30 Days: "Oath and Covenant" by David Hulet

 Oath and Covenant

            Zelek shut the door quietly and looked at his wife, concern clearly etched into his worn face. “Where is he?” She motioned to the boy’s bedroom, the unspoken tension thick around them. Zelek sighed as he raised his hand to knock on Teaum’s door. He rapped lightly; then opened it. His son was in the middle of the room, adjusting the leather straps on a breastplate. “Teaum…”

            “Forget it Dad, I’m fighting.”

            “Can we talk about this?” Zelek shut the door and moved to the bed.

            “No, we can’t talk about this. My mind’s made up.”

            “Teaum, think for a minute.”

            His son looked at him fiercely. “I already did. That’s why I’m going.”

            Zelek sighed again. “Teaum, please!” He tried to maintain his composure. “You’re barely sixteen and my only son. I can’t afford to lose you.”

            “Stop Dad. Don’t try and get sentimental. My mind’s made up. And that’s final.” Teaum started putting on his boots.

            “Son, can you help me understand why this is so important to you?”

            Teaum glared. “It has to be. If for no other reason than because it’s not to you.”

            “That’s not fair, Teaum. Why would you say that?”

            Teaum moved to the door and opened it. Looking back, he said, “The Lamanites are coming whether you accept it or not. Too many Nephites have already died to protect us. And our people just sit here and let it happen! Someone has to fight. If you refuse to be man enough to step up when your people need you, then I will.” The door slammed behind him as he left.

            Zelek buried his face in his hands. Teaum’s word stung him like scorpion barbs. Teaum didn’t understand the oath they’d made to never fight again. When they had been faced with continuing to either shed blood or help substantiate their faith, his people had heeded Ammon’s suggestion to bury their weapons. Zelek remembered clearly the day he threw his blood-stained sword into the earth and turned his back on that gaping pit, content to never shed blood again. He looked now at the closed door and tried to stop tears of frustration. The war was escalating; many of the youth were fed up with their parent’s lack of commitment to the Nephites. If the adults wouldn’t fight, they would. But Teaum. This was his son, his only son.

            Zelek stood up and left the bedroom. His wife pointed toward the front door, not saying a word. Zelek went outside and found Teaum sitting nearby, sobbing.

            “Teaum!” He said, moving to console him.

            “I’m scared, Dad.” Teaum lifted a hand to wipe at his tears.

            “Teaum. Don’t be scared. You’ll be fighting for a just cause.” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder to reassure him. “I can’t fight because I promised God I wouldn’t. In the days before our conversion, there were also wars; fighting was our way of life. Bloodshed and murder was all we knew before Ammon came. In his teachings we found new purpose; a different path, one of peace. The Lord became the most important part of our lives, as you know He still is.”

            Teaum nodded. He’d stopped crying and was listening intently to his father. “Mom teaches me daily about God and how important He is. You teach me too, through your example.” He flashed a smile and Zelek smiled back.

            “Trust me Son. Since the Lamanites attacked Bountiful, I’ve thought endlessly about my covenant to not fight. My heart aches whenever I hear of fallen Nephites. I’ve wrestled many nights on my knees with the Lord desiring to intervene. But a promise is a promise, and the ones I have with the Lord are the most important promises to keep.”

            Teaum understood. “I didn’t make any promise to God about fighting, so I can fight for you. My friends say that a righteous man named Helaman is going to be our commander. And I have the Spirit to guide me, so everything should be fine.”

            Zelek pulled Teaum close to him. “I know it will be. I just can’t bear the thought of losing you; you’re all Mom and I have to keep us going.”

            “I’ll be careful. I can do it, Dad.” Teaum paused, seemingly to collect his thoughts, then said, “Do you have faith in me?”

            Zelek looked at Teaum in disbelief. “What kind of a question is that? Of course I have faith in you. I always have.”

            “Good, because I need that, Dad. I know I’m young but I can be a man. I can.” Teaum looked off into the distance, preparing to go.

            Zelek followed his gaze. “Son?”

            “Yeah, Dad?”

            “I’m proud of you for being brave.”

            Teaum flung his arms around his dad’s neck. “I love you, Dad.”

            “I love you too Son. You know we’ll pray for you.”

