The Boy With the Dragon Tattoo - A Short Story

By G. K. Bostic
Jan. 18, 2011

Once upon a time there was a boy with a dragon tattoo. Ah, but this is no fairy tale....

The darkness enveloped him like a shadow devouring his maker. All he could hear was the roar of his breath and thunder of his heartbeat. He strained to hear any other sound, but if there was any, it was drowned out by the sound of his fear.
He'd been running ever since he saw the body, and now he was lost, completely lost and disoriented. Kevin knew this neighborhood. He should be able to get his bearings if he could just think. The clouds allowed no moonlight to show the way. There were no stars to be seen....just an incredibly black sky....as black as the threat Kevin felt closing in on him.

"Oh my God" he thought as he heard his hunter approaching. "I can't just stand here. I've got to run. I've got to find my way." He ran blindly. All he could see was the outline of some buildings now. He ran toward a faint light that he thought must be a street light in the distance.

"I've got to get to where there are other people." It was late. but Kevin hoped to find someplace public. He remembered a hospital somewhere in this area.....and a gas station across from it. The mini-mart at the gas station might be where the light was coming from.

He ran in that direction as fast as the blackness would let him. Seeing the light becoming brighter, he approached what he could now see was the corner of the building. He was sure the light was coming from the right and ran around the corner and straight into disaster.

Two huge hands slammed him against the wall and Kevin felt the panic rising. He looked up into the dark angry eyes of his captor, and the evil he saw in those eyes made his blood run cold. He struggled to free himself and thought he might be succeeding when the grip on his left shoulder was loosed. Then he saw why. The man's hand went to his gun which he raised above his head. Kevin realized it was over just before everything went black.

"What's your name boy?" Kevin heard the voice through a fog. Slowly, realizing he was still alive, he opened his eyes. He didn't recognize his surroundings but knew he must be in some kind of deserted building. It was obvious from the dust and cobwebs that no one was living here. It smelled of must and mildew and the lack of human habitation. His thoughts were interrupted when his captor growled, "I said, what's your name boy?"

"Kevin....who are you? What do you want with me?"

"I don't want anything with you punk! You're just a nuisance....a pain in the ass problem I gotta deal with."

"What are you going to do to me?" Kevin hated that he could hear the fear in his own voice. But he was afraid….more afraid than he’d ever been in his life, and he just wanted to be home with his Mom.

He knew that wasn't going to happen though. His mother was dead. He saw her. He saw the blood all around her head when he walked in the house a few hours earlier. Well, at least he guessed it was just a few hours ago. He didn't really know how long he'd been unconscious. It was still dark outside. The only light was coming from a bare light bulb dangling from the ceiling behind the man who would soon kill him like he'd killed his mother.

Suddenly seeing that picture of his mother lying there in a pool of her own blood, Kevin's rage took over leaving no room for rational thinking. He lunged for the monster before him only to be met with a fist that knocked him to the hard concrete floor. The man grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him to his feet. Kevin heard and felt the shirt rip as he saw the fist coming again. He flinched waiting for the pain of another punch, but it didn't come. His attacker stopped cold, and when Kevin looked back up at him, he couldn't quite read the expression in his eyes. He looked kind of scared and confused. He dropped Kevin down to the floor. "What's your last name, boy?" he almost whispered.

"Hopkins.....why? What are you staring at?"

"Where'd you get that tattoo, boy?" He was staring at the dragon tattoo on his chest. Kevin looked down, remembering when he'd gotten the tattoo. "I got it before my Dad left for Iraq." His father had allowed him to get the tattoo, which was just like the one on his own chest, to help him to cope with his deployment.

"What's your father's name, boy?" The anger was gone from the man's face, replaced by a look of confusion and fear. Kevin replied, "Josh." and saw the look of shock and horror on the man's face. Then he saw tears in his eyes.

"What the hell? What's going on? Who are you anyway?" Kevin asked, forgetting to be afraid.

"It doesn't matter who I am. I’m just one of the men your father saved in Nam. He died saving our lives." he sobbed turning and running from the room. Kevin heard him run up the steps, then he heard a door slam as he took off.

"My dad saved your life, you bastard! And you killed his wife....nearly killed his son. You'll pay, you son of a bitch.....you'll pay!"

Women In Art

Sun bids us farewell

Falling into water's end

Leaving after glow.

1-1-11

What a fantastic date! All those 'ones' seem to really emphasize that it's a new day....a real first! Sounds like a good time for a new beginning to me.

No, I'm not big on making New Year's resolutions. I've never found that to be a successful tactic for me. Many years ago I often resolved to quit smoking on January 1st. Yeah, that never worked. However, when I decided to set a goal and quit smoking on the last teaching day of the school year, I did it! That was June 15th 1988. Twenty-two years later I'm still a non-smoker.

So, what's the moral of the story? Well, for me it's that I will be better served by setting goals for myself. This time I am setting the goals on the first day of a new year, but in my mind they are NOT New Year's resolutions. No, this time I am making a plan to do better.

My first goal: To write something every single week and not get so caught up in the minutiae of every day life that I don't "get around to it." I'd like to add to my blog more often so I will do that as well as attempting at least one good poem per week.

My second goal: To begin editing my novel, Out of the Storm. I took the first step this morning by ordering a couple of books that may aid me in the completion of this task.

