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Friday Fiction: Quirks

Everyone has their own quirks; common or bizarre. Our characters in our story are no different.

Write a quick short story about something odd your character does, but something that makes them them.

Time to Write: Quirks


“Well. It’s about time you showed up!” I smile. I feel my lips involuntarily curl up into a knowing smile. An evil smile. I keep my hands behind my back.

“What is the meaning of this you fiend!?”

“Weellll…” I shrug my shoulders excessively. I have no idea why I do it, it’s just so natural whenever my evil plots come to fruition.

“That shrug really annoys me.”

“Meh. That’s part of being a villain. I have a unique quirk, and you despise it with your entire justice-saturated being.”

His eyes glance towards the woman tied to the chair, her eyes have rolled back in their sockets

“She’s not dead.”

“Let her go!”

“You’re starting to sound more and more like the Dark Knight himself…” I moved away from the woman, teasing him to come get her, waiting to activate my trap the moment he does… or doesn’t

“Why don’t you come get her then?” My shoulders jerked up and down again as I attempted to suppress my laugh.

“Your little quirk gives you away, why don’t you bring her to me?”

“Now that’s not how the game works. You know how this goes. I call you out, we do the dance, you rescue the hostage yada yada, I try again the next time.”

“So why do we keep dancing, if we know how it ends?”

“Because – ” I stepped up to him. He cautiously moved back. “The dance is why we put our feet forward in the first place!” I pull out the remote control from behind my back, my shoulders once reverberate as a knowing expression etches across my rivals face.

“Perhaps it’s time we did our final dance.”


Villainous Villainy Part 3: In pursuit of a hero


When you have been in darkness for as long as I have, any light you see seems brighter than it actually is. Then again, this particular light was made to be intense for people like me – well, us. We the wolves among the sheep, the fingers behind the triggers – the dark in the light. It was as though they were trying to rid the darkness they saw in the pits of our eyes with blistering light; rid the cold blank stares that reminded them of the darkness within themselves. Maybe it was in hope of revealing what little light there was within us… but they were – oh – so wrong. That is why I sat here on this cold metal chair with my arms shackled tightly behind me. The air smelled sterile, hiding the barely imperceptible smell of blood from past interrogations no doubt. And who were they?  S.A.P.D, Hawks, INTERPOL and for those outside of my home country they don the masks of the F.B.I, C.I.A etc. They are all the invariably the same.

And what would they want with me? Well that is a tale for another time…a long tale. In fact relating to that, I once heard someone say “It’s what you do that defines what you are.” but I disagree. The truth is, it’s what we do that reveals who we are. That in itself should say so much about me. But what does that say about the person who tells that one white lie, or takes something small that doesn’t belong to them? Oh but we can’t define people on such trivial matters can we? Well I say yes, yes we can. It is those very trivial things that reveal who we are.

Take for instance a bug born poisonous. One day it realizes that with each step it takes, it poisons whatever it touches. Would its attempts to tread lightly on whatever it touches change the fact that it is poisonous? Is it the action that makes it poisonous or does the action reveal that the bug is poisonous? Is it not the same with us… humans, born corrupt? When we fall, do we not reveal the very nature of what we are? Sure we aren’t as bad as we could be but that doesn’t lessen the potential does it? A lion is dangerous whether it chooses to kill or not – and we are the same.


The crackling of the intercom reverberated through my ears, bringing my attention back to the real world. My arms had grown numb but I wouldn’t let it show, not when I knew that they were watching me. I had an agenda and it had to be brought to their attention and yet even with that, one thing that troubled me deeply was the knowledge that whomever I was dealing with, regardless of voice or face – position…or whatever else they threw at me to assert their authority, I was dealing with a just another fallible, imperfect, depraved human – like me. The voice rose over the intercom, a man’s voice. Recognizable.

“October 17 1998, the Lido hotel was burnt to the ground – 50 casualties. January 20 1999, Meyersdal Mall was attacked by a gang of thieves that left 12 people dead and 63 injured. March 1999 – bridge collapses from explosion, 105 casualties, July 2000, December 2000… February 2001… March 2001…the list goes on and on and on. We know you were behind these attacks, we know you’ve orchestrated each one. We know all there is to know about them…except one thing, why? Money wasn’t the issue you come from a wealthy family, as you have so kindly stated to us. You have been deemed psychologically fit. You have no personal vendettas or motives and yet here we have almost two decades worth of crimes and casualties. And as much as we hate this fact, the only reason we know all of this…is because you told us when you turned yourself in – and that wasn’t due to remorse now was it?”

