Kale Bender
Bio
I am from Boston MA, and I have self-published five poetry novels. Over the years, I have learned how to use my skills with poetry to help create the physical visuals needed when telling a good story.
Stories (57/0)
Finnegan's Marigold
PART ONE 7:30 A.M Dover, New Hampshire The barking alerted us of the imminent invasion. Dark wings swarmed in the sky, attempting to blot out the sunshine. Finn and Rosie were racing the track they carved out around our house, barking at the clouds. The two-legged, red-headed Guardian of the grounds who maintained the perimeter of our land was down on all fours, working in the yard - planting perennials. I had just finished plucking my fourth earthworm from the soil when the barking started. The red-headed Guardian must have created some kind of invisible barrier because while she could roam wherever she wanted, Finn and Rosie were restricted from wandering beyond their track. Luckily for me, the juiciest worms lived in the soil just past the limits of the invisible fence. I needed to quicken my pace.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Fiction
Mercury Bluffs
Chapter 1 September 4th, 10:22 A.M. State Beach, Martha’s Vineyard Blood-curdling screams rode the crimson waves and crashed hard against the hot sand. Two of the three teenage lifeguards on duty began to pierce through the chaos with their Kiefer Pealess whistles, alerting any remaining swimmers that there was a shark in the water. Beach goers of all ages were suddenly thrusted into a panic as they rushed to gather their scattered friends and family members in desperate attempts to retreat to the safety of their vehicles. Beyond the red buoys which marked the limit for all swimmers, Bree scanned the water with her Marine Rescue binoculars and saw three gray dorsal fins breaching the roiling water indicating that these were now hunting grounds. They were tactically circling a lone sloop which didn’t appear to have any souls on board. Bree’s heart quickly sank to the depths of her stomach, fearing the worst.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Fiction
Brown Paper Box
Boston Massachusetts, 2022 Zachary is sitting in the driveway inside of his idling, government issued, green Ford Fusion sedan smoking a cigarette and listening to the Dave and Chuck the Freak morning show. Satisfied with their discussion on asshole of the day, a crude discussion about another billionaire calling himself an astronaut after making a quick fifteen minute visit into space, he kills the radio as well as the car. Removing the dangling keys from the ignition, he pulls down the sun visor and removes a laminated memorial prayer card clipped to the mirror flap. As he stares hard at the old face on the card, he reaches down into a secret compartment beneath his seat and pulls out a silver flask with a faded Marine Corp sticker on the front. He unscrews the tin cap and takes a long gulp. With a heavy sigh he twists the cap back onto the flask, returns it to its hiding place then stares hard at himself through the mirror of the sun visor. Slamming the visor shut he reaches into his pants right pocket, removes a pack of evergreen chewing gum and pops two pieces inside of his dry mouth. Chewing vigorously, he gathers his cellphone from the magnetic dashboard dock, stuffs the prayer card into the breast pocket of his blue button-down dress shirt and exits the vehicle.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Fiction
Saint Sonia's Locket
Massachusetts, 2050 The stars were exploding. The air was toxic and the earth quaked. Every breath he took made him consider taking another. Clement stood, body shivering, teeth vibrating, inside the bowels of the town's local church.The sign that had once guarded the entrance with pride and purpose, welcoming its visitors with open arms, no longer adorned a name nor mission. Two charred stakes of rotted wood were all that remained.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Fiction
Saint Sonia
Massachusetts, 2050 The stars were exploding. The air was toxic and the earth quaked. Every breath he took made him consider taking another. Clement stood, body shivering, teeth vibrating, inside the bowels of the town's local church.The sign that had once guarded the entrance with pride and purpose, welcoming its visitors with open arms, no longer adorned a name nor mission. Two charred stakes of rotted wood were all that remained. "Saint Sonia" he whispered to himself.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Fiction
VIOLIN : Part One
Part One Italy, 1941 The stars were exploding. The air was cold and the earth quaked. Every breath he took made him consider taking another. Clement stood, body shivering, teeth vibrating, inside the bowels of the town's local church. The sign that once guarded the entrance with pride and purpose, welcoming its visitors with open arms, no longer adorned a name nor mission. Two charred stakes of rotten wood were all that remained. "Saint Sonia" he whispered to himself. Clement had a thing for names. He believed everyone and everything in life has a purpose, therefore deserving the privilege of a title. At the moment, Saint Sonia was keeping him hidden from many dangers. More importantly, she was keeping him alive; a pretty important purpose he thought, the most crucial purpose of all.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Humans
Curly
Soapy Consequences I will never forget the taste of that dirty bar of soap my mother used to wash my mouth with after I stuck my tongue out at her in a childish act of rebellion against doing the dishes. She scrubbed that dirty bar, the one she used to wash those dishes, so passionately across my tongue that when she was finally finished scrubbing and removed the bar of soap from my mouth, the bar was no longer white, but red. My tongue was numb and I couldn't taste anything for two days.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Families
It sounded human...
Those days were bleak and somber. My mother would exclusively care for my baby sister, providing her with all of the bare necessities a baby would need. At least, far better than she had ever provided for me. In her coal eyes, the first born was always seen as more of a curse than as a blessing. I would frequently overhear her praying at odd times of the day and of the night. Praying to someone or something that I had no idea even existed. But I knew she was praying. I knew this because of the way her frail hands were either pressed together or holding rosary beads. Sometimes she would squeeze her rosary so hard she would puncture her palms, letting her old blood coat the beads a deep red.
By Kale Bender2 years ago in Horror
