ONE
Travis Stone jerked the steering wheel of his battered and beat up
pickup truck skimmer around the one pothole at the end of his driveway that
refused to stay filled. He swore the
hole ate dirt as fast as he could shovel it into the crater. One more week and the hole was history if his
luck held out.
Travis reached down and clicked on the radio. Country western music filled the cab. He rolled down the windows and turned up the
volume. Taking the back roads into town
afforded him the leisure of singing off key as loud as he wanted. He smiled at the image his thoughts
formed. His high school choir director
frowned and shook her finger at him every time he deliberately soured a note or
two. Mrs. Baxter was probably spinning
in her grave. Travis didn’t care. He sang for fun, not for anyone’s pleasure
but his own.
He glanced at the dashboard clock.
He had forty-five minutes until he reached the edge of town and
civilization. Tabasco Flats, New Texas preferred
to keep the decorum of vintage country and southwestern lifestyle alive to the
public eye. Since the Revolution divided
New America into five new countries, trade agreements and laws were under
negotiation in many regions as new states and governments formed. That was ten light years ago and another
planet. Even earth’s distance memories
paled in comparison to the news. The
docking station master would need help as the mail order mates disembarked from
their ship. Travis’s smile grew as he
pushed the skimmer’s motor into hyper-drive.
His bride and co-husband awaited
him.
Aleisha Jones swallowed hard as her lottery mate Daniel Zane braided her
hair. Washing and combing the long
strands was bothersome and one thing she wished she didn’t have to deal
with. Her contract said her purchaser
liked long hair and wanted his bride to wear it braided. Maybe she could sweet talk him into letting
her cut her waist length hair off at her shoulders.
Daniel knew how many times he had to criss-cross the strands of hair he
held in each hand until Aleisha’s braid finished short of her hips. He’d come to love her in a way he hadn’t
expected to feel again after his wife’s death.
Time healed wounds. Light years
made no dent in his ache and lingering sorrow.
Both of them agreed that a life worth living came from understanding
that joy and grief balanced each other out.
Daniel still wasn’t sure when his heart thawed towards her or vice versa. Now he had to share her with someone they
barely knew from short communications and two grainy photos. Things were about to get more challenging.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Happy Weekend Gang!
Well the serial started. A bit of scifi and menage tossed
together. Let's see what this brings about. I'm feeling good as the
weather pings around. Hope you are staying well and sharing a good book
or two with your loves and spice. I'm writing away on a novel entitled
Tina's Treasure and its turning out to be one hot menage!
Until next week, stay cool and dry, happy, healthy, and safe. I
may post more of the first chapter on my personal blog at
solaragordon.wordpress.com.
Smiles,
SOLARA
4 comments:
Mmmm ... SF and sex. Will there be aliens?
If this is eventually going to publication, and if I may act as beta for a moment, a bit of science: light years are measurements of distance, not time. It's the amount of distance light travels in a year (roughly 6 trillion miles). Not to be confused with Buzz Lightyear, who was in Toy Story.
The same is true for a parsec, which is also a measure of distance. That's why when Han Solo says he "made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs," everybody groans.
Thanks Pat for beta reading. Actually, I was using light year in distance sense of miles and not time passage. I can see rewording happening on a couple of places.
As to aliens? Well not sure...
And to publication not sure. Its for fun right now and entertainment.
Pat you rock with your explanations straight and easy to read!
Sci Fi and Texas culture, a great combo as far as I'm concerned. Have a few old west stories on other planet-worlds brewing too.
I love it when writers just let it flow out for fun. More real in tone and feeling. Thanks for sharing.
Since the editor is kicking in... I read from a western erotic romance author that pickup and truck never go together. It's either pickup or truck in their regional lingo. Of course, on this world that could be different.
Solara, thanks for not being angry with my nitpickery. I saw the "light year" use and it threw me out of the story for a second. I didn't want that happening to your readers, or any potential editors.
Since his vehicle's a "skimmer," it's probably got one hell of a pickup. Zero to Warp 2 in 30 seconds?
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