Guest Authors The Third Collection contains exciting, stimulating stories and tantalizing, terrorizing tales carefully selected from only the world's most reclusive, rarely read, and virtually unknown authors. These twelve selections have been methodically chosen, and guaranteed, to consume your mentality, enlighten your awareness, entertain, and magically mystify you. This Third Collection targets all those everywhere who are young at heart, which of course is everyone, for their reading enjoyment. The contributing authors in this Collection are Rupert "Rip" Tile, Ghast Lee Tale, "Bum" P. Rode, U. B. Smartt, Nathaniel "Nate" Shure, Smoke N. Gunn, Ester Whipple, and Sandford "Sandy" Beach. Do you have the courage? Do you dare read this book? Within these pages you can know what True Love really is, learn the origin of one of our most popular beverages, see how some people earn money, and find The Solution for It. Also, learn of a brewing Revolt, experience a couple made for each other in My Twin Flame, and see how May Belle Vega became The Richest Woman in the West. Enjoy a Holiday Gift, get ready for The Senior Prom, and help investigate a murder on South Padre Island. Then witness The Forest Incident, and take an action packed Sea Cruise. Go ahead, take a deep breath, open the cover, dive in, and enjoy!
Guest Authors
The Third CollectionBy Ron CurtisAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Ron Curtis
All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4490-8681-7Contents
True Love..................................1Roadside Assistance........................7Sherry.....................................15The Solution...............................25The Revolt.................................35My Twin Flame..............................43Biography..................................67May Belle Vega.............................69The Holiday Gift...........................123The Senior Prom............................129Murder on the Island.......................143The Forest Incident........................155The Sea Cruise.............................163
Chapter One
True Love By Rupert "Rip" Tile
Mid-Sunday afternoon, Reverend Frank Franklin decided to take a leisurely stroll to The Plaza from his church on Canyon Road. Standing strongly like his convictions, the church sat clustered tightly around some of the finest art galleries in the world. Reverend Franklin decided to take advantage of the beautiful, cloudless, crisp Autumn day shining gloriously on Santa Fe after another highly successful Sunday morning preaching the gospel, and ministering to the needs of his congregation. Consumed and immersed in the Sunday spirit of his life's mission, Reverend Franklin stepped onward, ever ready with the anointment and dispensation of the healing spirit in service to his fellow man.
Reverend Franklin made his leisurely way to his favorite bench in the still vibrantly emerald, green-grassed, huge-tree lined, downtown square of The Plaza. Finding his bench unoccupied, The Honorable Reverend sat, stretched and relaxed to meditate and receive inspiration for next Sunday's sermon. He nonchalantly gazed westward enjoying the spectacular view of the early snow-saturated Jemez Mountains. The Jemez Mountains always looked to him to be reaching for heaven in the clear, invigorating royal blue sky.
'Always reaching for heaven,' Reverend Franklin thought, 'yes, that might make a good topic for next Sunday's sermon!' 'Yes, we always are reaching for heaven,' meditated the Right Reverend. He observed the casual, artistic ambiance of the happy people enjoying this soothing Sunday afternoon, all 'reaching for heaven' enjoying the sunshine, architecture, friendship, and restaurants of this historic town's center.
A massaging light breeze blew, accentuating the warmth of the sun, and invigorating the spirit within him. He breathed deep wishing to stop time in these heavenly seconds on this spectacular Sunday afternoon. 'What a perfect day,' acknowledged Reverend Franklin letting a wide, happy smile consume his face. 'Peace, tranquility, and good will toward all men,' radiated the Reverend's silent mantra through closed, but smiling lips. The sunshine had a powerfully, rejuvenating effect on the Reverend, 'Perfect, a perfect day,' he meditated, feeling the spirit shed enlightenment within his being-ness.
Through the laughter, the relaxed chatter, the gentle sounds of the breeze in the trees, something sounded out of place. He listened more intently. It seemed to be a sound of suffering. Concerned now that someone may need healing and spiritual administration, he gazed to the left and to the right of The Plaza. There, two benches to his right, a man openly wept, hunched over, loudly sobbing with shoulders shaking. The Reverend could see his tears from where he sat. Concerned and compassionate, Reverend Franklin felt perplexed considering if he should intercede, and heal the man's distress.
