disappointing, and I think that if you could see the promotion
review teams paperwork you would agree that I am much more qualified than her.
But Mr. Brownell couldn’t find the paperwork in HR, could you Mr. Brownell,
COULD YOU!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“We have a phone wired directly into the conference room,
Lieutenant.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ring, Ring, “Pick up the phone Ray, come on, be a good boy,
pick it up.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ray, is this Ray?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s <u>RAYMOND</u>, who are you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My name is John. Raymond, can you tell me what is going on
up there? There seems to be some kind of a big misunderstanding going on, and,
well I think I can help. Will you let me try to fix things for you Raymond? But
first you have to promise me not to hurt anybody, OK, Raymond?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How can YOU fix things? You have no idea of how they treat
me. They hurt me, THEY HURT ME ALL THE TIME.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“SWAT team is still 5 minutes away, Lieutenant.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Raymond? Raymond. Stay on the line with me, Raymond. Pick
up the phone. Raymond?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>BANG ! … BANG !
… BANG !</b> … <b>BANG !</b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can’t fix anything. You’re a bad person just like they
were. You’re all bad people. The world is filled with all bad people. I hate
everybody. Everybody always hurts me. Everybody. Everybody.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>BANG !</b></div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-32786952718787630102015-02-02T12:18:00.000-08:002015-02-02T12:18:16.136-08:00Review of April 1861 on Amazon...<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">I just finished reading April 1861. It is an excellent example of historical fiction through poetic verse. I was never a big fan of poetry, But this book reads like a short story.it is very much a dedication to the bloodshed in this most terrible period of American history. Mr. Allen writes about all the things that brought on the American Civil War,such as the secession of the Southern States, and the attack on Ft. Sumter including Historical figures like Robert E. Lee and Abraham Lincoln.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">So if you like Historical fiction and the human spirit you will love April 1861.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-33779377510909602652015-01-29T16:09:00.000-08:002015-01-29T16:09:33.706-08:00<h1>
My Memories of Troy </h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Greeks had battled long and hard, but they could not
penetrate the walls of Troy. Each side’s heroes eventually fought in individual
combat at the foot of Troy’s mighty walls, but there was no final result to come
of that bloodshed either. Then one day the Greeks sailed away, leaving behind a
tall wooden horse. Was it a symbol of Greek acquiescence to the mighty walls of
Troy? —Nay, it was to become an eternal symbol of treachery. I remember it
well.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was the summer of 1962, and my father was extremely mad
at something I had done, or not done. So infuriated that he picked up my wooden
toy chest and carried it out to the garage. I was banished to my room, alone,
all my toy soldiers were in that toy chest now locked away in the garage on the
far side of the house. My father really knew how to punish me, or so he
thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While locked in my solitary confinement, I sought the refuge
of reading. I took out a volume from my Golden Book Encyclopedia set, and it
fell open to the story of Troy. How wondrous, if I only had my toy soldiers,
surely I could find among them two different sets of Hellenistic toy soldiers
to do battle, but they were all locked away, and out of reach.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I slowly surveyed my room, my mind empty except for the
singularity of purpose, that purpose, my thoughts of recreating in my bedroom,
the siege of Troy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The result of my raw materials survey: The Golden Book
Encyclopedia, twenty-four volumes. A box filled with pennies, and two,
six-sided dice, one red, one gray. I smiled broadly as my fertile imagination
bore fruit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let the battle begin!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laid my encyclopedia volumes on their sides, piled three
high and staggered back about an inch—bound edge from bound edge, leaving
enough room for two pennies to occupy the depth of the steps that the short
staggered piles of books had created. When construction was completed, there on
my bedroom floor stood, “The Mighty Walls of Troy.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I then set about the task of separating my pennies into
Lincoln memorials and wheat backs. The
Lincoln memorial is a building, so those pennies will represent the Trojans,
the wheat backs will be the Greeks. The
dates on my wheat back pennies ran across decades, but my memorial backs were
fewer in number and most of them were 1959, with some 1960 and 1961 pennies in
the mix. This disparity in dates will work well in my game plan. I set my few
dozen defending Trojan pennies on the walls of Troy, and arrayed before them
two or three hundred, wheat back Greeks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
CHARGE! The clash
was calamitous. As opposing pennies came into contact they were flipped to
their dated side, the dice were rolled, gray for the Trojans, red for the
Greeks. The last digits of the penny’s dates were compared, and the difference,
if any, was added to the higher numbered penny’s dice roll. Then the penny
rolling the lower combined total, stayed on its flipped-over side; the losing
penny was now a DEAD soldier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of that afternoon’s battle, hundreds of pennies,
most of them low dated Greeks, lay dead before the walls of Troy, upon my
bedroom floor. The carnage lay heavy on
my mind, and the smell of copper was thick upon my tarnish-tainted fingertips. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then my bedroom door creaked and opened slightly. It was my
Father poking his heads in to see what was up. He quickly closed the door and
walked down the hall to where my Mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
Then I heard him say in a loud and exasperated voice, “Son of a bitch, it’s
impossible to punish that damn kid!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You were right Father. I have always possessed the unique
ability to adjust to, and overcome adversities in my environment. It is a
talent that has served me well for all of my years.</div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-49023647248278441622015-01-27T09:50:00.001-08:002015-01-27T09:50:12.184-08:00April 1861 <br />
<br />
http://www.amazon.com/April-1861-Historical-Fiction-Through/dp/0692349960/ref=sr_1_22?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1422380802&sr=1-22&keywords=april+1861<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQX_VMojiOmVnIXemQwzi6LojPHRGp9yRCfRtGYCBETWEMq6t5KXfhGPXpl4RlbhGvPF59LrZXnMaXiJhwVBo_oCzsd4Pmxc0cETAeoweYh2b0_rMpmkSL9VpLttvWVqdjlAzW1YJmoyR/s1600/duel+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQX_VMojiOmVnIXemQwzi6LojPHRGp9yRCfRtGYCBETWEMq6t5KXfhGPXpl4RlbhGvPF59LrZXnMaXiJhwVBo_oCzsd4Pmxc0cETAeoweYh2b0_rMpmkSL9VpLttvWVqdjlAzW1YJmoyR/s1600/duel+cover.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-62937353479369511932014-08-26T08:22:00.000-07:002014-08-26T08:22:44.448-07:00Night Owl, White Owl<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had labored long and hard in the forest, cutting and
stacking firewood. My muscles ached as I undressed and unzipped my sleeping
bag. I sat upon the lower bunk and turned down the Coleman lantern. The last
waves of it’s light, like ripples in a pond, traveled to the walls of my cabin,
where they disappeared into the infinity of the night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stretched my legs down into my sleeping bag, and propped
my head up with my pillow. My eyes opened just a little, seeking to answer the
question of why the cabin seemed to still be unusually bright. My query was
answered as my eyes were filled with the beauty of a rural Pennsylvania night
sky shining through the cabins only window--with ten-thousand stars illuminating
the heavens.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I closed my eyes and drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.
