Yes, quality short stories with real beginnings, middles and ends are difficult to pull off. I almost never can.
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Between Nations
Cars rumbled and growled around Pedro, slowly rolling down the bridge, leaving exhaust serpents in their wakes. He let a hand dangle beside him, and stroked Nosey’s warm, muscular neck. Wagging his tail, Nosey barked happily. As Pedro breathed out, vapor fumed from his mouth. His hands were numb with cold, but he didn’t care. The night may be frigid, but it wasn’t as cold as some of the people that passed through the border. But that’s why he was here; to stop them from crossing.
Headlights pierced the night, casting intensely bright, phantom like streaks across the ground. Pedro’s K-9 Handler insignia was illuminated by the lights. Letting go of Nosey’s neck, Pedro shifted, staring as people continued to go across the bridge’s sidewalk. It was intriguing, seeing all the people who passes through. Some were walkers, others shufflers, and yet, some were runners. Most were with friends and family, and yet, some crossed into another nation alone. Not wise, considering people tended to disappear around here.
Pedro was glad none of his family members were among the missing. Yet, anyway. No one was ever really safe. Just recently on the Mexico side, a young man had been kidnapped by the Drug cartel. No one has ever reported seeing him since. Sure the Marines had run most of the cartel out, but more slithered by every day.
A red Mustang with its passenger side window crept by, and slowed. A blonde, pimply faced teenager poked his head out.
“Sup, Paco? Gonna eat that dog?” the kid said, before he threw himself back in his seat, laughing.
Nosey tensed his paws over the concrete, raised his head and growled, his neck twisting to follow the Mustang.
Gazing down at Nosey, Pedro said, “Easy, boy, they’re just hurting. And they should be prayed for, not contained in anger.” As he stroked Nosey’s ears, he lowered his neck and relaxed his rigged legs. He smiled. Nosey was such a reliable dog. They’d bonded so much in just the few days that they’d been working together. Gaining trust with animals had always been one of Pedro’s gifts. Perhaps they sensed that he had the innocence of a child.
A child, he thought. He remembered many years ago when he’d lived in a rural village, how he’d been approached by a short, plump white man. Pedro had been surprised to hear him speak Spanish. And what he spoke transported his imagination to a place beyond the sky where a loving king embraced him with arms warmer than the sun.
Pedro later learned that the man, who he never got the name of, was a Christian Missionary. No matter what his name was, he owed him thanks for telling him about Christ’s salvation. If they had never encountered Pedro felt he may have been as emotionless as the other border patrol officers. Or perhaps if he had been desperate enough, may have even joined the Drug cartel. Many of those men had simply been yearning for a place in a dark world, after all.
Pedro shivered. Having been standing stationary for so long, his blood was flowing slowly and his body was frigid. Rubbing Nosey’s cold fur and seeing how he occasionally whimpered made him realize that he too, was cold.
On the other end of the bridge, more patrols were posted, observing the walkers like scarecrows. Pedro exhaled and shook his head. How things have changed. A lot more security had been placed on every point of the border. It was for the best, considering the Drug cartel was becoming desperate now that their numbers were diminishing.
Most people like to say the Marines were responsible for the reduced numbers, but Pedro had a feeling that the missionaries had flipped on lights within the cartels ranks. Evil can’t put out evil, after all. But righteousness can make a wicked desert bloom with life.
On the horizon, the cities on both ends of the border were burning with radiant light. So beautiful was light; something that darkness could never obscure. But even when there was always light, horrifically violent things occurred during this time. It was shameful that criminals liked to perform their evil in secret darkness. Some did murder and steal in plain daylight, but that was before the Marines swept in to hunt them down.
He’d personally witnessed how a .50 caliber machine gun could shatter a human body. It was amazing that anyone would still want to stand their ground against such a weapon. But of course, if the cartels could carry similar fire power in plain sight, they’d go for it. But they were wicked, so they concealed their evil.
As a group of kids approached along the sidewalk, Pedro scooted back, making way for them. He was an odd man among the other border patr9ol officers. Most would stay where they were, expecting everyone to steer clear of them. But Pedro didn’t mind humbling himself. Besides, a nice officer would make people want to remember him, unlike an aggressive one, who would want to be forgotten.
One of the boys glanced back at a girl behind, touching his bulging backpack. “Sorry, Karen. My bag is full. It’s like an extra person!” he said, snickering. When he saw Pedro, however, he quickly shifted his head forward, and was visibly biting his lips.
Pedro bit his lips to try and suppress his smile, but failed, and instead coughed to stifle a laugh. Of course the young man had realized that he had uttered something that could be taken as vulgar. Smuggling a person was one thing, but the thing was, they weren’t always smuggled alive. Straightening his back, Pedro hid his shiver.
“Hello,” a young man in a blue hoody said as he walked by.
“Have a nice night and God bless,” Pedro said.