“Rhetorical questions aren’t going to give you the answers you seek, mister van Rensburg…ask a more direct question.” I knew my reply had rattled the man, the fact that I knew who he was without seeing him put him on the defensive side – the silence told me. He managed to continue however as though unperturbed but there is only so much emotion you can hide in your voice

“So, what was your motive? Why hand yourself in? Do you take pleasure in knowing what you have done you sick psycho?”

You would think that each of those cases would boost my pride, fuel my sick desire for destruction, to see lives taken but in truth it all sickened me. It sickened me right to my core. Not the actions, no, those were purposeful. What sickened me was the overwhelming evidence that regardless of the evil that was present – there was no hero rising to the occasion. No hardened vigilante seeking justice for the crimes committed and the task force employed for such matters were just as corrupt or worse – indifferent. And what punishment would I get if caught? Rehabilitation. Rehabilitation for what? Will that bring back all those lives lost? The livelihood of the people affected? No. Instead I’d be “living” with the guilt of my actions or whatever nonsense psychologists have dreamt up to save their clients, and I can hope to one day recover and become a civilized citizen – what utter nonsense. And the saddest thing about the whole system is in the fact that not even the citizen’s themselves are civilized. They keep hiding behind their petty masks! I ask you where are the heroes combating the crimes, rescuing the kids from desolation, the women from their abusive husbands, the people from the gangs? Oh that’s right, they are staring at me from behind their two way mirror, peering at me under the intense light. I replied to them,

“Plato once said ‘The penalty good men pay for indifference to public affairs, is to be ruled by evil men.’ or for a more potent adaptation of that particular line, ‘All it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.’ So am I implying that you are doing nothing, that is, if you are good men? ” I took that moment to shrug my shoulders both in an effort to relieve the pressure in them and to disgruntle the onlookers. I let the question sink in for a while, then continued,

“Well that is up to your interpretation but that is not the focus here. The focus is on the common man. What are they lacking in themselves that prevents them from standing up? From being the good men who are not indifferent? Surely if one can be as “evil” as I can be, why can there not be one who is the complete opposite, the “good” one, the hero, the good Samaritan that is so popular in Christian Literature. So you ask me what my motive is? That is exactly it – the search for that elusive Samaritan. I mean look at the facts, two decades worth of crime and not a single trace linked back to me, no evidence, not even any effort to try and catch me and even worse…no hero to stop me. This…all of this… was in pursuit of that hero – unfortunately one did not come and I fear that saying I once heard is true that, ‘There is none who does good, no not one.'”

With that last statement hanging in the air, I pulled my wrists out of their shackles, the metallic clasps, unhinged, falling onto the cold hard floor with a loud clang. I stood up and walked to the glass and at that moment the door burst open as armed officers entered the confined room, but I ignored them. They would not touch me. I continued.

“So rather than seeing if one exists, I am here to raise one up, take him along the road less travelled. You see, mister van Rensburg and colleagues, I’m in pursuit of a hero…and you know where to find him. And that is why I am here.”

Villainous Villainy Part 2: The Irked Quirked Quack

Neurosis: a relatively mild mental illness that is not caused by organic disease, involving symptoms of stress (depression, anxiety, obsessive behaviour, hypochondria) but not a radical loss of touch with reality.


It was hot. Too hot in fact. The bright green walls seemed to bounce the heat back and forth around the tiny room making my shirt stick to me like a second skin, heavy and… ugh… sticky. The couch I sat on was just as sticky, clinging to my arms and legs and peeling off my skin every time I lifted a leg or an arm. I gazed up at the wooden fan above, spinning lazily, every few seconds tilting as though about to come crashing down but rectifying itself in mid spin. I realized it was there as just a decoration, to give the illusion that this waiting room wasn’t as hot as it actually was, but I’d caught on. I’d caught on quick. That’s what growing boys like myself do, we catch on quick.

