Take Another Lap: Dead Bonz Zone

By Stephen L. King

Every person has stories in their hearts, wanting to be expressed, seen through eyes and letting others know what life is. Maybe through those stories the person reading will be released from their bonds and are free inside to let their own stories come alive. I like the Daily Snapshots, they tell a brief lurid event happening at the moment. Stand back and let the story happen. A fresh outlook in seeing the world around you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496904379

Stephen L. King

Each person sees things differently, has different paths in life. Each experience brings different thoughts and he/she can add their voice to their experience. In the first book of poems, In The Shadow,my heart tells of a story that is alive, in Gnome Home Papers the story continues.

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© 2014 Stephen L. King. All rights reserved.

Illustrations by [e-mail]

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   04/16/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0436-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0435-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-0437-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014907073

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Part One

Two of a kind…

Majesty

More Pit time Daily snapshots

Majesty cont.

Saving Beso Azul… or should that be the other way round

Part II of la hac awwni and Starr

Part Two

Alfred: The Early Years

Alfred’s Revenge

Beso Azul and Light Bringer

New Beginnings for Alfred

Somewhere over the rainbow with Ka, Thryn

Just the right amount of wrong

Meanwhile back at the Stone Fortress

What a rush!

Alfred and Major Sterns

Alfred%20image.jpg

Dedicated

to

Deborah King

Art Sahlstein

Marc Ben Meir

Ruben Gonzalez

Part One

CHAPTER 1

Two of a kind…

The large off white flag flutters in the breeze.

It shows a black crocodile.

And the words, Crocistan

* Texas *

It’s a beautiful morning to have a Dinosaur Dig.

The Edge of Night is fading.

The colors are ever changing from black, blue, yellow, orange, with a tint of rose on the edges of the sky.

But alas alack, it’s not meant to be. There was nothing to be found on the Face-Book website, the Arlington Archosaur Site.

For three solid days last week, Monday, Tuesday and late Wednesday evening, the skies wept. Booming thunderstorms reigned supreme, leaving behind at least 4 inches of rain.

And now?

The Hillside oozed ever downward at gravities insistence. How much slump has occurred is anyone’s guess. There should be a lot of surface fossils showing up from this rain. From my vantage point on the upper road, the entire Field of Bones is under water of this Inland Sea. The heavy clay is so saturated I don’t think that the crazy Infidels would ever dare to risk being sunk beneath this quagmire. Brother Art prevails for a few more days and nights.

I’m not going down there; my boots would be picking up about 10 pounds of mud each, and no telling what fossils I would be breaking. My back would be too.

With deep sadness and a heavy heart, I turned to walk back to my White Onion, my 2011 white Kia Rio.

Adios, Mr. Croc, until next weekend.

I rolled my Crocistan flag back up and placed it in the car, along with the short shovel and my tool bag with the two knives, one of them is Mary Beth. Why Mary Beth, I’ve no idea. The name just popped into my mind and I proudly introduced her to Amanda and David, my digging buddies at The Pit. Okay… whatever you say, Stephen, they replied.

I recently went to Cabela’s. It is a sportsman’s paradise hardware store, and saw the perfect knife. How it fit my hand just right, hmmm. What curves!

A coworker explained to me with all of my extra hours at work, the knife would be paid off in one day… bless his soul. I’ll be there this Saturday. Yahoo… !

What am I going to do now?

I’ll go over to GnomeMan’s house in search of good coffee. He lives less than 2 minutes away.

As I pulled into the rough rock drive, I see the house lights are on, all the usual number of cars and trucks are there, so he’s gotta be inside.

Instead of knocking on the front door, I peered through the front door window. He is on the couch computer and watching a previously recorded NASCAR race on TV.

Multitasking at its finest.

He sensed me standing at the door and waved me in.

We greeted each other.

GnomeMan, good morning to ya!

StoneMan, any more bone dreams?

Nope!