A kind of special sleep granted by Mother Nature, only to those who labor long
and hard in the wilderness of this earth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, it started. After too few hours of this wonderful
reward of deep sleep, <u>it started</u>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who. Who-who-whooo.” <i>Please go away Mr. Owl.</i> “Who.
Whoooooo. Whooooooo.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“YOU, that’s Who.” <i>Uh,
I am not going to put up with much of this.</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still in my long johns, I slipped into my work boots,
grabbed an empty bean can from the trash, and stumbled out into the crisp early
morning forest air. “Whoooo.” I turned
to face my nemesis. There behind me, on a branch of a tall, old, Hemlock tree,
was an owl, a pure white owl.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was about to toss the empty bean can at him, but it abruptly
started to snow, quite fiercely, and the icy crystals stung my sleepy eyes. The
owl took flight and disappeared deeper into the mystical, moonlit-snow-globe of
the forest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned to scurry back inside, but as I did I was struck
with fright as I saw a rather large creature lumbering down the streambed on
two feet, some fifty yards away. It did not turn to look at me, and I dared not
take my eyes off of it. I fixed my terror struck gaze at the wall of reeds
where he disappeared into the swamp.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not get much sleep for the rest of the night. It’s
hard to get comfortable with the cold barrel of a loaded shotgun, lying in bed
next to you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew that as soon as it was eight o’clock, Old Lester at
the General Store would have his door open and coffee brewing. At seven-thirty
sharp, I started to make my way up the forest trail to the road. I followed the
road down the mountain to Lester’s General Store. When I was ten feet away from
his front door I saw him turn the door-lock and a dirty old sign, to OPEN. In the course of our morning conversation,
we determined that it must have been a bear walking on two legs, maybe it had
cut it’s front paws and couldn’t walk on them. Either that or it was a bear
that had escaped from the circus… yeah, right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
What it is, is a great story about an owl, and maybe, it’s
about that big hairy thing that lives deep in the back woods of rural
Pennsylvania. The big hairy thing that the locals don’t talk openly to
city-folk about, or maybe, it was just the icy snow in my sleepy eyes.</div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-42022697461748559472014-08-13T09:19:00.002-07:002014-08-13T09:23:53.632-07:00The Letter <div class="MsoNormal">
Dear John,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been over a year since we said goodbye at Fort
Benning, Georgia. I'll never forget how proud I was to be there for you,
standing next to your Mom and Dad. Watching you walk up to your Commanding
Officer and exchanging salutes. You were the most handsome man I ever knew in
my entire life. I don't remember who cried more, your Mom or me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know you said that because we had only been dating for six
months that it was too soon to get engaged, even though you knew you would love
me forever. I swear, if you had asked me then, I'd of said yes and ran right
off to a Justice of the Peace, or the Company Chaplain and married you right on
the spot. But you were the one that said it wouldn't be fair, because you were
so certain that you would be sent off to Afghanistan or Iraq or some other hot
spot in the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was your idea that, only if we wanted to, we could see
other people. I swear John for this past year the thought of ever seeing anyone
else never entered my mind. Every night in my dreams I can still see your lips
moving, saying those words over and over again, " It isn't fair, it isn't
fair."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those words were playing in my mind when your Mom called
this past weekend. She told me you got hurt. You were the only member of your
squad to survive one of those IED things. Your Mom and I started to cry over
the phone. When we hung up I could hardly see through my tears. I jumped into
my car --determined to drive all the way to Indiana to be with your folks, but
I stopped when I almost hit a little girl waiting for the school bus at the
corner. All I kept saying to myself was. "It isn't fair, It isn't
fair." I just couldn't do it. I was too upset to make a drive like that. I
turned around. Went home, went to bed, and cried myself to sleep. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And again last night, I didn't get to sleep till after five
in the morning. The next thing I knew the phone rang about eight am, and it was
your Mom again. She said you were in a hospital in Germany. She said you would
be home in about three or four weeks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She told me about your legs. The Doctors told her you were
depressed and that you weren't talking to anyone on the phone, not even her.
She was getting all her information from the hospitals communications officer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
John, I know you are depressed, you have the right to be. I
know, it isn't fair. But I also know I love you, and your Mother and I are
flying to Germany next week. I hope you read this letter before that. I love
you more than anything, and I will always be there for you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All my love.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jenny</div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-7057383441642983602014-07-25T20:25:00.000-07:002014-07-25T20:25:57.497-07:00Mummy Look at My Pretty Marbles<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her auburn hair, green eyes, and tiny turned up nose told
Mrs. Jones that the new student sitting in her third grade classroom was
certainly the transfer student from Northern Ireland, Rebecca McGuire, whom she
had been told to expect this morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Becky as she liked to be called, was a quiet little girl,
she rarely opened her mouth at home, and she was not about to begin chattering
away in front of all these strangers here in America. After all, she had no
idea who was Catholic, and who was Protestant.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The teacher asked her to stand up and introduce herself, and
she dutifully obeyed the teachers command, but alas she did so with such a
thick Irish accent that some of the boys snickered loudly. “Boys! That will be
enough!” Mrs. Jones commanded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Welcome to America, Rebecca. You may be seated.” Then class
resumed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At recess Becky was off by herself in a corner of the
playground when a young boy with dark hair and brown eyes approached her. “Hi,
I’m Joel. Do you like to play marbles?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Marbles?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes, marbles. Here. See?” Joel held out a small glass ball,
a “cat’s eye” as it is known in the terminology of marbles. Becky picked it up
and gazed deeply into the marble as she wondered aloud, “It’s so beautiful. It
looks like a four-leaf clover.” Proudly
Joel continued to hold out one marble after another, each more beautiful than
the last. For a while Becky lost all the painful memories she had carried with
her from “The Troubles” back in Ireland as her eyes drank in every detail of
the beautiful glass marbles. Her daydream was only interrupted when Joel said,
“Come over here, we’ll shoot them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shoot them!” Becky exclaimed. “You have a gun? I hope
you’re Protestant!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I’m Jewish, and guns are not allowed at school, silly.
