Something about stepping through that sliding door and into that rush of plastic-y, dense, drug store air seemed to flip a switch in my brain. I was no longer there to tag along while my mother ran errands. I wasn't there to browse the aisles, to beg for a shiny new toy, to play games. I was there to make off richer. No longer would children like myself have to leave their wealth to adults; I would acquire my own wealth and I wouldn't have to wait until I was an adult to do it. No one was going to tell me when I could eat candy; I would get my own candy, and I wasn't asking.

A mysterious anomaly steps out of the woods, near an empty road. It is a shadow stepping out of the dark, walking south. It’s a demon, covered in leather, faded denim, dirty boots, long tangled hair, slim with a long pale face and a stern chin. It becomes clear, it is a man, he approaches closer. He is clean shaven and covered in blood, a knife dangled on his belt in its sheath.

It was a beautiful sunny day with clouds large and looming covering the sun with enough illumination to light the earth below. The sky was blue as the pacific ocean and the clouds as light as snow. It was January so the weather was cool enough to wear a nice knitted sweater and not even sweat, so it was one of those days, the days where you open the front door and there are dozens of kids outside riding bikes, playing tag, hide and go seek, even the parents were outside sitting on porches and talking, no one was stuck on the couch glued to the television drinking beer or wine and what ever you think depressed people do in their homes.

Detective Charlie O’Connell reached to press the elevator button for the parking garage. “Are you sure your informant gave you the right address? No one was in Apartment 706.”

The corner shop was just beginning to close up. The shop assistant, Alison Smith, had taken in the shop signs and tidied up the leaves and rubbish at the entrance. Her boss, Declan Berry, was at home, adjacent the dairy. He had invested in two-way radios for him and her, to commuicate with, while he was at home.

Act 1

Detective Bill Pearson took a swig of his convenience store coffee. “Blah! This stuff is at least a day old.” The burnt taste in the back his throat agitated his gag reflex. He could feel the stomach acid climbing up his esophagus. Popping three fruit-flavored antacid tablets, he chewed then swallowed them.

October 12, 2017: Jake and Zeke are walking together in front of us, I admire the muscles and sleek black and white coats of my boys as we move along the curving gravel from the barn back up to my long low bungalow tucked warm into the slope. The crunch of the gravel under my boots, the hard blue of Alberta sky, our faint breath in the air, the comforting heaviness of my coat, the earthy old apple smell of fall and my beloved Verity in my arms, it all makes me heady with gratitude. I smile, looking at the dogs, and feel my heart bloom warmth through my chest. My boys, my sweetie boys, as I call the two-year-old brothers, make life here possible. In my sixties now and on my own, I couldn’t live out here in Speargrass without them. My companions. My fur babies. My protectors. I am unaware in this moment of the stoking of an unquenchable fire inside them that will, moments from now, blast across my beloved homestead and raze my world.

“Something about the deep blue crisp Autumn sky,” Ben stared up into the heavens mumbling to himself. “The blue goes on forever.”

"While the gasoline is plentiful. Bullets are cheaper when you are preparing for war."

"A care package dropped off by a drone of some kind lands a suit for Toni Cipriani. The mobster never fully became accustomed to technology. With skepticism high, Toni Cipriani opens the package. A tailored suit with a note attached reading “bulletproof in time of need.” The mobster suited up, a custom two-toned ski mask with a giant letter “T” outlined the suit. Packing up MP5 clips along with as many armor piercing shotgun rounds into a duffel bag. As Toni Cipriani loaded up his black matted sports car, the ideal battle format was simple; engage the federal agent targets and flush the streets out with bullets."

CHRISTIAN FICTION