Filled with the fiery fervor of the Sunday Spirit, the Reverend quickly knew that his life's calling demanded that he anoint, and give healing dispensation, to alleviate the suffering of this man in misery. Though the suffering man is a stranger to the Reverend, his oath dictated that he attend to, and remedy with the spirit, the pain within mankind, irregardless of anything else. Ever conscientious of his duty, the Reverend casually stood, and slowly strolled toward the man in misery.
Respectful and considerate, the Reverend lightly sat at the far end of the bench on which the suffering man's shoulders gyrated as he sobbed a stream of steady tears. Waiting to time his speech to coincide with a lull in the man's crying, the Reverend sat uncomfortably forward with his elbows on his knees.
The Reverend, being in his mid-fifties, believed it'd be correct to address the younger, tormented man, in his early thirties, in the proper ministerial way. "My Son ..."
The startled sufferer jerked in surprise not knowing that someone else had sat on the bench.
"My Son, I'm Reverend Franklin."
The sobbing man's distressed spasms halted as he tried to comprehend the stranger's words.
"My Son, all our worldly torments are fleeting, and will soon pass."
Huh?" The agonizing, younger man uttered with tears streaming down his cheeks.
"This period of suffering will pass, I promise."
"What?"
"You see, My Son, periods of suffering help us treasure and enjoy our times of peace." The Rightful Reverend healingly peered deeply within the distressed, young man's eyes trying to touch and sooth his heart. "What ails you, My Son? Let me share your weight."
"I ... my ..." He burst blubberingly back into spasmodic suffering.
The Reverend waited, letting the explosive storm pass. After minutes, the man's tears still rolled, but the loud convulsions had subsided.
"My Son, I can help you. What is the problem?"
In between liquid sniffles, the younger man began to open up. "It's ... It's ... my baby ... she left me!" Realizing reality, the young man's crying contortions renewed then briefly stopped, "I came home, and she was gone!" His anguished, suffering spasms renewed. The Reverend waited patiently to help, and heal, nodding his head in knowing affirmation. The vast majority of torment and misery he'd administered to had dealt with failed relationships, and here, obviously, is another.
Softly, the Reverend asked, "How long have you known her?"
Tumbling, trembling tears trickled as he unsteadily replied, "A long time now. I brought her here from Florida, from the Everglades, years ago."
The Reverend mentally noted that shattered, long term relationships cause the deepest pain. "My Son, did you have an argument or disagreement?"
"No, of course not. I give her everything she needs, I always have. I've always treated her good."
"Sometimes in life, My Son, there's an abrupt change of heart, and then we must adjust, and continue on with our productive lives."
"Oh, I know she loves me, she's ..."
"Has she told you she loves you?"
Sniffling, "Well, no, but by her actions, I know she does, she's ..."
"Possibly, My Son, her view is a long-term friendship with you."
"No, she loves me, I know she does," he strongly stated with authority. "This is the seventh time she's left me!"
"Seven times?" The surprised Reverend asked.
Slowly shaking his head to the affirmative, hunched over, and severely suffering, the younger man said, "Yeah."
To The Reverend, this indicated another excellent example of the foibles of human nature, that human beings continue to fool themselves only to be hurt by their foolishness. The Reverend, in his proper administration, went directly to the problem. "My Son, surely you realized several times ago that something is missing in your relationship, or she wouldn't have left you so many times."
"Oh no, we have a great relationship, she loves me, I know she does, she's ..."
"My Son, in life we can't fool ourselves. For happiness, we must have courage to confront the facts, and then continue on in our productive lives."
"Oh, I never fool myself; it's a waste of time. It really is. I just want my baby back!" Tears and crying welled anew.
The Reverend still sat with elbows on knees digesting the cause of suffering: that this younger man loves her, but she obviously doesn't love him, or she wouldn't have left so many times.
"My ... my friends are looking for her right now."
'What a thankless and futile job that is,' thought The Reverend, asking himself, 'Where would one start?'
"They've found her before, I hope they find her now. I already miss her terribly, she's ..."