Do they bring guns to school in Ireland?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The soldiers do. They check your books for bombs as you
queue up for school in the morning.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Does it bother you that I’m Jewish?” Joel asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No. I mean …er…I don’t know. I’ve never… Well at least your
not Catholic, me Mum and Dad would have a fit.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, OK. You want to learn how to shoot marbles?” Joel
asked. Then he added laughingly, “Without a gun?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Joel dumped his bag of marbles on the ground and gave Becky
six to start her collection with. By the time they had finished their game
Becky had won six more. As the end-of-recess bell rang, Becky handed the
marbles back to Joel, but he just smiled and said, “Keep them, we’ll play again
tomorrow. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Eighteen years later, the bells that rang for Joel and
Becky, were wedding bells.</span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-55359596414182264612014-07-04T18:10:00.002-07:002014-07-04T18:10:51.286-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
Pursuit of Happiness</span></b> <i> <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Coast Guard gets little respect. Few people consider us
a vital part of our nation’s defense, but in peacetime as well as in times of
war, the Coast Guard is constantly involved in keeping our country safe, from
the perils of the sea, and from foreign invaders. We are Semper Paratus, Always
Ready, to protect our citizens Life, Liberty, and their pursuit of Happiness.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am assigned to one of the larger cutters. I spend more
time in the open waters off of Long Island than the smaller boats do. The
smaller boats are better known for inspecting private pleasure boats, and
handing out fines for things like not enough life jackets on board, or a dead
fire extinguisher. These are all things that are intended to save your life,
while you are pursuing happiness out on the bay. But most people on Long Island
hate us for that. We just don’t get any respect. Thank goodness I will be
spending this year on a bigger ship out in the open water.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past Saturday night we received a report from a
maritime reconnaissance drone that an unmarked cargo ship was stopped dead, in
international waters, due south of Democrat Inlet, and that a forty-foot long
“Cigarette boat” was heading towards it at a high rate of speed. That could
mean anything, but everything it could mean was some kind of trouble.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We received a second report from the drone that the
Cigarette boat had indeed rendezvoused with the cargo ship and was taking on a
large quantity of cargo. We were a big fast cutter, but we were no match for a
cigarette boat in a race. We asked the
Navy drone controllers to make one more pass and see what kind of radar the
cigarette boat had mounted. They reported sighting no radar at all on the
suspect vessel. The bad guys were taking every measure possible to keep from
giving away their position. They were relying on their speed alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Captain of our cutter set an ambush, two miles south of
the inlet. He called Fire Island Station and ordered the smaller cutter
stationed there to linger just inside the inlet, in case the bad guys got past
us. Then the Captain sounded Battle Stations!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was in charge of the forward 20mm auto-cannon. It was
originally a world war two left over antiaircraft gun with a lot of miles on
her, but she got refitted with a new barrel just last year, and she shot
straight and true every time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We could hear the bad guys coming before we could see them.
The Captain gave the word and our searchlights lit up the bad guys, our sirens
started to wail, and the engineer blasted open the engines lifting our cutter
out of the water and charging at the bad guys full steam ahead! They turned and
started to run. The Captain squawked in my headset, “You’re cleared to fire,
put a round over their bow! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sea was rough, both my cutter and the target were
bouncing wildly. I aimed over the targets bow, but just as I pulled the trigger
we hit a wave and my first round penetrated the rear-end of the target, hitting
her square in the engine. High performance fuel, air, and hot lead don’t mix
well. The resulting explosion blew the transom right off the cigarette boat.
The transom flew through the air and slammed right into the gun shield of my
20mm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cigarette boat was burning wildly and sinking at the
stern. We could see four crewmen jump from the burning wreck into the water.
The Captain maneuvered us to the windward side of the wreck and we rescued the
cigarette boats crew, and took them into custody. The cigarette boat’s cargo
was burning wildly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then the wind changed direction. We all got a whiff of
eighteen bails of marijuana, as it burned and laid down a smoke screen that put
a smile on the face of everyone on board, and any fishing boat that happened to
pass within a mile of us to the leeward. That is when I looked down at the
transom of the cigarette boat as it lay against the gun shield of my 20mm
auto-cannon. My single 20mm round had dotted the “I” in the cigarette boat’s name,
“Happiness.”</div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-58587453016342190462014-03-15T13:13:00.003-07:002014-07-25T20:18:06.886-07:00When the Ripper Calls<img height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_EryapFJH15LStlQeKai_3f3QmJKAxFqqOazMsU0r_-4KnuxfkBicBnBkvK5l5YRy03w9pSnBGG2Ob4JhzXdehAfeqWfud-Sm8GfNI2vGMUTUgE7pvNkCj3iVmFAJzsXWxqthMgh0O52/s320/052+1.jpg" width="428" />
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F4.bp.blogspot.com%2F-gFpUPtLLiWo%2FUcra-xAsgrI%2FAAAAAAAAAGI%2FmkQUZS9h-sg%2Fs320%2F052%2B1.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_EryapFJH15LStlQeKai_3f3QmJKAxFqqOazMsU0r_-4KnuxfkBicBnBkvK5l5YRy03w9pSnBGG2Ob4JhzXdehAfeqWfud-Sm8GfNI2vGMUTUgE7pvNkCj3iVmFAJzsXWxqthMgh0O52/s320/052+1.jpg" --><!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_EryapFJH15LStlQeKai_3f3QmJKAxFqqOazMsU0r_-4KnuxfkBicBnBkvK5l5YRy03w9pSnBGG2Ob4JhzXdehAfeqWfud-Sm8GfNI2vGMUTUgE7pvNkCj3iVmFAJzsXWxqthMgh0O52/s320/052+1.jpg" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_EryapFJH15LStlQeKai_3f3QmJKAxFqqOazMsU0r_-4KnuxfkBicBnBkvK5l5YRy03w9pSnBGG2Ob4JhzXdehAfeqWfud-Sm8GfNI2vGMUTUgE7pvNkCj3iVmFAJzsXWxqthMgh0O52/s320/052+1.jpg" -->Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-61932661946119826672014-03-14T11:59:00.000-07:002014-03-14T12:00:21.968-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A
stroll down the driveway on the third day of spring</span></i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
walk in cold mist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Above
me, a sky of gray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
world is vacant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It
should be Springtime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Winter,
please go away now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Dampness
chills my bones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Spring
tries to come forth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Winter
refuses to leave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Cool
air surrounds me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Blanket
of flowers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Quietly
you are waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Hidden
by moist earth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Asparagus
patch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
hear you call me softly,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Please
make me ready.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Look,
there, Daffodils.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Too
soon I say, it’s too cold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Chills
still embrace me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Patience,
patience all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Summers
toil comes soon enough.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">We
will yearn for rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Let
us all relax.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Enjoy
this spring transition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: 16pt;">Be