Lucy and Charlie greeted me. I have been well trained by Lucy to go to the kitchen and retrieve two dog

Texas%20Flag.jpg

treats for her. Charlie just looks at me, falls on the floor to receive a generous pat down. He closes his eyes and the purr machine takes over. I wouldn’t mind taking Charlie home with me. There’s way too many other cats here.

Brother Art hands me a huge mug of steaming coffee.

BA and I chatted about the Euless Trinity High School football team’s awesome come from behind win over Coppell 41-40. That truly is a game one for the ages!

GnomeMan says Cat Man Du, aka Roger, is coming over this morning. There’s something wrong with the ancient truck. Have you seen it lately? Yeah, like it’s still amongst the living… BA has a gift with anything mechanical and I think any more ministrations from him ought to be with extreme prejudice.

Go ahead Stephen, you go to the Pit. But just don’t let Cat Man Du see you down there.

He gave me a steady look, which I know by now.

He’s saying; go home, in polite terms.

Yeah, I was already there on the Hill. It’s still a flood.

We shook hands and I left his house after the 2nd brew. I did not fondle Mrs. G’s newspaper this morning. Matter of fact I haven’t in a long time. Ever since she got after me reading Ft. Worth’s finest rag out on the wraparound porch in the predawn hours one Saturday morning. She keeps a tight rein on Brother Art, but she is a cool Lady. I hope you notice that I capitalized Lady. If she ever found out about this, she’ll pound me into next week, worse than Beso Azul ever attempted on my life so far. That flying Mustang episode rates right up there in intensity though.

I went home after running some errands.

Alfred is not here.

Neither are the Gnomes, some secret mission they said.

Even Charlie the Cat, I think he’s deep asleep somewhere.

I got a glass coffee mug down from the cabinet. I opened the old fridge and got out the apple cider container, I then poured it to the brim. I used a spoon to measure the rum extract and a tad more, who’s going to know? Stirred, not shaken. Set the timer on the old microwave for 260 seconds and waited it to ding. The machine is taking its sweet time these days. The buzzer dinged. Got the hot cider out and walked to the ’puter room.

I fired up my Dell computer and putzed around, looking at Face-Book, Arlington Archosaur Site, and the USGS earthquake page and my email. I went through my genealogical lists and that took some time.

With that done, I opened Notebook #10. The first page on Take Another Lap. So here goes, fingers don’t fail me now. I waited for that to settle down.

So, with my hot cider in hand I turn on my Bose stereo system. Jazz resounds in this room with the six small Bose cubes, located in the corners and top book shelves. Surround sound. I stand perfectly still, eyes closed, just enthralled with the smokin’ soul stirring saxophone, how it growls.

With that in the background, my short stubby fingers hunt and peck with a steadfast clickity clack of keys, stopping only to remove wrong keystrokes, which were many, turn the notebook page; take another hot sip of apple cider. My fingers somehow cranked out five pages in this sitting. By then the rum flavored cider was all gone… hmmm. I don’t want to turn into W. C. Fields… ah, my little Chickadee… .

They need a break and I’m getting antsy from sitting. Plus, I need a cigar break.

I opened the humidor that’s setting next to the computer screen. Oh, what fragrance is overwhelming my most abundant nose. Vanilla. I grab a slender Tatianna and a slim matchbook.

I leave the room.

I walked through the living room and opened the patio door that lets me out into the back yard. In the center of this yard, there’s a tall, ancient, majestic pine tree. An instant memory of Cat and the Magpie and Alfred with that little misunderstanding they had, came flooding back.

I stepped outside the patio door into a now graying autumn afternoon that held very little memory of summer.

I deposited my back side on the round wooden chair that surrounds the tree. Alfred and I built it that can seat up to 4 people. Alfred, Albric, Beso Azul and me and any other combinations that nature can come up with. Beso Azul and I spent many a wonderful time there, mostly after a bout of character building.

The first match quickly flared up and just as quickly blew out due to the breeze.

I struck another, and pulled on the cigar to draw the flame in.

Houston, we have ignition!

Smoke clouds drifted away on the breeze.

