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Dear Valerin
"Dear Valerin,
"These past days in this war have been rather slow. Although I am not complaining about the lull, it makes me wonder what they are up to. We have won very few of the battles that were decisive. And that makes me believe that the enemy is up to something..."
The Corps
"Dear Mom,
"I hope this gets to you. I'm sending this along the Underground, to keep it from the censors. I know you must be surprised to hear from me, especially in this ...furtive? fashion. It seems safer this way, since I committed the crime. I have to tell someone, and you're the only one I can trust. This is what happened..."
Following are the first two in what will eventually become a compilation of short stories about life in the rural USA, where the guns outnumber the cell phones, and the people have to be half crazt in order to remain half sane.
A week of Fridays
"Friday Number 1
"Busy night. Full moon. There's a strange woman sitting at the bar. She has a loaded derringer in her purse. Her hand is in her purse, fiddling with the gun. The gun goes off, shooting her in the thigh. No one hears the shot. She sits there - very still - for a while. Abruptly, she pulls the gun from her purse and slaps it on the bar. The woman then commences screaming that she wants to talk to her sister, who is 'outside somewhere'...."
The Wildman
"People in the rural US like their rock and roll as much as anyone, anywhere. There are a number of small, but very talented bands which play for fun, money and beer. They make their bookings at the local drinking establishments on the weekends, and work at their other jobs during the week. This is the story of a disaster ( or daring escape, depending on your point of view ) which occured after one such gig, on a hot summer's night in the late '70's..."