I gazed down at my lap, at the old yet still glossy magazine that was flipped open to a page displaying various D.I.Y tips for “the working woman”. As a young boy tinkering away at stuff at home, this was the only page in the entire magazine that was appealing, well that and the media page displaying movies from way back when. Nonetheless this was all a distraction, pulling our attention away from the heat – and the deathly stare from the woman at the reception desk. She was scary. Her makeup was way too thick, her face too pale and her lips too bright with blue shades on her eyelids; surely she was hiding something below all that makeup. Had to be.

I looked up at my mom but she was too engrossed in her own glossy magazine to be disturbed. Her bright brown eyes seemed to be glazed over, her mouth parted in deep concentration. I looked off to the side and almost yelped in freight. Big dark eyes stared down at me, framed by thick round spectacles, metallic and gleaming in the bright light. The man hushed me reassuringly, his thin bony hand reaching out to ruffle my hair. I tried to pull away but could not move. He scared me that much.

“Hi there, I’m the doctor.” he whispered. It was then that I realized how quiet the waiting room had been – there had been no sound, not even the tick of the clock nor the shuffle of a turning page. I tried to speak but gulped instead, the sound louder than I’d expected. He frowned at me, his thin eyebrows furrowed and his lips turning into a frown

“A little control if you don’t mind?” He whispered again, quickly grabbing my arm and lifting me up from my seat; my arms and legs peeled off the couch with a ripping sound, echoing through the entire room. The receptionist’s head swung so quickly towards me I thought she’d get whiplash and my mom’s eyes lifted long enough from the magazine to give me a deathly stare before all three adults simultaneously pouted their lips,



The doctor pulled me into his office, a room slightly bigger than the waiting room but just as hot and even more ghastly. The bright green paint seemed to be trying to blind me along with the metallic utensils and instruments lining the walls like some sort of souvenirs. He plopped me down a backless seat covered in plastic while he hurriedly made his way around his wooden desk to sit cautiously down on his dark leather seat, making no noise at all.

“I’m glad your mom booked you in for this general check up. You never know when germs, viruses and the like could come creeping in to your system and infect it, festering inside your body until you are seeping mucus and spewing more of them with each cough and sneeze. Yuck.” The doctors face cringed at the thought. He immediately reached for a bottle of disinfectant within his desk, spraying his hands and rubbing them together swiftly before spraying the handle of the desk drawer too. Once that was done he softened.

“Well let’s get started hey – I see you…need some cleaning and much much much disinfecting.” He said to me. “Come to the examination room please.” He gestured to a room off to the side, closed off by a bright white cloth. I reached out to open it but a hand quickly snatched the cloth away, startling me.

“Oh don’t touch, please.” The doctor said with a handful of cloth and a bottle of disinfectant in the other. He ushered me in, hurrying to disinfect and then open one of the cabinets to pull out a long sheet of plastic which he then placed and smoothed over his examination table.

“Lie down please” he said. I lay on the plastic, watching him cringe with each wiggle I made on it. His nose scrunched to show disgust and I looked down at myself to see what the issue was about. Not seeing anything dirty I relented to keeping still but a part of me felt rather mischievous. I smiled genuinely at him, watching his face, watching for a reaction as I reached for my nose. At first he eyed me curiously, an amused half-smile on his face. The contortions of his face began as I stuck my finger into my nose, finding a gooey slimy mess before pulling it out and seeing the green-yellow mucuous resting on my finger. The look of disgust and horror on the man’s face was priceless. As he turned to reach for the disinfectant, I reached up towards the man’s crisp white doctors coat, and wiped the gunk on it. He turned quickly in his seat, rising as he did and looking down at his coat where my slimy mess had left a trail. Without pause the doctor reached into his inner pocket to reveal a blade of sorts, his eyes bulging behind his thick glasses. With murderous intent he lifted the knife up into the air, the action freezing my blood cold.

“It’s because of kids like you that I am what I am, a germaphobe. I try always to be meticulous, to be crisp – clean. Oh but no, there is always that one kid but oh… but that all ends today… starting. With. You. Muhahahahahah!”