I sat securely now, knowing all is well and to enjoy a somewhat breezy afternoon in December. Most of the tree leaves have turned brown and have fled to the ground. The wind is tugging at the few remaining diehards on the low branches.

After a few minutes of just minding my own business of smoking the flavored cigar, a very small yellow and brown striped bird sat next to me!

I’ve had Blue Neck Doves flutter in next to me while I was reading a book on the patio and they silently watched me a second or so. They soon discovered me sitting there amidst the plants and was not just a mere statue and noisily flapped away in a frenzy.

Well, he/she has a long, sharp brown needlepoint beak, nervously hopping around, busy checking the immediate area for predators and bugs to eat.

It jumped on the armrest of the chair, and looked directly at me and spoke.

Stephen, the Lady Beso Azul requires your help. Follow me!

What have I been smoking these past few minutes that I would understand this bird?

Da good stuff!

I closed my eyes to see if Beso Azul is online.

There’s nothing but static for some time now. Believe me, I have checked from time to time.

Mr. Wren spoke up, much clearer this time.

Oh, I forgot to give you something.

I watch this little Carolina Wren reach under his left wing and he looked at me and chirped, Don’t peek.

He pulled out a small cellophane zip lock baggie.

He hopped closer, warily looking about, watching me. Dropped the tiny packet on the chair’s armrest, and I mean small.

This tiny bundle of nerves said, Eat this! This will make you think for the duration like a bird, look like a bird and fly like a bird. I quote the Lady Beso Azul, he already has the brains like one!"

I laugh when Mr. Wren said that.

I replied rather hotly, why Beso Azul would say that to a bird of unknown character. Loose lips or rather beaks sink ships.

Yep, that’s Beso Azul for you. Throwing those zingers like Zeus hurling his thunderbolts at us mere mortals. Where is she now?

He avoided/evaded the question, like any good politician of Obama’s ilk.

I remember the stuff Beso had me to drink in the past. Like the hot chocolate and the doctored Dr. Pepper. Stuff happens, usually to me in a bad way. And now, she wants me to be a bird!

In my dreams!

Alfred is not home at the moment… he’s off shopping for his special dietary needs—Cajun/Creole concoctions.

Doan go anywhere little birdie, be right back. I gotta leave a note for Alfred.

I run back to the patio door and walk inside. I found paper and a Restoration Church ink pen in the side drawer of my antique drop leaf desk and hastily scribbled a note.

"Beso Azul needs my help. A friend flew in. See ya, Stephen

I taped it on the Coffee Pot.

I casually walk back outside to my waiting flying friend.

He is still there on the armrest, twittering to his heart’s content.

I sighed, what am I getting myself into?

I’m not really too keen on taking this concoction of Beso’s, so I said to my fine feathered friend, how soon after I take this will I be like you?

I picked up the very tiny clear packet, and began tossing it up in the air. He watched for a few silent seconds as his little head bobbed up and down. He jumped from armrest to armrest and said, it depends!

We just stared at each other.

He wasn’t too forthcoming.

I pressed the issue, like what?

He chirped, potency and if the Good Lady herself doctored the herbs just right. Well, come on Stephen, times awastin’!

I couldn’t believe it!

My, what a pushy little bird!

Mr. Wren suddenly flew to my left shoulder and looked right in my eyes.

Be careful Stephen, Beso Azul told me about your thought life and she gave me certain allowances to motivate you along!

Can you believe this little winged messenger?

Shall I proceed? Close your eyes, Stephen.

Why?

Just humor me.

I closed my eyes.

Whoosh!

I’m staggered by what flowed from my heart.

Still.

In a hushed voice I utter, That’s not nice!

Stephen… I won’t tell Beso Azul, I promise.

Since he’s still there on my shoulder I muttered under my breath about being framed by a stool wren, yeah right… I’ve heard that one before… !

No one is perfect, Stephen, just forgiven.

Let’s git ’er done!

I tried to swallow the itty bitty pill.

It wouldn’t go down my throat.

The taste is beyond awful.

I gagged and ran to the water hose but didn’t make it.

My stomach heaved and heaved some more.

