Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans: Part Five (A Sam short story)

Ladies and Gentleman, I am sorry.

To be vague and unconvincing, life happened. And I moved. And made major life changes. I’ll explain later. But for now, here is the *Between gasps of exertion* fifth part of my Sam story.

It is almost over my friends. After the last part is published next week, we should all celebrate. Ice-cream anyone?


The grey ball of fluff was backed into a corner, its tiny kitten face crunched up in a snarl. I didn’t dare take another step. All illusions of grandeur had fled, and I was sure that small creature was threatening to kill me in its kitten language.

Jade crouched beside me, squirming with excited energy, silently cheering me on with her wide-eyed glances. Matt stood a little ways off, his slouching body the physical embodiment of a “harrumph”. I could almost feel him daring me to quit.

Timber hung back, having previously established that the cat would be scared of his tallness. I thought it was just an excuse, but I wasn’t about to call the six foot Goliath out on it. Jade was too excited to gently wrangle the small creature, though she still refused to leave without it, saying that the poor thing would get hit by a car.Read More »

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Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans: Part 4 (A not-so-short Sam Story)

You might be wondering why I ran.

It’s simple, really. Karate kids know how to fight. I don’t. I want to live till tomorrow.

Kapish?

I dashed in-between a Camry and a Honda, their colors mere blurs in my peripheral. I had to find somewhere to hide, fast.

Blacktop stretched onward until it met the street, cars littered over its surface. Their mammoth bumps reminding me of headstones in a graveyard. Lampposts sprung up along the yellow lines, their pale lights hovering atop the fog like off-white ghosts. It would take too long to slide under a car, and the lampposts were too skinny to afford cover.

“Stop where you are!” Timber yelled. The scuff of footsteps chased me, and I poured on the speed. I had outrun King before. If I couldn’t hide I’d have to run until Tall Man gave up.

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My 11 Somethings for the Month of July

Hello everyone!

My Sam story is a bit longer than I predicted, so I’ve decided to publish a few regular blog posts on an extra day of the week. Without further delay, I present to you my eleven Somethings for the month of July!

Something Fun

This month my family braved the heat and camped for four days at a Christian music concert-thing called the Alive Festival. We listened to epic artists like Hollyn, TobyMac, and NeedToBreathe.

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Hollyn

Something Scary

Have you ever been minding your own business when something absolutely random shows up in your mind that you’ve never thought of, like, ever?

The subconscious mind is a scary place, my friends. I was minding my own business one day, innocently writing the climax of Rook, when my subconscious threw a major curveball at me by revealing a villain I wasn’t looking for. I’ve creatively imagined the confrontation with my subconscious and its creations going something like this:

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Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans, Part 3 (A Sam Short Story)

Hello everyone!

If you haven’t read the other two parts of this Sam story, here is Part One and Part Two.

Enjoy!


I tore my sunglasses off, and the world lightened about ten shades.

The girl’s hair was brown, not black. Gone was the perfect completion and sculpted eyebrows I’d expected. In were the braces, round cheeks, and ginormous kid-eyes.

Oh no. She was a sixth grader. I’d tried to flirt with a deceptively tall sixth grader.

The kid flashed me a smile. “Hullo, who’re you?”

“Uh….”

Her eyes grew so wide I was worried she’d strain her eyebrows. “Wait a minute! You’re the Glitter Kid!”

I groaned internally and dropped my head back again. Lord, what have I done to deserve this? Will I forever be branded as the Glitter Kid?

She grabbed my hand and shook it with every ounce of enthusiasm in her body, leaving my arm throbbing.  “My name’s Jade. You musta thought I was Brittney.” She snickered a little. “She’s my older sister. I didn’t think we looked alike.” She let go of my hand and clasped hers together, rocking back and forth on her heels. “Do you like to draw too?” she asked, grabbing a pad of paper. “I like this one. The paper’s really smooth.”

Jade managed to stuff all these words into little less than half a second.  I didn’t register any of ’em, to be honest. I still stuck on the fact that this girl was not Brittney.

Jade proceeded to launch into a discourse on the different types of sketching material. I blinked. Focus, Sam. I needed paint cans. I glanced over at the shelf. All I had to do was reach around her, grab two, and run.

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Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans: Part 2 (A Sam Short Story)

My best friend brought a psychopath to my house.

A quick look through the car’s back window told me King’s minions, Levi (A.K.A. beanpole, a senior who was as skinny as a starving skateboarder) and Dylan (otherwise known as Shorty, the definition of a perfect millennial) were tagging along too.

The entire S.B.U. gang was at my doorstep.

I almost had to shove my mouth closed my jaw had dropped so low. Should I stroll forward like this was all normal or run back into the house and prepare for the apocalypse?

I settled for something in between and edged up to James’ window. I tapped on the glass.

James rolled down the window and jerked his head back toward Shorty and Beanpole.    “Get in Sam.”

“Hey Glitter Kid.” King’s smirk matched how I would imagine a hip lion would smile before he pounced on you.

“King, is that something in your teeth?” I asked. King immediately flipped down the car mirror to check. I leaned close to James. “I thought you were bringing friends, not…not them!” I hissed.Read More »

Cheetos, Kittens, and Paint Cans: Part 1 (A Sam Short Story)

Mom nearly jumped out of her six inch heels. “Samuel Jones, what is that cat doing in our house?”

I sat beside the referred to kitten, my back to mom. The kitten ignored the entrance of the new human being and continued lapping its milk. The thing had been drinking for a while now. How much milk was too much for a kitten?

Dad walked into the kitchen moments later, dropping the car keys onto the counter with a clatter.

I stroked the kitten’s bony back. It didn’t respond. “Mhmm.” I mumbled, hoping the upward inflection at the end of my indistinguishable word would tell mother I had no idea.

I actually had every idea. My swollen lower lip just hurt too much to get the words out.Read More »