Well this turned out a bit different. What provokes a person to become a villain anyway?

Villainous Villainy Part 1: A Just Cause

Anti-Hero: a central character in a story, film, or drama who lacks conventional heroic attributes.

He was not hard to track down, the man with the golden scepter. I could see his silhouette from under the orange hue of the setting sun, illuminating the golden scepter that jutted out of the ground at a slight angle. I crept through the tangle of brush that ran along side the path where the man was standing, aware that another body lay at his feet. My beating heart skipped once, the momentary skipped beat allowing a spontaneous anguish to suffuse through my chest and clutch at my heart, before my heart resumed its beating. I crept closer, fending off the rising desperation until I was right behind them. He was standing above the broken and bruised body of a young woman, her dark hair clumped and streaked by dried mud tinged with blood, and the remaining strands draping over her face to cover the deep purple swelling of her cheeks. She clutched in her hands a babe wrapped in frayed, dirt-caked cloth, its heavy breathing visible with each rise and fall of the cloth in her arms. I could not see what the man was doing, nor did I care as I approached them from behind, feeling the warmth of the wooden handle that held the sharp piece of metal fixed into it – the blade curved upwards and gleamed somewhat under the glow of the setting sun. I moved quickly, seeing the woman’s eyes dart up to look up at me, fear filling her dark eyes while her face contorted into an image of both hatred and despair. By the time the man noticed, my blade was lodged deep into the left side of his back, plunging straight through the flimsy shawl and tunic he wore and straight into his heart. He let out a single guttural cry of pain before slumping to the floor on his face in a pool of blood.

“You monster!” The woman screamed at me, pulling away and clutching her child protectively within her bosom. I smiled down at her.

“No – I’m just a man on a mission to change the destiny of his people and free them from their enslavement. This man with golden scepter and others like him have become a burden to all peoples, but I am here to make things different. I will ensure that the people no longer bow down to these pretentious fiends and their oh so grandiose golden scepters.” I pulled the golden scepter out from the ground, the cold metal seeming to invigorate my entire being. I lifted the scepter high above my head so that the fading sun’s rays would gleam off its golden head.

“Ha! So instead they will bow to you? A fiend!?” She hissed at me. A sensation rose from within my gut as I burst into laughter, the howling loud even to my own ears, the sensation heightened as I repeated what she’d said; the thought of them bowing to me was hilarious.

“Oh no no no my dear,” I said to her, bending down over her as she attempted to scramble away from me, the fear and disgust etched distinctly across her face. I endured the look with the last of my amusement still circling my gut, “No they won’t be bowing down to me. That’s the beauty of it all!” I reached over towards her baby, letting her scream and scramble further away but she couldn’t get far, not with her leg mangled as it was and had I not killed the man healing her she might have been able to get away. All she had managed to do, however, was bleed further and as she screeched at me trying to claw my face, I took the opportunity to snatch the child from her clutching hands. She howled in anger and despondency as I rose up to my feet with the babe in my arms

“Give him back!” She screamed, “Give! Him! Back!”

“Hush now, you’ll get him back yes. By then however, he will be the man I could have been, the true keeper of the golden scepter, a king whom you will bow down to. You see…I always believed that in order to change something you have to infiltrate it, sow seeds from within and change its core and by doing that everything else will follow suit. This boy… he will be my seed, my poison seeping into the system, changing from within what these others could not. His rise will be glorious, yes, and I will enjoy the fruits of his labour, see the freedom of my people and I will no longer be powerless against the higher powers. Your son…our son, will restore what I have lost.” I felt the desperation and loss filter out of my system and I clutched the child closer. Indeed this boy would be a hope, my hope and the hope of my people. If I must become a fiend to achieve this goal, then that is the sacrifice I must make.


I try and delve into the mind of a villain and see what makes a villain tick.