still, and at peace.</span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-34441697585424741282014-02-15T10:48:00.000-08:002014-02-15T10:48:13.208-08:00Fourth Down and Two<h1>
Fourth Down and Two</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">A
child looks into a camera lens, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">so
sadly with his big brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Eyes
that are filled with tears, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">and
devoid of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
see him for only a few moments, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">and
then he is gone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In
the warmth and comfort of my home, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">the
football game returns to the TV screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It’s
fourth down and 2. Will he make it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
can remember the 800 number, how strange, how haunting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">It
only flashed on the screen for a few seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">under
the picture of the boy with the big brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Out
of body I see a hungry man walk past the telephone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">to
his refrigerator. Turkey, roast beef, salami, or bologna;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">his
choices are too many, what will he chose?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Turkey
and American on Rye with mayo. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">His
plate full, he turns and sees the telephone again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
pauses and remembers. The phone call…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The
game is now over, we won, they lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
look at the remaining pieces of my sandwich on the plate, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">once
again my eyes were bigger than my appetite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
walk to the trash, open the lid … and stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Will
he make it?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I
put down the plate, and pick up the phone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Life
changes for a boy with big brown eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">My
life changes for the better as well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">He
will make it after all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-59956197180315943692014-01-23T11:20:00.003-08:002014-01-23T11:21:40.389-08:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Memories</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I close my eyes I see the pages of my diary. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A diary I have never put to paper, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
it is written deep within my soul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thumb through its pages and read memories of you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though you are gone from mortal sight, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you are still with me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The memory of you is written here, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
deep within me, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and I can visit my fond memories of you whenever I wish.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turn page after page, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
read smile after smile, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
then suddenly I find many blank pages. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am startled until I realize these innumerable blank pages
have been given to me, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and it is up to me to fill them with memories, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the day after that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My minds eye drifts from my diary to the night sky. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I see a thousand stars. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each star becomes a blank page. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not a page in my diary, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but in yours, and his, and his, and hers, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and that little one over there -hers too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder why these pages of other people’s diaries are here
in my mind, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and soon I understand that I was not the author of all the
pages in my own diary. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many of my diary’s pages were written by those souls I had
known. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those I loved, and those I loved not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The star-like pages in the night sky of my mind, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the blank pages at the end of my diary… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They belong to you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They belong to me. </div>
They are waiting for us all, to write them.Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-28028322924617631932014-01-01T19:48:00.001-08:002014-01-01T19:49:01.013-08:00<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Hero </span></b> <br />
The laser weapon burn on my right foot was enough to get me taken off the line. It will take six to eight weeks for it to heal. That is what the Space Marine Surgeon said when he discharged me from Earth Orbital Hospital number 23. It’s going to feel real good to spend a few months recuperating from my battle wound at my home on Long Islands Great South Bay. <br />
<br />
When I left this community a few short years ago, people cursed me for keeping my electric car under the speed limit, and for stopping at the stop signs. But today, after the victory over the Naspern Pirates on the planet Remson 7, now they stop me on the street just to shake my hand and to take a picture with me, so they can boast of our Friendship on every social media network known to man. Their children, with bright beaming faces, smile broadly as they ask me, How many Nasperns did you kill on Remson 7? What is the color of their blood? Do they really eat humans? With a distant look I answer them: Countless thousands. Iridescent blue. Yes, they do. That is why you must never surrender. <br />
<br />
All this came to an abrupt end. I was at home for less than a month when a hovercraft came swishing into the neighborhood and deposited two Space Marines in full dress uniform on my doorstep. One look at them told you they were politician’s sons, each of them with a chest full of ribbons representing everything imaginable, that is to say, everything except combat in the Naspern War. <br />
<br />
My wife, Helen, was deeply saddened when I told her the message the two well-dressed boys at the door had delivered. My new orders; I was being recalled early. The Nasperns had counter-attacked in the Blue Quadrant, and we had to stop them on the outer ring of Ice Desert Planets, or Earth itself would be threatened by their long-range battle cruisers. I have been promoted to full Colonel, and will take command of a Replacement Battalion near the front. <br />
<br />
Helen and I made love on the night before I left, and I fell asleep in her arms. Our marriage was a good marriage from the start. I was twenty-two, she was sixteen, perfect for a Space Marine marriage. Now, after decades of off planet duty, jumping through space at speeds tens of thousands of times faster than the speed of light, I was in my forties. Helen was closer to 60. While many Space Marine marriages fall apart when time dilation starts to rear it’s ugly head, our marriage did more than just survive. We were still in love. <br />
<br />
In the morning she made me apple crepes with fresh cream. She packed homemade peach turnovers in the same thermal travel bag that I have used for the past twenty years. She handed that special travel bag to me as I left. She bravely fought back her tears, just as she had done all the times before as we kissed good-bye and turned away. “I’ll be back, fit but drunk,” I said. She answered, as she always did, “Make sure you still love me when you do, or I’ll turn you out with the dogs.” Strange as it sounds, this was our special good luck blessing. The dogs had died years ago, but we dared not change a word of our lucky good-bye. <br />