            Teaum nodded. “I know. Thanks Dad. I’m not scared anymore.” He stood and hugged Zelek again. Sensing something was wrong, Zelek’s wife appeared in the open door. Catching her eyes for a moment, as if to say ‘I’m sorry, and I love you,’ Teaum turned to leave.

            She called after him. “Teaum!”

            He looked back briefly and hesitated; then kept walking. Zelek moved to embrace his wife as she burst into tears. “It’s okay, Honey. He’s a brave boy and we’ve taught him to trust in the Lord. He knows who to rely on and that will bring him back to us.”

30 Days: "THE FURRY CAPER" by VS Grenier

“Mom!” Jennie shouted from her room, “I can’t find my lucky rabbit’s foot.”

     “Check your sister’s room,” her mom called from the kitchen.

     “I looked everywhere!” Jennie pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail. Walking into the kitchen she said, “I only found Max’s rat toy.” She threw it to the over sized black cat, Max, who pounced on it.

     “You’ll do fine at the spelling bee without it,” said her mom. “You were the only 1^st grader to ever win the Riverdale Elementary spelling bee championship.”

     Jennie’s ears reddened. “What if I lose this year because I don’t have my good luck charm?”

Hearing the doorbell, Jennie raced out of the kitchen.  She knew it had to be Peter, her best friend who was the greatest detective in the second grade.

     “Peter, I need your help,” begged Jennie closing the door behind him. 

     “What do you need help with?  You already know the words for tonight,” he replied.

     Jennie fought back tears. “It’s my lucky rabbit’s foot.  I can’t find it.”

     “What? You’ve never taken a spelling test without it!” Peter rubbed his chin. “You’ll need it for tonight, where did you see it last?”

     “On my dresser, last night,” replied Jennie.

     “Let’s start there,” he said.

     Peter paced Jennie’s room. Trying to think he rubbed his chin again.  Pushing his glasses up on his nose he stopped.

“What do we have here?” He picked up a tiny red plastic shoe and turned to Jennie.

     “That’s Beth’s Barbie doll shoe.  How did it get here?” replied Jennie.

     “Your sister needs to answer a few questions,” said Peter.

They headed outside to question Beth.

     “Beth why were you in my room!” demanded Jennie.

     “I wasn’t in your room,” said Beth.

     “What Jennie means is...We found a red Barbie shoe under her bed.” Peter handed Beth the red shoe.

     Beth looked at it. “Why did you smash it?”

     Jennie’s eye widened.  “I didn’t do anything to your shoe. Maybe you should stay out of my room!”

     “Beth,” said Peter pushing his glasses back, “you didn’t go in Jennie’s room?”

     “I said I didn’t,” replied Beth.

     “Do you know how it got under her bed?” he asked.

     “I don’t know. It looks like someone chewed on it.” Beth tried to put her Barbie’s foot in the shoe.

     “I think I might know who did,” said Peter grabbing Jennie’s hand.  He headed back inside the house.

     Jennie stopped short pulling Peter backwards.  “You don’t think Trent, my baby brother...” Jennie burst out laughing.

     “Maybe he thought it was something to chew on,” Peter said shrugging his shoulders. “Who else would chew on a Barbie shoe?”

     Jennie stopped giggling. “Mom would have stopped him, Peter.” 

     Trent was sitting in his high chair eating.

“Raisins,” said Trent.

     “Oh yuck!” shouted Jennie.

     Peter spun around. “What’s wrong with raisins?”

     “Not the raisins—Max just ate the raisin Trent dropped.” Jennie looked at Max, “Gross cat.”

     “Your cat eats raisins?” Peter looked shocked.

     “He’ll eat just about anything.  Beth even feeds him green beans when Mom’s not looking.” Jennie picked up Max and put him outside.

     Peter rubbed his chin. “I’ve been looking in the wrong place,” he said taking Jennie’s hand and walking outside to watch the cat.

     Max strolled over to the tree by the swing set. He stretched his front claws out and started to climb. Peter watched Max disappear into the tree house.

“I’m going up for a look,” Peter said.

Peter started to climb the ladder. He paused to look inside before entering. Max was lying on top of a small white furry object. 