The young man’s eye brows noticeably lifted as he took in his words. Clearly he hadn’t expected to hear that coming from a border patrol officer. Pedro could see why. The other officers seemed to train themselves to keep their facial features stern at all times. Yes, it was true that they suffered the most on duty casualties, but that didn’t justify a sacrifice of expressing happiness.
Glancing up at the dark abyss, he saw the crescent moon and its star allies. The stars and planets did not wage war amongst one another, but the people around him were in eternal battle. He was among the ones who stood between nations, but he meant next to nothing to those intent on the subtle destruction of the other. Extending a hand toward Nosey, Pedro tickled his ears.
“Aren’t we wretched?” he said. “We have you guys fighting each other for money.” For a little less than an hour, that was the only event that got his blood pumping. And so, bored, Pedro whistled. Not even when pedestrians stared at him did he stop.
Hm, wonder if they know I’m actually whistling a gospel song, he wondered. When a little girl walking across with her family giggled and covered her mouth, staring at Nosey, he directed is attention to the dog as well. Nosey wagged his tail happily, and his ears were moving with the fluctuating rhythm of Pedro’s whistling.
The job did tend to get dull at times, even with the constant mood of tension. Honestly, it was a guessing game most of the time when it came to determining what vehicles to stop and search. Every once in a while they’d make a bust, though. But it was usually just a mutual burden for the border patrol and the travelers.
Continuing to whistle, Pedro looked down at Nosey, and he looked back. After a few seconds of a staring contest, which Pedro lost, Nosey opened his mouth and barked, causing a few heads to turn and one young man to noticeably flinch.
Could that be a-no way, Nosey just startled the kid. Or maybe… I should just check him to be sure, Pedro thought, tugging Nosey along as he walked toward the kid as he made his way along the bridge, weaving around a few people. Increasing the length of his strides, Pedro caught a few curious glances in the small sea of coats and sweaters, but he ignored them and grew closer to the boy.
Having caught up to him, Pedro said, “Stop, please.”
The boy halted and turned around, “Yeah?” he said, bushing aide a clump of brown hair that covered his right eye, like a patch. Two other people stopped with him, another male and a young lady. He hadn’t even noticed that they were keeping pace him. They stared at Pedro. Not accusing or as if afraid, just with a look saying, “Just because we don’t fit in with the other people on this bridge you think we’re drug smugglers?”
They certainly did stick out from the others with their bright, intricately designed winter wear. But that was not why he had stopped the boy. Still, he got straight to the point and said, “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just need to perform a quick pat down on you. So can you please keep your hands where I can see them?”
“Sure?” the boy said, slowly raising his hands up.
Pedro took a deep breath, and patted the area beneath the kid’s shoulders and worked his way down his gray sweater, conscious that Nosey was quiet and still. People had to walk around them, staring from as they passed. When Pedro reached the boy’s pants pockets he felt nothing except a wallet, a cell phone, and what was obviously a passport. Pedro hated himself for thinking it, but he wanted to ask, “Can you empty out your pockets?”
Instead of saying that he said, “Sorry for the inconvenience; have a nice morning.” Nosey barked as if apologizing, too.
“You, too,” the girl said, flashing a nervous smile, exposing her braces. She then looked down at Nosey and said,
“You’re just the cutest border patrol agent ever, aren’t you, Scooby-Doo?”
Nosey opened his mouth and yawned.
Shrugging, the other boy said, “At least you can tell your parents that they gave you the wrong kind of sweater for Christmas, man.”
The boy he had patted down said, “Excuse my friend. He doesn’t understand that y’all don’t like humor.”
Seeing that the boy’s friend lowered his gaze, Pedro said, “No, it’s okay, my face is always ready for a smile.”
The girl smiled, and looked away quickly when she saw that Pedro was staring at her.
“Anyway, we’d better get going,” the boy said, turning around and gesturing for his friends to follow.
“Bye,” they said as they walked along.
Pedro nodded once as they walked off. Gotta love kids, even while they rebel against all the rules and drive you insane, he thought. He was once a kid, but he never acted wild. At least, not particularly crazy in a way that it disrupted the peace of others. The world was unstable, that much was clear. If the unpredictable weather patterns and other natural forces didn’t cause the craziness, the people sure did.
Ravens perched on the bridges fence cawed, making Nosey left his hind legs from the ground, but he quickly lowered them and instead craned his neck to stare at the birds. They were peering out across the water, cocking their heads from side to side, as if not sure on which side of the bridge they belonged. Pedro found himself as mesmerized by the birds as his dog, since he ignored the people who went passed him until two of the birds stretched their wings and blended into the night.
The part of the bridge that he was in was eerie since it was almost nearly equal in distance from either end. Not that he was afraid. It was just unusual being one of the officers who would have to deal with an immigrant trying to get into the United States or people seeking refuge in Mexico after committing a crime in the states
“Nosey?” he said. “Why did you walk me down here? Trying to get me fired? You know I’m easily distracted by things.” Shaking his head, Pedro turned toward the Mexico side of the bridge, thinking about walking toward it, but changed his mind and instead continued to survey the people on the bridge. Many were simply on routine shopping trips, he understood. But still, some, no matter who they were, could be carrying narcotics across the border. The cartels often promised people, mostly kids, thousands of dollars to smuggle drugs for them.