Directly, Reverend Franklin persisted again, "My Son, does it make sense to find her, bring her back to you, only to have her leave you again?"
"She doesn't really want to leave me, she doesn't. She loves me. I know she does. She's ..."
"My Son, it's painfully obvious to me that you must move on in your life, and find another you'll be happy with. It's the very best thing that you can do now!"
"No, I can't, she's the only one for me. We're in love!"
The Reverend reflected upon the predisposition of man's frailties and weaknesses together with repeated failure to grasp and comprehend basic, logical facts that will always, and has always, created unlimited suffering throughout the ages of man. "You see, My Son, in relationships people often grow in separate ways, and eventually become like islands o each other. It does take courage to realize this, and make a change, but for a happy and productive life, we must!"
"Not us, we're in love. We have a special bond, she's ..."
"My Son," The Reverend needed the man to confront the facts of his relationship before his healing touch could begin, "she's left you several times already. She obviously doesn't love you, as you do her, or she never would have left!" Reverend Franklin hoped he hadn't hurt the younger man too severely in stating the obvious facts.
"No, you're wrong. We're in love, True love!"
Both sat seriously silent, firm in each of their different resolutions, in the shade of a large tree with the festive noises and gentle, massaging breezes on this glorious Sunday afternoon at The Plaza.
Non-stop liquid heartbreak streamed from sorrowfully swollen eyes of the young man as he began to verbalize his pain with a low-pitched mumbled crying. Reverend Franklin hated the noise of human suffering, and for that matter, any suffering at all.
Shockingly abrupt from behind both of them, a strange voice cried, "HEY, HEY, WE FOUND HER!" The younger man's surprised inhale on a whimper created a snorting sound that amused The Reverend. "SHE WAS SWIMMING IN YOUR NEIGHBOR'S POOL!"
The Reverend and the younger man both looked over their shoulders to their right, the younger man's friends had placed the already-opened cage on the arm rest next to Reverend Franklin. The Reverend's fleeting moment of humor turned to open-mouthed, too scared to scream, horror, when realizing the black-headed python began to curl around his neck. The rambling reptile casually looped around The Reverend's neck, and then the ten foot beauty automatically moved toward her lover.
With her flashing, forked tongue, she coiled warmly and tightly on her true lover's lap, seeming to purr in re-united contented happiness.
Wondrous ecstasy shone on the younger man's face as he repeated to his lover, "I love you, I love you ..." while gently massaging her with both open palms. Real love, true love radiated from both lovers' hearts.
Wanting the stranger to enjoy, and be a part, of his happiness, the younger man turned to the stranger, "Isn't she gorgeous? She's just a baby, she's ..." but only the stranger's back could be seen as he dashed away in The Plaza of Santa Fe on this beautiful Sunday afternoon.
Chapter Two
Roadside Assistance By "Bum" P. Rode
"Let's go, Mack! I'm freezing! It must have been in the twenties again last night!"
"Hold on, Betty. We almost have enough."
The white-haired, sixty-something couple sat in their old, rusty, tan and brown colored truck parked at the rest stop seven miles west of Tonopah, Arizona on I-10 in the high desert three-hundred and twenty- five miles from Los Angeles.
"I'm miserable! We didn't bring enough blankets!" Betty stated factually shivering as they watched the first light of day reveal the fresh snow on the surrounding mountain peaks.
"It's unseasonably cold, Betty."
"Let's go!"
Mack sat mute. He had the truck keys so they weren't going anywhere until he felt certain they had enough. The quickly rising sun radiated a magical pink color on the mountain peaks. He plotted.
"Betty, let's go in and check on our signs. It'll get the blood flowing, and you'll feel better."
"Let's go, Mack! Let's just get out of here!"
"I've gotta use the rest room anyway."
Mack double-checked to make sure he had the truck's keys in his pocket, knowing Betty's impulsiveness, and squeaked open the old truck's driver's door getting a blast of frozen, early Spring, western wind in the face. Mack mentally conceded, Betty's right, it is too cold and miserable here. He wanted to leave too, but he didn't want to confess it, the fact is: they didn't have enough yet.