Peter pulled himself up into the tree house half way. He gently tried to push Max aside. The cat rolled over playfully batting Peter’s hand.

“I hope this isn’t a dead mouse,” he said reaching his hand under the cat and pulling out Jennie’s rabbit’s foot. 

“You found it, Peter!” she shouted.

“Jennie! Peter! It’s time to go,” called Jennie’s mom.

“Coming Mom!” Jennie called out happily. 

Peter climbed down handing her the rabbit’s foot.

“Thanks, Peter,” she said with a smile, “now I’ll have good luck tonight.”

30 Days: Undeaditorial

Dear Editor:

With great interest, I read your special issue about biometric computer authentication (March, 2014). My firm has been looking for a viable biometrics solution for quite some time and several of the products you reviewed look promising.

However, we have one question that remains unanswered by any of the articles in this otherwise excellent issue: Do any of these products work for the undead?

You see, we take being an equal opportunity employer quite seriously. Hiring the undead keeps us in compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act and contributes to a diverse work environment. We also recognize that there are certain advantages to hiring people who have risen from the grave. For one thing, they seldom object to working the night shift. In fact, they prefer it. As long as the shift ends before sunrise, you can count on zombies to remain alert and productive way into the wee hours of the morning. They also tend not to require expensive health benefits or group life insurance.

But for these prized workers, traditional passwords don't do any good because people tend to forget them when their brains rot and leak out of their ears. Unfortunately, biometric authentication often brings its own set of problems.

It's hard to log in to the network with a fingerprint reader when your fingerprints have decayed and your finger tends to remain in the reader after you pull your hand away. Likewise, iris recognition devices are problematic when the eyes keep falling out of the head and dangle well below the beam from the reader. Face recognition? Forget it. As the face deteriorates, new patches of mold or the continual changing of the shape of a rotting face with its sagging skin and ever-more-deviating septum renders such systems useless.

Some of our employees have suggested that it might be useful to have a device that allows the employee to pull the bowels from his belly and run them through a scanner. This might help solve the problem, but it raises an obvious security issue: What's to stop somebody from pulling the guts out of a coworker and using them to gain access to a restricted system? DNA-based devices have similar security problems. We even tried odor-based biometrics, but quickly learned that this type of device overloads and fails when the workplace houses more than a small number of rotting corpses.

As you can see, current biometrics don't work for an organization like ours. In this economy, more and more people seem to be dying every day, and as they venture forth from their coffins to seek suitable employment, biometric authentication seems like the way to go.

If the research you did for your special issue provided insight into how to use biometrics for this under-appreciated segment of the workforce, we would love to hear about it.

Thank you,

Rip Morguenstern,
VP of Security
Liquid Putrefaction, Inc.

30 Days: "Spiral" by Marion Steiger

This picture, posted in Authors by Designs (AbD), was a Picture of the Month. All members are welcome to respond and enjoy the responses of others. ABD is where my online critique group, The Pen, posts and critiques our stories. Below shows how this picture inspired me to venture outside my comfort zone and write in a genre foreign to the writer in me.

~

Andrew tightened his grip as Sara squirmed against his arm. He leaned them back, resting them snug against the huge oak tree. Too late he reached for her hand intending to caress it and ask what troubled her.

Sara moved fast, avoiding his grasp, dusting crumbs from their spotless blanket. She wanted to explain, nodding when words eluded her, and clamped her lips tight. Knowing it would be the last time if she left, she took a long look at the man she loved. He would be her husband in seven days if she stayed, the father of her earthly children.

The choice was hers they said. She knew better.  

Without a backward glance, she stood and headed toward the spiral stairs. Through misty-wet vines woven into the staircase, she raised one foot then another, climbing, expecting the stairs to crumble behind her. She gained knowledge as each step fell away. Worlds shimmered and spun round her, guiding her, ascending the spiral, easing the climb. To where? There.

She was there. So was he. Waiting, one arm extended, beckoning her until he could reach out and gather her close. His name was Nineteen. She was Twenty. There to take his place. Not as a wife. She would be the last leader taken up to the new world. To protect them but never again be one of them. And the clock said it was time.

30 Days: "When the Forces of the Universe Combine...."