Auburn Part 5 – Unhinging Light

You can find the first 4 parts of Auburn in the links below including the Alternate Universe versions. I would recommend you read those first if you haven’t, to catch up on the events leading up to Part 5.
I stared at the computer screen for a while longer, wondering what the password could be. Frustration poked at my chest in random emotive stabs that ranged from anger and bewilderment to relief and joy. However, the severity of the situation and all the events that had transpired since the auburn haired lady handed me this dreaded laptop, had frustration boiling to the surface. The urge to throw the glass of water on my desk against the far end of the room, bubbled up to the surface and only the sudden itch in my leg diverted my attention away from the glass. As I reached down to scratch the now swelling ankle, my eyes fell upon the laptop bag by my feet and immediately hope surged through me. I delved into the bag, my hands rummaging through the compartments in search of something, anything that could elude to a password but my hands found nothing. Despondent, I dropped the bag back on to the floor with a frustrated sigh. I turned back to the laptop and stared at the screen. Password. What could it be? I sighed, reached for the glass and took another sip of the cold liquid within, my mind already sifting through possible password combinations but I knew that the chances of getting it right were low if not improbable. I placed the glass back on the table, somewhat precariously which caused the glass to tip off the table. I instinctively caught the glass before it could topple over, though droplets of liquid splashed onto my pants and floor. I sighed out loud again, standing up to go find a cloth, only to notice a torn off piece of paper peeking from within the laptop bag. Hope once again thrummed through me and as I picked the piece of paper up, the writing on it confirmed my elated disposition.
red fox final
I typed the password in and was greeted by the remarkably contrasting image of an individual looking up a beautiful green hill however, behind the picturesque hill, a dark grungy wasteland stretched off into the distance; the words “nothing is ever as it seems” emblazoned against the image. How true that was…on the surface I probably looked like any other person on this broken world we live in but below the facade, a desolate wasteland spoke of my approaching death. Death. To get my mind off the thoughts about death, I scanned the laptop desktop for anything that would pertain to the ankle bracket, the auburn haired lady, the poison in my system and the sinister individual that put me in this situation in the first place. A series of folders lined the one side of her desktop: Referral articles, Sources, Newstories etc. I began to wonder if she was a journalist of some sort…could this have been a lead she was following; suddenly things were starting to make sense. She probably gave me the laptop hoping I’d expose the secret to the world before she died and I was probably chosen randomly because I wouldn’t be associated to her and I could expose whoever it was she was trying to expose. Whoever this guy is…he means business. But why the whole “choice” thing, why the ultimatum – live the miserable life I’ve been living or be a good person for God. Why go through all that trouble when he could have simply killed me and moved on. With these thoughts reeling through my mind, I noticed that on the other side of the screen, well “hidden” in the background were two more folders: Feature-Sinister Suitcase and Journal Entry. I hovered over the folder that referred to her journal but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to pry into someone’s personal life like that – especially when she was dead. There could have been clues in there but I suspected that I’d get far more info from the “Feature” folder rather than a diary entry. True enough when I’d opened the folder, a series of files and large picture thumbnails began to populate the screen, one in particular catching my attention. It was simply a picture of a hand holding a black briefcase against grey chino-pants. From what I could see in the other thumbnails, this was as good a picture of the individual I would get. The others seemed blurry, out of focus and some too far away to make out the person’s features but it was clearly a man – “Mr Sinister” she had chosen to call him. I chuckled at the idea, though my smile faded as I nonchalantly clicked on a document that revealed more about Mr Sinister…and his ankle bracket of death. The first thing that I read, written in bold red font at the top of the document were the words “There is no cure”. The words hit like a sledgehammer. My stomach clenched, my chest seemed to hollow out into a deep black hole that shook the very core of my being. There is no cure. No hope. Nothing – but death. The anguish and despair I felt at that moment…it was indescribable. I read on nonetheless, my vision blurred but my hands wiped away the formed liquid. The words “fiend” and “monster” appeared quite a few times in the document as well as information pertaining to “Mr Sinster’s” apparent plot to sell devices similar to the ankle-bracket that would hold people hostage – and he could, from anywhere, get them to do what he wanted…or face a slow painful death.  