<br />
The bullet train ride to Dahlgren, Virginia took a half hour. Then a limo met me at the station and shuttled me to the Space Marine Operations Center. <br />
<br />
“Welcome to SMOC Colonel.” The guard handed back my ID and I returned his salute. <br />
<br />
“Driver, take me directly to Departures. I’m already checked in.” <br />
<br />
“Yes Sir.” <br />
<br />
When we got to the Departure terminal my driver carried my bags to the spray station. <br />
<br />
“Kick ‘em in the ass once for me Colonel. Vincit Omnia!” <br />
<br />
“Vin-om, Seargent, vin-om.” <br />
<br />
I turned and slid my badge into the appropriate slot on the Departure kiosk, put my bags on an auto cart and followed it down a lighted pathway to my assigned spray station. Then came the computerized female voice;<br />
<br />
<i>Please stand on the yellow footprints with arms held tightly to your side. <br /><br />Open your mouth and wait for the breathing tube to be inserted. <br /><br />Close your mouth. <br /><br />Bite down… now. <br /><br />Take a deep breath and hold it. <br /><br />Close your eyes. </i><br />
<br />
With that final command I was sprayed with the worst smelling goop mankind ever invented. You couldn’t smell it during transport, but when you arrived at your destination, and they peeled it off of you, you stank for days. I know it was designed to protect your skin from radiation during Uber-Licht transport, but you’d think the crazy bunch of German scientists who invented the thing could have put a little fragrance into the goop mix. <br />
<br />
Thus, in less time than it took to get from Long Island to Virginia, I was transported to planet M-286 to take charge of the Mobil Infantry Replacement Battalion. M-286 was a frozen wasteland. As my combat hovercraft moved me toward my new command I could tell we were getting closer and closer to the fighting as well. At first we passed neat stacks of coffins, waiting in queue to be compacted for transport back to Earth. Then we past rows of frost covered body bags. Finally we saw the field hospitals with their disorderly piles of bodies, and small mountains of arms and legs that were once connected to the bodies of young Space Marines. <br />
<br />
That’s when my driver spoke up, “They are from the battle of Two Glaciers. The Naspern Positron Bombers caught us in the open. Thirty thousand of our boys bought it. Your replacement Battalion is an empty shell. Most of our boys have been assigned to 1st Brigade, 2nd Mobil. Ain’t nothin’ waiting for you at HQ except a Laser-Log full of forms to be filled out and filed with 3rd Field Army HQ. Oh, and a bottle of Scotch to help fight off the cold of this snowball planet, complements of, yours truly.” <br />
<br />
Luckily my driver was exaggerating, a little. My Battalion was down to its skeleton strength of a little over two hundred Space Marines. Luckily most of them were combat veterans. As such they were resourceful in gathering weapons from the battlefield and getting them back into serviceable shape. My command was small, but experienced, well armed, and well supplied. I could handle the form filing, but could I earn the respect of my men? Much was expected of me because of my reputation. As I looked at the men of my command I could see they had an all to familiar battle hardened toughness in their eyes, and that made me feel safe. I knew from that cold steel look, that these Space Marines could handle anything. No matter what odds we might have to face in combat on this block of space ice. <br />
<br />
This assignment was more of a paperwork position than it was a combat command, but there was more danger in being in the rear, than there was up front. The Naspern’s were genetically closer to ants than humans, yet the adult males stood nearly eight foot tall. I had learned from experience that their favorite tactic was tunneling under us, and infiltrating large numbers of troops behind our maneuver armies. Then stealthily, they would unleash thousands of giant warriors into our rear. <br />
<br />
On my third day with my new command on this frozen planet, I was ordered to move my Battalion to the south pole of M-286; to seek-out and destroy a suspected Naspern supply base. My reconnaissance patrols found it easily, and I reviewed their long-range infrared photos of the place. There were thousands of heat signatures, all identified by the computer as Naspern, but most were much smaller than the adult male warriors we were hunting. The area was surprisingly not well fortified, and the larger male warriors we counted were few. They obviously were not expecting us this far south. I ordered my men to attack the supply base, and eradicate it. <br />
<br />
The operation was a success, and now they are going to give me a medal for that action, as a crowd of civilians cheers wildly. The citation I am to receive is for bravery, for valor in defense of our home world, that’s what they call it. In the midst of wholesale slaughter, eight hundred Naspern warriors were among the thousands of Nasperns that died that day. They died bravely. You would have expected them to. They were all that were left behind to defend eight-teen thousand of the Naspern army’s women and children, as the bulk of the Naspern warriors had marched north to intercept the bulk of our army. <br />
<br />
I’ll never forget what the President told me as he pinned that Onyx Cross on my chest, “Colonel, you have had quite a year. The battle of South Pole M-286, is your finest hour. Congratulations, good show.” <br />
<br />
This may have been my finest hour, my finest year. It certainly was not my proudest, or happiest. Perhaps when I retire from the service. I will be able to find the happiness that has eluded me all these years.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyText">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 9.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-8670304674286471482013-12-17T17:44:00.000-08:002013-12-17T17:44:53.207-08:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Taking
the Shot </span><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
Our players are <b>Control</b>, wearing a headset and seated
behind computer screens somewhere in Northeastern Virginia, and <b>Shooter One</b>,
somewhere in the Saudi Arabian desert. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “Control to Shooter One.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: “One.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “Are you in position?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: “Affirmative.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “Atmospherics?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: “ West wind crossing target area at ten
miles per hour, left to right. Minimal dust, heat distortion also nominal. Shot
probability, ninety percent.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “All shooters, target will be in the second
limo, drivers side rear. Confirm.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: “Target …second limo, drivers side
rear.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “Target convoy has left the palace. They
have taken a right on El-Ajib highway. Shooters two and three stand down. This
is going to be shooter ones show… Shooter One, target E.T.A. your location is
one minute, confirm.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: “Control, confirm it’s my show. E.T.A.
one minute… Control, I have a dust cloud in the highway target area. Request
satellite I.D. and confirmation of possible civilian traffic.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “Confirming now, Shooter One… Shooter One,
affirmative. Civilian traffic. Looks like a heard of goats and a single
Sheppard. You are still <u>GO</u> for the shot. Civilian traffic is expected to
slow the convoy down considerably, putting your shot probability in the
ninety-eight percentile. Repeat you are still <u>GO</u> for the shot.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: Control. Target is in sight. … Convoy
slowing down. …The goats are generating
a good deal of dust… Convoy has now come to a complete stop. Goats are still
making an awful lot of dust… Shot probability is now down to about sixty
percent.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: Wait for it Shooter One. Be patient, it will
come. You’re the best in the business.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: Control, sheep have now stopped next to
second limo… Dust clearing… Control, this is our lucky day. Target is standing
up in the back seat to take pictures of the goats.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “SHOOT!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Shooter One</b>: “Multiple shots taken. Transmitting
now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Control</b>: “All bidders, this is Johnson Photography.