Mack stiffly stepped toward the rest stop's rest rooms turning up his collar against the reluctant winter wind. He took a glance at the parking lot. Several big truck rigs sat with their loud, stinky, diesel engines running, many of the parked cars had sleeping drivers and passengers, and people sporadically shuffled in and out of the rest rooms. He heard Betty's truck door rebelliously open, and hoped she began to move.
He pushed the door to enter the men's rest room and immediately checked the signs. He had three of them, two above the urinals and one on the door. He pressed the inch long grey, duct tape at the top and bottom of each sign to insure they held securely. With relief, he noted that no one had defaced or ripped them down, after all, it did take Betty a considerable time to hand write each one.
He had to admit, he always admired Betty's handwriting, as near to perfect as could be, incredibly neat and legible in a fluid cursive style. As a matter of fact, it's what first attracted him to her in high school when he had received a note from her asking if he planned to attend the 'sock hop' that Friday night. He didn't know her, being one grade ahead, but yes, he went to the 'hop', and they began talking and eventually dating.
Betty's note on standard paper with a light colored rainbow in the background in her perfect handwriting said:
ELDERLY COUPLE NEEDS HELP TRUCK BROKE DOWN WE NEED TO GET HOME TO LAKE HAVASU CITY ALL DONATIONS ACCEPTED WE'RE IN THE OLD, TAN AND BROWN TRUCK THANK YOU
Satisfied that the signs were secure and hopefully would help them again, Mack made his way slowly back to their truck. He noted Betty hadn't returned yet, so he took some deep breaths of the cold, refreshing air, and began to slowly stretch trying to loosen up a little after a near sleepless night in the icy truck.
The first rays of the early morning sun felt good on his body. He admired the beauty of the desert's crisp new day. Some of the cactus had flowers on them already, and the sage had a fresh new greenness signifying Spring, while many other plants still had the brownness of winter. Mack appreciated the magnificence of the many, mighty Saguaros standing tall, sentry-like, watching and securing their desert.
Lost in nature's beauty, Mack felt startled by a near, deep voice.
"Say, Buddy, tough break," commiserated the grizzled fifty-something year old trucker. "Man, I can't tell ya how many times strangers have helped me out on the road."
Mack shook his head up and down noticing the long streaks of vapor clouds shooting from the stranger's mouth as he spoke in the cold morning.
"It's like a secret bond on the road," the old trucker noted wisely, and compassionately, "we gotta help each other."
"Yeah."
"I wish I could give ya more, but I got the wife and kids at home. Here's a ten though!" The trucker extended an old, battered, ten dollar bill toward Mack.
"Thanks a lot. We had to help some family members in Phoenix then we had engine trouble. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," smiled the big-hearted trucker walking back to his huge rig feeling good, knowing he had helped a 'road brother'.
Mack stuffed the ten in his pocket just as Betty returned.
"How much is it?"
"A ten."
"Let's get outta here, Mack, I'm cold!"
"Hi," Mack said to the older lady walking slowly toward Betty behind her back.
"Hi folks, I'm sorry to hear of your troubles. I wish I could help you more. I got this hand full of change." She extended her arm with her fist clenched tightly.
"Oh, thanks." Betty opened the passenger's door of the truck to grab the bucket they had on the floor then positioned it under the lady's hand. The lady let loose, then the coins loudly jangled on top of the others.
"My sister took sick in Tucson, so we had to help with the bills, then we had truck trouble."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Good Luck," wished the old lady as she made her way toward her car.
"How's the signs?" asked Mack
"Fine, how's yours?"
"Good."
"Let's get outta here!"
"Maybe later, we don't have enough."
Frustrated and angry with Mack's stubbornness, Betty negotiated herself back into the truck, and wrapped herself in her blankets positioning her pillow behind her head. She closed her eyes hoping to get a little rest. Seemingly simultaneous there came a tapping at her window, Betty rolled it down.
Two attractive, road disheveled, young ladies with grey hooded sweatshirts smiled. One had "COUGARS" across hers, and the other had "WASHINGTON STATE" both in burgundy. "Hi," they greeted.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Guest Authorsby Ron Curtis Copyright © 2010 by Ron Curtis . Excerpted by permission.
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