Anger and despair fought for precedence as I read through the article a second time – this man, whoever he was, had to be stopped. How many lives could be ruined by his selfishness!? How many lives had been ruined and for what? Financial gain? Power!? What!? But wait…I had sufficient evidence right here to at least get him incarcerated and maybe the suitcase would reveal the plan to be true and he would be held accountable for the auburn lady’s death. Surely that would be something!? And if I died? Another sentence for murder, surely! A sense of justice permeated my thoughts, fueled by my desire to exact some kind of revenge for what Mr Sinister had done to me…to us…and who knows how many others. I rose to my feet, thinking that a shower would help clear my thoughts.
I returned to the room feeling fresh but nauseous – I hoped it wasn’t the poison in my system. I dressed in the clothes I’d taken with me from home, the reality of that situation reminding me of the depth of my predicament. I quickly rummaged through the pants I’d been wearing before, my fingers feeling a thin smooth object within the pocket of the pants. I pulled the object out and almost cried out in a victorious exclamation of joy – it was the auburn lady’s sim card. Now I could get all her contacts, including someone who could use the information she’d compiled to expose Mr Sinister. Yes, things were finally taking a turn for the better – one heroic act of vengeance before I died, then I would escape into a heavenly domain while he rotted in jail before eventually rotting away in hell. Ha! Justice. I quickly shoved the sim card into my pocket, shutting the Laptop down while I thought about where I could get a cheap cellphone to put the sim card in. The shops were my best bet and so with a slight skip in my step, check to see that everything was fine, grabbed the keycard and headed out the room.
I arrived at the lobby somewhat apprehensively, wondering if someone would recognize me if I appeared. Thankfully no-one even took notice of me as I headed out the revolving doors and out into the warm day. I tried to think of where I could find a cellphone shop as I descended the stairs, walking to stand below the giant Y to gather my thoughts. I looked down the street, remembering that I’d come from that direction previously and I did not remember seeing any shops that sold cellphones, so I walked the other way, already plotting in my mind the conversation I would have with whoever it was that I would give the information too – she probably had her editor as a contact, that would be fantastic! I wondered if people on the street were wondering why I was smiling to so much, that was why they were eyeing me so curiously. It was only when a lady screamed “look out!” that I found out why. I was knocked forward from the back, sending me sprawling onto the concrete floor scraping my arms and knee. A heavy weight rested on my back and a familiar voice spat into my ear,
“Yaaaa its you, filthy creep! Yeah, now that I have you, its over! If it wasn’t for you, I’d be living it up elsewhere! Oh but now, I’m going to take it out on you!” Although the voice was familiar, I couldn’t put a face to it, until the man rose up and allowed me to turn around. The grey hair and bushy eyebrows were tinged with red, his left cheek and the left side of his lip was swollen while a red line ran around his neck. I’d barely taken in all these features before I cried out loud from a boot to my side. I tried to roll away from his second attack only to roll against a wall. I managed to block his next kick, my hand gripping his foot and pulling on his swinging foot. The action caused him to flail backwards before toppling back onto the floor. More screams arose from the surrounding people who were shying away from us, but my attention was not on them, or on the security guard – my attention was focused on the black plastic bracket that had been attached to his ankle. He was sobbing too, lying sprawled out on the floor on his back, mumbling something about money and family and work. I rose to my feet, moved towards him and offered him my hand. He looked up at me from the floor, eyed my hand but didn’t take it.
“Look” I said to him, “We are in the same boat now…and I am fighting every urge I have right now to fight you – but I know what you are going through. Instead of fighting one another…why don’t we join forces.” he squinted at me through his one decent eye, rolling onto his knees to pick himself up,
“No. We are as good as dead.