We have multiple pictures of Brittany Spears leaving Prince Adel’s Palace. The
bidding will start at fifteen thousand.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-6340935528919431942013-12-17T17:39:00.000-08:002014-03-15T13:12:03.861-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_EryapFJH15LStlQeKai_3f3QmJKAxFqqOazMsU0r_-4KnuxfkBicBnBkvK5l5YRy03w9pSnBGG2Ob4JhzXdehAfeqWfud-Sm8GfNI2vGMUTUgE7pvNkCj3iVmFAJzsXWxqthMgh0O52/s1600/052+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_EryapFJH15LStlQeKai_3f3QmJKAxFqqOazMsU0r_-4KnuxfkBicBnBkvK5l5YRy03w9pSnBGG2Ob4JhzXdehAfeqWfud-Sm8GfNI2vGMUTUgE7pvNkCj3iVmFAJzsXWxqthMgh0O52/s320/052+1.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-20273762944632664632013-12-01T16:48:00.000-08:002013-12-01T16:53:23.249-08:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The Holiday Traveler</span></b> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Your attention please. The Department of Homeland
Security has issued a specific threat warning for air travel within the
continental United States. The threat level has been upgraded from Orange to
Red. All travelers are advised to plan
extra travel time, to allow for increased security screening in all domestic
air terminals. Your cooperation is
greatly appreciated. Thank You.”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was wheeling my carry-on from the men’s room to the Au-Bon
Pan shop in Terminal F to get myself a three-day-old turkey on roll for lunch
when they made the announcement. Wonderful.
I hope I can still make my flight. I looked for the nearest Departures
monitor but the first thing I noticed was a guy in a brown suit with a military
haircut and a hearing aid, then another, and another. Finally the light in my
brain went on. Undercover security, and lots of them. My eyes finally found the
Departures monitor. Delta 4123 …Gate F21 …Delayed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I was busy watching the Departure monitor, I didn’t
notice the security camera looking back at me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I got to Au-Bon Pan I got a whiff of Five Guys cooking
up a triple bypass on a bun and I changed my mind about lunch. A cheeseburger
with a bagful of fries would last longer in my stomach. No telling how long we
were going to be held up. I made an abrupt change of direction and bumped into
someone, but before I could say “I’m sorry, excuse me.” I was tossed to the
ground and handcuffed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Control, I got him, I got him! All units, suspect in
custody at Gate Foxtrot 12. Repeat Foxtrot 12.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the brown suited security people dragged me to my
feet by the handcuffs behind my back, and two other undercover security people
had me by each arm as they led me out of the corridor and quickly into a
Security office. In the blinking of an eye I was out of public view, and for
all intents and purposes, I no longer existed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was taken down some back hallways to an “Interview Room.”
“Interrogation Room” is more like it. There they dropped me like a sack of
potatoes into a chair behind a table. An older guy who wore a better fitting
suit than the rest of them took a seat across from me. He examined my passport
as he started to ask me questions.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Khalid Al-Akeen?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No… Donald E. Allen. Do I look like a Kal-Hide El-Whoever
to you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
‘You do to the computer. The beard shape and color, the
glasses.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You guys arrest Santa Claus lately? Let’s try this one in
your computer fellas, how tall is this Kaleek- KaLeek guy? I’m six-foot-three.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every suit in the room started to have a little sidebar
discussion. The expensive suit called up some pictures on his flat screen, and
quickly shot a disapproving look at the suit that had taken me into custody.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Allen, we are very sorry for the mix-up. The Homeland
Security facial recognition software gave us a positive ID on you. It is a new
system, we haven’t worked out all the bugs yet. These gentlemen will escort you
to your gate. On behalf of the United States Government I apologize. Please understand,
these are trying times, and we are counting on the understanding and
cooperation of all good American citizens. Good day Sir.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">With that I was much more gently escorted to my gate,
but still kept under close surveillance until I boarded my flight home. Happy Thanksgiving.</span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-90874703603063265282013-11-14T16:50:00.001-08:002013-11-14T16:50:53.741-08:00<h1>
The Missing Children of Maple Street
<i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i></h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“One more time from the beginning Mr. Smith.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Detective Brown, PLEASE, we are wasting time.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s important that we have all the details. Once more from
the beginning.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It started with a sign that read, “HAUNTED HOUSE, 135 Maple
Street, October 30<sup>th</sup> and 31<sup>st</sup> only, Noon until 7:30 PM,
Children under 12 FREE, all others $5 per person.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I never liked haunted houses, but how bad could this one be?
After all, it was catering to young children with its times of operation and
its pricing. <i>Be a man</i> I thought. My 10 year-old-daughter Kelly would
love it. I could be “The Cool Parent” for a change. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her mom wanted me to take her on the 31<sup>st</sup> even
though it wasn’t my usual day to have her. My Ex was going to an office Halloween
party. She just didn’t want Kelly around if she brought her boss home from the
party for some overtime.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I picked Kelly up at my Ex’s house… It used to be OUR HOUSE.
I asked Kelly if she wanted to do the Haunted House thing, half hoping she
would say no, but she jumped out of her skin with excitement.” “That’s so RAD I
thought you were going to make me do some lame trick or treat thing. “Daddy I
love you,” she said.” At this point Mr. Smith started to fight back his tears.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mr. Smith? Mr. Smith, is there a problem? Did you think of
something you would like to add?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“ I think that’s the last time she said I love you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know this is difficult for you Mr. Smith. Please, take a
deep breath and continue.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We pulled up in front of 135 Maple. There was another
Haunted House sign in the front yard. The house was the same cookie-cutter
design as the rest of the neighborhood, but this one was very nicely decorated
for Halloween. I walked up and rang the doorbell, but it did not go Ding-Dong,
it screamed. Kelly loved it and kept ringing it and laughing. The door was
answered by a guy in really good Living Dead make-up who said his name was Joe.