My third goal: To not let these first two goals or anything else ever get in the way of spending time with the most important people in my life. My husband and my three sons will always be a top priority while I continue to take care of my own needs.

My fourth goal: To know that I can add any new goals if I find there is an area in which it would help me to grow and be a better me.

Finally, I want to be in the present. I want to continue to try to cherish every moment of every day that is given to me.

What are your goals?

So much to do - So little time

Tomorrow is Dec. 15th. Just 10 days until Christmas! Is that really possible? More importantly, is there any way possible that I will be ready by Dec. 25th?

Service has become an important part of my life so tomorrow I will spend the day at Borders wrapping gifts for other people to help raise money for our work with Veterans. Who will wrap the presents I'll be giving? Another question - When will I buy all the presents?

Thursday I must go to the Legion Post at 10:00 a.m. to set up for the Christmas party we do for our Veterans. I will stay to help serve the lunch and clean up after. Hmm, I guess I won't be doing any shopping or wrapping on Thursday. So maybe Friday?

Oh no, that's right, on Friday I'm going to lunch with two of my daughters-in-law. I'm looking forward to that, and we will spend several hours lingering over lunch and enjoying each other's company. That will, however, take a rather large chunk out of the day so there may not be time for much shopping or wrapping on Friday. Saturday?

Well, it seems I agreed to watch my 4 1/2 mon. old granddaughter Saturday so my youngest son and d-i-l can take their other two little ones to a Christmas show in Lancaster. No shopping Saturday, but spending time with Grace is totally worth it. As a matter of fact, it's all worth it!

Next week I'll be spending at least two days doing some consulting work, and I am determined to continue to try to find time to do a little writing each day.

Perhaps I'll get to the mall on Sunday or do some last minute online shopping. One way or another it will all get done, and on Christmas Day and every other day of the year I will be grateful for all that I am fortunate enough to be able to do. Life is good.

Sitting here looking at the Christmas tree so beautifully adorned with lights and ornaments collected over the last 20 years, (ones from earlier years lost in a fire) I can't help but reflect upon Christmases past. There have been so many now. Sixty-six in all I suppose, though I can't say that I remember those of the first few years.

Did we even have a tree that first year of my life while my father was flying in the back of planes as a tail-gunner fighting the Japanese in WWII? My poor mother was alone with three very young children. On my first Christmas I was just three months old. My sister was two years old, and my brother was three and a half. Poor Mama. I can't imagine that she had a very merry Christmas that year.

Then, when I was three years old, both my parents were hospitalized with TB, and I was living with a great-aunt. I don't really remember those Christmases either. I'm sure my Aunt Addie made them as wonderful as she could for me. I am just as sure that my mother never had another merry Christmas. She died, never having left the sanitarium, when I just five years old.

My father remarried, and our family was put back together by the time Christmas came when I was seven, and I remember the magic of those Christmas mornings. My brother, sister, and I went to bed on Christmas Eve, after hearing the reading of the Christmas story, and there was no tree sitting in our living room. But, magically, the next morning there it was! And it was always so beautiful. Those were the years of believing, knowing, that Santa did it all. He brought and decorated the tree, ate the cookies we left for him, and left all those wonderful presents. It wasn't until I was approaching my teen years and had a baby brother ten years younger than I, that I became a part of the conspiracy. Waiting until we knew he was sound asleep, my father would then bring in the tree, and put on the lights (with all the grumbling that went with that job) then we got to put on the ornaments and the tinsel.....one strand at a time. The presents still didn't appear under the tree until the next morning. I never did figure out how my Mom (step-mother who is the only mother I know) managed to hide the gifts so that we couldn't find them. She was pretty sneaky!

Next comes to memory the most wonderful Christmases of all. Those were the years of creating the magic for my own children. The joy of seeing their faces on that most special morning of the year still warms my heart. I remember one Christmas morning when my oldest son, Michael, was about three years old, we got him a red fire engine, the kind he could ride in. Well, when we opened the door to the rec room in the basement and he saw that fire engine, he got so excited that he just ran round and round it. I can still see him with his blonde hair and big round blue eyes, wearing his yellow jammies and being so excited we had to tell him to get in and try it. What a perfect memory.

Those Chrismases were long ago, and now I look at our tree with excited anticipation of seeing my grandchildren's eyes light up as they open their presents. No, it's not about the presents, but it is about the family. It's about the joy that comes with the season and the joy of having my family around me.

This year one of my sons will be missing again. He's serving our country far away in Afghanistan, so there will be a void where he should be. It's not the first Christmas he has missed with his wife and family, but it doesn't get any easier. I guess we may have to have another Christmas this year......Christmas in springtime sounds pretty good to me.

Becoming a Writer

In the last week of October I read about something called NaNoWriMo. Following a link to the site out of curiosity I read about the challenge to write a 50 thousand word novel between November 1st and November 30th.

Well, that sounded absolutely crazy, and yet maybe this was just what I needed to kick-start my writing. I thought when I retired, I would finally begin to write, but I've been retired since June 2009 and have written nothing but a few poems. This is not the productivity I had hoped for.

So, what the hell, I decided to take the challenge, never thinking I'd actually succeed. I was wrong. On November 27th I reached a word count of 50,632. More importantly, I loved the experience! It finally became a reality. Yes, I am a writer.

Now, that does not necessarily establish that I am a good writer, (that is yet to be determined) but I AM a writer. I am writing. And I am delighted.