“But if we can work together top stop him we can…”

“There’s no way we can beat that guy, let alone find him.” he moaned. He rose to his feet, arching his back with a painful sigh and a sniffle, “That toxin is in us…there is no cure, sonny-boy, no cure.”
“Yeah I know…but I have information that could help catch that guy, enough to get him into jail at least. He’s got one person dead, that’s murder. With the two of us, that’s another strike against him if…”
“That man is well connected and he knows what he is doing. That’s why he moves around so much and all he needs is that briefcase of his…no. We can’t.”
“Are you not listening! I have evidence! We are evidence!”
“No you are not listening! That man is a ghost! I don’t even know how he found me after…” he looked me straight in the eye, the disgust and loathing visible in how he looked at me, “…after I lost the laptop to you.”
“Exactly! That laptop has the evidence we need, that’s why he wanted it back so badly! We can use it to our advantage! Come on! How many people will die because of him, and yet here we are with enough evidence to stop him!” I knew he was thinking about it, something I said must have changed his mind, given him some hope.
“Uhhh I don’t know…”
“Come on man…one heroic act before we fall.” The older man gave me an unsure look. I wondered if he would  join me. Its was either this or a meaningless, painful death and I was choosing to make use of what little time I had in my life to do something meaningful, even if it meant bringing justice to a murderer through my death.
“I know some of his hang out spots…maybe we can pass that on with your info…and maybe…just maybe we could get this guy.”
“Yeah!” I exclaimed with more vigor than I’d anticipated. He suddenly shoved me against the wall hard, enough to knock air our of my lungs for a few seconds,
“But that doesn’t make us partners, ya hear!?”
“Yes sir” I managed to breathe out, but the smile on my face didn’t fade and after a while, a grin broke out on his face.


Links to previous parts.
Part 1 –
Part 2 –
Part 3 –
Part 4 –

Sketching it out

It’s not that I haven’t been writing, it’s just that drawing has been my focus recently, trying to visualize my characters from my Walking by Faith post : Walking By Faith. Here are the sketches




















I’ve been trying to capture the personality of my characters in these sketches and so you will see that the drawings aren’t complete. The focus is more on the facial features or recognizable features like the hint of the straw hat Faith wears or the look of anger/sadness/despondence on Aaron’s face.

Please do keep visiting the site as I work on finishing my stories and novels. Thanks!

One for the Kids!

Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed.

2 Timothy 2:15 – Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who has no need to be ashamed, rightly handling the word of truth.

This is the verse that echoes through the church building Friday evenings, by a loud chorus of high-pitched individuals, ready for a great evening of fun and learning. Working with kids is such a blessing and I am indeed grateful to the Lord for having brought me to this ministry. At such a young and teachable age, kids are able to listen and take in what is being taught to them with a child like faith…don’t we sometimes wish we had that kind of faith: taking the truth at face value.

This blog post however is not about how teachable kids are or having a childlike faith, but rather on writing for kids as a means of reaching them without necessarily preaching to them. Writing stories for kids, stories that would contain biblical values, principles, truths, verses maybe even characters that the kids can embrace and relate to, all of whom would point to Christ and His work on the cross. Of course I would not want to minimize Christ nor His works, nor would I want to dumb down the gospel for the sake of my stories. However, I do want to reach the kids on a level that they can understand and grasp the crux of the stories, gaining some knowledge about the bible, about Christ, about the Holy Spirit and about God.

I found a great post  on writing biblical stories for children and its on par with what I am trying to achieve. It was written by Rose Ross Zediker who is a Christian author. The post below belongs to her and you can read the full article here:

Biblical Retelling

A Biblical retelling must stay true to the Bible verse. Don’t add characters or character names if they aren’t in the Bible story. Choose a point of view and stick with it. Most Biblical retellings are in third person, but some can be told in first person.

Rephrasing the dialogue of a Bible verse can get tricky. The language must be kid friendly yet not change the meaning of what the character says. Keeping your target age group in mind, find and replace the difficult words in the text with simpler words. Look for words children may be familiar with but don’t really understand. Sin is a simple word yet children may not really grasp its meaning, try to define those types of words by inserting an explanation of the word.

Enrich your story with the addition of emotions, actions and setting details. A few simple words like water jars and robes transport the children into the Biblical life style and holds their attention.

The first paragraph of The Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25 NIV) says:

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

A retelling in the first person viewpoint of the expert in the law could begin:

Finally! I had a chance to test Jesus by asking a question. I knew the laws. I stood with my shoulders back and head held high. I looked into Jesus eyes. “Teacher,” I asked “what must I do now so someday I can live in Heaven?”

A third person viewpoint may be retold like this:

A smart man who knew the law wanted to test Jesus. The man smoothed his robes as he stood. He raised his eyebrows in question. “Teacher,” he asked, “what do I need to do now so I can live in Heaven when I die?”

In both retellings, actions were added to show the man’s confidence in his own knowledge. This makes the story more interesting for the child but doesn’t change the meaning of any of the original verse.