I handed him my $5, and we walked in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The place was freezing cold. Day-Glow painted arrows led the
way through the house. Fake cobwebs and rooms converted from dens and bedrooms
into crypts and graveyards. When we got
to what I assumed to be the dining room, I saw a very attractive woman with
whom I struck up a conversation. That’s when Kelly wondered off. I looked
around for her, but the woman said “Don’t worry, she’s with my daughter, I saw
them go into the Haunted Disco room together. Girls just want to have fun.” She
said her name was Margie.” She was kind of hot and started flirting with me.
Then all of a sudden I heard a bunch of children scream. The next thing I
remember is that Patrol Officer over there shaking me back to consciousness at
the corner of Maple and Montauk.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Detective Brown, the Lieutenant wants to talk to you right
now.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Excuse me for a few minutes Mr. Smith,”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> ///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do ya have for me Detective Brown?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well Lieutenant, his story jives with the calls 911 got
yesterday about the children going to a Haunted House on Maple Street, and not
coming home. Mr. Smith gave us a few
names, just the first names of people he met inside the house. A female
customer who called herself Margie and a guy named Joe who was one of the
actors in the place.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This little girl plus yesterday’s 911 reports brings the
missing children total to five. Detective Brown, I have to tell ya. 135 Maple
is an empty lot. Gas explosion five years ago on Halloween night. Mother,
Father, and five kids all perished. The Mother’s name was Margie, the Father’s
name was Joe. Whatever you do Detective Brown, don’t talk to the press.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then came a long rumble of thunder. Detective Brown saw them
first. Standing by the 7-11 across the street were five children; Kelly, three
other young girls, and a little boy. All very frightened, and covered in blood.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The sight of the children shocked my brain halfway
back to reality. I awoke from my dream to see my wife in bed next to me. I got
up to check on Kelly. When I opened Kelly’s
bedroom door, her bedroom was empty. As empty as it has been every night for
the past five years. Ever since she died along with four other children in the
Halloween sleepover fire at her best friends house, on Maple Street.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-36005905363867869682013-11-05T18:45:00.001-08:002013-11-08T06:08:11.367-08:00<h1>
Lies My Mother Told Me</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I dare go up the stairs? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must. It has been a very long time since Mother came down
to feed me. I have been very hungry, and I have slept twice between the hungry
times. The light in the window crack has come for the third time now. Mother has not brought my food. We have not
done any adding and subtracting, no drawing. We have not read from any book.
Nothing. Where is my Mother? She has never left me for so long. Why did she leave
me?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if the Evil Ones have come to get her? What if they
took her away? Did she save me from them by sacrificing herself? I must go up
the stairs. I must. I know I’m not allowed to go up the stairs, but it has been
so long. Mother, where are you? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The steps creek announcing each step like a trumpeter
announces a prince as he climbs the steps to his throne, but this is no story
in a book. I can see the doorknob as I reach the top landing. What if it’s
locked? Should I open it, or just call out for Mother?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“MOTHER!” I grab the doorknob and hold it closed. What if
the Evil Ones are out there? Oh I’m so stupid, so very stupid. Why did I call
out like that?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing. Nothing but
silence. No answer from Mother. No attack by the Evil Ones. Nothing at all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turn the knob and the door is open. I am blinded by the
light. It is so bright up here where Mother lives. So bright it hurts my eyes.
Then I see her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is facedown on the floor. There is blood. She is not
moving. “Mother! Mother please. Please, Mother, please talk to me, please!”
Mother does not answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is still, and cold. She smells bad. “Mother please
wake-up. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll go back downstairs. I promise.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hear a noise. THE EVIL ONES ARE HERE! I scream and run for
the stairs leading back to my secret home, but one of them grabs me just as I
reach the basement door. I fight and scream and kick, but he pushes me to the
floor and ties my hands behind me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s okay son. Everything is going to be okay.” The room is
filled with Evil Ones in their blue uniforms, with their sticks and guns. Then
another Mother person comes to me, and puts her hand on my head. “Tommy? Tommy
my name is Jennifer. I’m going to make sure nobody ever hurts you. We are going
to take care of you, Tommy.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was six years ago. I spent one year in an institution
for juvenal care. One year in a halfway house, and the last four years in
foster care with the Jakubowskis. Nice people the Jakubowskis. I’m eighteen now. The system no longer supports me. I’ve been turned down for
military service. Now I’m out on my own. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I’m dangerous.</div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-59309470507602021582013-10-25T14:37:00.000-07:002013-10-25T14:37:13.153-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Uncle
Mike’s Snow Globe </span></b><i> </i><b><span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hardly saw my Uncle Mike anymore. Before I got married and the job moved me to
Chicago my Uncle Mike was like a second Father to me. But with the job, and the
kids, maybe I saw him one out of every five Christmases. Why do I have to clean out his apartment
instead of my brother Billy or my sister Annie the princess? I’ll never know.
Yes I do, I always get stuck with the crappy jobs in this family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hate to toss all this crap out. I know it must have meant
a lot to him while he was alive. ‘While he was alive.’ listen to me. He just
might be alive, he’s only been missing for three months. But Dad said he has been forgetting things
lately. Neighbors have found him wondering around lost at night. He probably
wondered off and died in the park or where ever. I spent the past two days looking at John Doe pictures at the
city morgue. I can spend three more
days here, four the most. Then I have to get back to Chicago. I offered to pay
the rent for a few more months just in case Uncle Mike miraculously shows up
again, but the Landlord is being a real S.O.B. about it. He knows he can jack
up the rent for the next tenant. He wanted my Uncle gone years ago.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My Pop’s instructions were simple enough; Pack the place up,
toss the junk in the dumpster, keep the valuables. Then schlep the boxes of
valuables to the storage unit place down the block. Boxes of valuables? What a joke that is. I can tell right now
there isn’t going to be a heck of a lot going to that storage unit. Dad and my
sister, Princess Annie, arranged for a 5x10 by 8-foot high storage unit. It was
the smallest one they had available. What a waste of money. It would have been
cheaper to rent a safe deposit box. That’s about all the space we are going to
need from what I can see. I’ll just
take a few old pictures, a few odds and ends, so I can bring them to Pop at his
assisted living facility. At least that
way he will have something to remember Uncle Mike by.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oooooh, what do we have here? A baseball-card collection.