Taking in the wide variety of people going by, Pedro straightened throughout his career Pedro had indeed encountered smugglers and U.S. fugitives trying to flee into Mexico, but none of those had become situations in which his life was in danger. It was still a dangerous job. Of that he could be sure. Maybe on this part of the border things weren’t always bad, but when it came to the wilderness, his fellow brothers in the job were being slaughtered. Cartels did quite a bit of smuggling in camouflaged with wickedness in the wilderness.
Pedro had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed as another border officer approached him until he said, “Pedro, wake up.”
He said, “Yes?” and slowly turned to the other officer, as if to not indicate that he’d been surprised. Though, he was surprised since no one had radioed him that he’d have another officer come see him. Of course, he could just want to have a few words with him.
“They want you over back on the Mexico side of the border,” the officer said, nodding down to Nosey. “Another sniffer could be used down there. Speaking of which, why are you all the way down here? They let you, obviously.”
“I just let Nosey here guide me with her instincts.”
“You know we can’t really stop people on the bridge itself, right? It would be a chorus of car horns, and I don’t think we’d make good conductors, directing the singers with our batons.”
Pedro laughed. “You’re an odd fellow,” he said, as he walked Nosey away from him.
“Whatever, just walk Scooby-Doo out of here,” the other agent said, his voice was emotionless, but the light-heartedness was there.
Yes, quality short stories with real beginnings, middles and ends are difficult to pull off. I almost never can.
Short stories are challenging. In fact, most authors admit to not writing a smany short stories because of that fact. Their shorter lengths make it fairly difficult to establish characterization in the brief amount of time that the story lasts. But in the end, a good short story is a fast, yet very satisfying read. Full length novels are full of slow down and excess material, which, if excluded, could very well leave the content included to be condensed enough to where it could have been a short story instead.
But a bad short story is still better than a bad novel. The time consuming nature of novels, though, strangely, somehow can be removed with good pacing. Pacing is something that I, along with many many other writers just have some trial and error with. How one reader/writer percieves a writer varies differently with others. Over all, there is no real pacing that will be suitable for all readers. Like athletes, their reading abilities vary. Not to mention the type of sturcture they like.
Writing is quite the strain of the senses, but a rewarding and worthy practice.
I'm hoping that by learning from the masters above some aspiring authors will learn how to structure their messages within the narrative without blunt pathos attacks, without suddenly telling people: 'Christ is good, drugs are bad'.
What's worse is that maybe some aspiring authors know this in theory, but can't control themselves, because being aware that they post in websites where most members are kids, they therefore feel that it's their duty to be 'good shepards' to said kids.
I'd say that one's duty to kids pariticpating in a young writer site is to help them learn to write. Helping them to find Jesus, or 'say no to the evil weed', or helping them realize that they must join the army or Greenpeace or anything, when they grown up, these are all political agendas which it would be a sign of maturity and good manners /at least so I think/, to leave outside the door, and if included into one's writing, be included in a manner which underlines not so much the message itself, but the writing techniques used.
The road to making a literary mutual-help forum into a preaching forum is paved with good intentions.
Respect, Jh
Yes, participating in a mission trip in Mexico really changed my view of the world. Well, I already knew it was cruel, but, you get the idea. It is just a new experience to be know that Marine conveys patrol the streets and that people get kidnapped just because they can. Me and my team were stationed in what is believed to be the most dangerous area in the city we were in. And as for the bridge and border patrol to get to Mexico and back again, the officers/agents are emotionless, at least all the ones I saw. Of course, they are people, too, so of course they laugh as well and have families. Their job is just the most dangerous out of any other armed force in the country (As in, in country, not out fighting wars on foreign soil) They suffer the most on-duty casualties when compared to your average city police and fire-fighter.
Thanks for all the reading suggestions as well. I'm always browsing libraries and book stores for any books that are worth a read through. And yes, truly, the drug war is a very serious thing. Drugs are bad.
Yo,
that's a hemingwayish/horhe borhe lit story, with Serious Themes. Well, to be honest, I also had some phantasies of writing something to reflect the Mexican drug-war crisis, but depending on the mood it would have either been something like 'the Excecutioner', or a corruption/conspiracy thriller. Not that I ever did get around to writing something like that, while you did.
Well, I've attached my editing contribution, and here are a few authors you might enjoy, they combine the highest class of writing with subtle /and not so subtle/ Christian substrata :
1. Evelyn Waugh http://www.onread.com/reader/191057
2. Anthony Burgess http://www.onread.com/reader/1414538
3. Leo Tolstoy http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy/boyhood/1/
4. Dean Koontz http://www.onread.com/reader/190978
5. Dostoevsky http://www.online-literature.com/dostoe ... ramazov/1/
Points: 1331
Reviews: 16
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