Contemporary Retelling

A contemporary retelling is a modern story with a beginning, middle and end. The theme of the contemporary Bible story retelling must reflect the lesson of the Bible verse. Apply the verse’s message to a real life situation. This real life situation must be believable so the child can apply the lesson to their daily lives. You can’t tag on the moral of the Bible verse at the end of the story. The lesson has to unfold during the story and the readers need to care about the characters and situation.

The following is a synopsis of a contemporary retelling of Luke 10:25:

A young girl and her mother wait at the bus stop. The young girl notices the people around her. She sees an old man in worn clothes and thick glasses approach the bench. The man politely asks a businessman for the time. The businessman frowns at the old man and refuses to tell him the time. The young girl can’t figure out why the businessman is being so mean to the old man. Two teen-age boys walk past the bus stop. Again, the old man politely asks for the time. One young boy looks at his watch but the other pulls him along, telling him not to talk to bums. The old man worries that he’s missed his bus. The old man looks sad and the young girl knows that Jesus would want her to help. She asks her mother if she can tell him the time. Her mother says yes and the young girl shows kindness to the old man by telling him the time so he doesn’t miss his bus.

This modern retelling synopsis is true to the Bible verse. Two sets of people won’t tell the elderly gentleman the time. However, an unlikely source, a young girl shows this stranger kindness. The theme of the Bible verse is shown in the last action of the contemporary story, the young girl helps the elderly man by telling him the time.

Copyright © 2007 Rose Ross Zediker

Beyond Heroic

What defines one as a hero? Is it the actions an individual makes…takes…succeeds or fails in? Is it doing something extraordinary for someone else? Selflessness, courage, morality; doing what the good guy would do in any situation including life or death. I do want to pose the question, what defines a hero.

Pronunciation: /ˈhɪərəʊ/
noun (plural heroes)

  • a person, typically a man, who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities: a war hero
  • the chief male character in a book, play, or film, who is typically identified with good qualities, and with whom the reader is expected to sympathize:

From this Oxford dictionary definition, the qualities of a hero are attainable. If we are courageous, go out to do outstanding achievements and have noble qualities which can be classified as having high morality in character, courage, generosity, honor etc, then we too can become heroes. So there you have it! Go be a hero!

Oh wait…how can we display these characteristics in everyday life? Well…

There you are in the kitchen, quietly rummaging the fridge, when out of your peripheral view, you see one of your siblings buttering a piece of toast. You hunger senses kick in as the unmistakable smell of toast reaches your nostrils. Suddenly, a phone rings, your keen hunger senses slow everything down around you. You notice your startled sibling in mid recoil; eyes wide, mouth agape, hands thrown forward. Empty. The buttered knife is slowly spinning in mid-air to drop onto the counter top. You mind screams: The Toast! You turn away from the fridge, swaying your hips to the side in nonchalant elegance, shutting the fridge door. You ceremoniously dive forward, hands outstretched, your mouth forming the words your mind had echoed across to your reflexes: The Toast! You land sideways, sliding across the kitchen floor careening towards the side drawers, barely an inch from your recovering sibling, to crash into the wooden furnishings.

Suddenly the world runs at normal speed and you are aware of your sibling shouting something about what in the world were you thinking but you are also aware of the buttered crunchiness that is caught between your teeth. Indeed that is warm toast in your mouth and one word overrides every other thought that comes up. Success.

Heroic? Neh. However if there was a change in the situation…

There you are within the dark confines of an abandoned storeroom, quickly yet deliberately rummaging through a suspected weapons repository. From the corner of your eye, you see a glare that catches your attention. You see your comrade sifting through contents on a workbench, when suddenly a loud bang erupts around you. Your comrade, in his recoil, nudges the object that had caught your attention close to the edge. In that second, just as the object begins to tilt over the edge, you realize what it is. Your reflexes kick in before you can even think and with a dive, reach out to catch the object. You careen across the floor, knocking your comrade down in the process before crashing against the wall, which, inadvertently, causes your hand to clench. As your comrade begins to shout various obscenities at you, you gaze down at your hand, having already felt the object click. Your comrade’s eyes follow yours and the room becomes dead silent; in your hand, is now an activated bomb.

What do you do?

Beyond Heroic

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