BINGO! The ’61 Yankees, all of them autographed. This will be going back to
Chicago with me. Call it… <i>compensation</i> for my flying all the way back
here to take care of family business. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now what’s this? A photo of Pop, Mom, and Uncle Mike at the
beach. I’ll bring this to Pop. He can
tell me the same old story behind this picture every time I visit him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What the heck is this?
Looks like a baseball rolled under the bed. Eh.. come here you… got it.
Oh crap, my daydream of finding an autographed ’61 Yankees baseball just went
up in smoke. It’s only a snow globe.
Looks like a souvenir of the Whitehouse. What’s that? It looks like some one is in that tiny
little window. Oh my God it’s…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One week later…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yo, Annie.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Annie the princess answered her brother with her usual
contempt. “What is it now, Bill?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Come look at what I found in Uncle Mike’s bedroom. It looks like a baseball-card collection and
a stupid old snow globe<b>-</b>Annie, Annie, come here quick! It looks like…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Uncle Mike, Billy, and I, trapped in tiny plastic
bodies, looked out of a West Wing window of the little plastic Whitehouse.
Through a watery sky filled with plastic snowflakes swirling around, we could
see Annie enter Uncle Mike’s bedroom, Calling out for Bill. We knew that if she
was the least bit curious, she too would be joining us in the snow globe.</span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-26124153282330005952013-10-03T08:56:00.000-07:002013-10-03T08:56:35.988-07:00<h1>
To Change the world</h1>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>
</i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A man, I’d guess him to be in his 70’s, walked up to me as I
was gardening. He was dressed in a
brightly colored shirt, and blue, bell-bottom jeans; and yet he did not look at
all out of place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Excuse me Mr. Allen? My Name is George. People call me
Gip.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How can I help you Gip?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I simply ask that you lend me your ear for a moment, if you
don’t mind?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not at all Gip, you've captured my interest.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Good, good, Mr. Allen… as I've mentioned, my name is
George, George Wells. My father was
Herbert George Wells… H. G. Wells.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was in shock, but my fascination drove me forward, as if I
was galloping on the back of my thirst for historical knowledge. “Mr. Wells,
your father passed on in the 1940’s, and I dare say, you Sir, followed on into
that great unknown in the 90’s.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No-no, late 80’s actually as I've come to learn of it, but
it makes no matter. It is 1978 as I start this journey. You see, Mr. Allen,
just before his death, my father was given … a machine, a <i>time</i>
machine. A very real, very functional,
time machine. I have not dared use it
until now. I have been to 2053 and there I found the great cataclysm so many
have warned about in their writings for so many centuries. But as I journeyed
back, back to 2029, I found an essay you had written, a powerful and moving
essay to set the world on a path of peace.
But your essay was not selected for the National Society of Literary
Excellence, simply because it called President Kane by name. Please, Mr. Allen, remember. In writing your
essay, do not call President Kane by name. Only then will you be selected for
the Journal. It will change the future. It <u>will</u> change things… for the
better.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“National Society of Literary Excellence. I’ll have to
remember that. I, guess I’ll have to
work for Mr. Kane’s campaign as well.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, Mr. Allen. The election of 2028 is rigged. Just do not
yield to temptation, do not name him, or your work will be squashed. You must let your work breath and grow. All future generations depend on it, Mr.
Allen.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll do my part George. Can you come back in late 2028 to
remind me, perhaps give me a draft of my essay so that I can get every word
right?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry, Mr. Allen.
I cannot bring items out of their element. As it is, time travel takes
its toll on the human body. Now, I hope
to have the strength to return to 1978, and live out my years in relative
peace.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What will become of the machine?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m going to destroy it, Mr. Allen. I can’t bring myself to trust any other
human being with such power, and there is no greater good that can be done with
it, other than that which remains for you to do.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
With that George turned away and walked through an invisible
doorway at the edge of my garden. In a flash of light he was gone. Gone back, I
presume, to 1978, while I am left here to wonder what the hell I will write
when I am in my 70’s, to save the world from its eventual self-destruction?</div>
Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-48062161350224139542013-09-23T16:27:00.001-07:002013-09-23T16:27:48.044-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
Fall in Love</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not saying I’m right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not saying you’re wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m saying let’s just chill out tonight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And fall in love with a brand new song.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t need to argue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I no longer see the reason.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s just enjoy the sunset</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this changing of the season.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was just an article that caught my interest,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An attention-grabbing aside.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It does not express my values,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On marijuana or gay pride. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shared it publicly on Facebook</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps doing so was a mistake</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now the men in black, my apple they hack</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
W-T-F, for heaven’s sake?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So tonight let’s turn off the TV</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The computer, and the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s sip some wine and just relax</div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">With our lips and our hearts unfurled. </span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2769877074714175504.post-70276723573407133382013-08-30T20:51:00.000-07:002013-08-30T20:51:30.335-07:00<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dedicated, To Those Who Will Die Tomorrow</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How many loaves of white bread did I buy for a dollar today?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh damn, it should have been whole grain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is how we can eat right they say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I thought the all news radio station said something
about 200 dead.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think it was in Syria.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel so guilt ridden.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did not walk my 2 miles before breakfast. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had two ice cream cups for dessert.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the handsome man, and the pretty face on the big screen
TV,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
said it was poison gas, maybe, they don’t know for sure. Now
it’s time for sports.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When is too much information</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not enough information to act?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To finally do something to solve the problem.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At last someone on TV has an answer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are going to trade the Quarterback for a first round
draft pick next year.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing on the tube tonight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I guess I’ll try a level or two in Candy Crush or Farmville.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
News flash, RSS feed, PUSH notification, a Presidential
tweet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The carriers are in position.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need some nails to build another barn, </div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m out of lives. Please, can you send me some lives?</span>Donald E. Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07672710426819944078noreply@blogger.com0