Mr. Wren fluttered to the window ledge and he profusely apologized to me. He said he gave me the wrong packet!

What? The wrong one! What was it that you gave me?

Let me check, I carry a lot… for many different occasions… . Ahh… powered brew of various bugs for stamina! I should have reached under my right wing, I get confused!

Beso sure knows how pick ’em!

It’s a rush job, whatja expect?

One down and 489 to go. Hopefully you and Beso won’t be around for that long.

What’s 489 to go?

What Jesus said how many times to forgive someone.

Touche’. That really could be short.

Well, if the shoe fits.

But I’m enhanced… !

Sure you are buddy! Look and remember whom you work for. The infamous Beso of Azul!

What happened, Stephen? Between you and her. I’ve only heard bits and pieces floating in the breeze.

It’s ancient history… and I’ll not go there Mr. Wren. Some things are better left alone and not retold. Now give me that pill and let’s go find our beloved task master Beso Azul. I hope for your sake there’s no side effects!

Oh how he twittered!

That’s not a good sign.

This is not the kind of bird that I dreamed of becoming.

In my dreams that I have, I am an Eagle.

I fly majestically over the wooded landscape, mountains. But, this is not to be so here. Numbers # 488 through 300 flutter rapidly by, like the wheel on that television game show, Wheel of Fortune.

How she came up with this Dream Team—a Carolina Wren and a Black Heron is anybody’s guess in this solution. But you forget who you’re dealing with. I haven’t. It’s payback time. I should be thankful Beso Azul didn’t turn me into a pink flamingo! I really intensely hate pink flamingos used as yard art—very low class. Ranks right up there with Polish bowling balls.

So… our adventure starts with Mr. Wren and Mr. Blackie Heron

My last look as a human is looking into the green/yellow eyes of Cat. Charlie is in the kitchen window looking out. His bent whiskers moving in a silent meow, his eyes narrow slits and his boxy body trembling at the mere sight of two birds on the other side of the window.

Charlie raises his right paw to the glass as I flap my wings into the air and slowly lift my black legs out behind me.

I closed my eyes.

See ya later Charlie!

Be careful Stephen. I’ll let Alfred know!

Now I have a hankering for snails, very small fish, crawdads, frogs (sounds like being a Frenchman) and the need to soak my feet every time I pass by a marshy area. I feel at home when I go to the Field of Bones—it’s always wet and when I see other Black Heron.

If a time should ever come around, that you are sitting all alone and a bird lands nearby and strikes up a conversation with you, ignore him. It will only lead to utter frustration and the temptation will creep in for you to pluck the feathers off this troublesome fowl.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, like I have nothing to do with my life than chase after Beso Azul. But I knew that this day would come sooner or later. She’s the one that stalked off the reservation.

Majesty

It’s all Alfred’s idea.

Where he came up with that idea must have been his friends that helped us in Louisiana with Queenie I and with their hardware backing.

Old Man Sterns and Molly.

When we were on the BESO AZUL, there was some small talk of it in the wee hours of the morning floating on the River. Nothin’ ever came of it, I thought.

And there was that time when the whole crowd of ’em Gnomes went on that missionary crusade around the world chasing after Vikings. They had a time of musical celebration with the Holy Spirit being their Band Leader.

Alfred has plans.

He and Charlie the Cat.

Who would have thunk that this would have happened?

I was thinkin’ that Charlie would’ve disappeared along the way, with Alfred being the culprit!

Best of buds they is.

I seem to be the last to know anything. Secrets you know. It’s the story of my life. Why should this be any different?

The front door bell announced someone’s arrival, late one sunny afternoon in December. I had to get up from my LazyBoy chair and put down the newspaper.

Alfred is in the Shed, building something.

I can hear Charlie plunking on the baby grand piano in the Inner Sanctum.

Now, that’s a tune I haven’t heard in a very long time. Very strong and emotional, evocative. It has its own personal story. It doesn’t have any words yet, there’s no way to express them. It needs a very special someone to write them.

In a lightning flash, a revelation… .

The doorbell chimed again, breaking the spell.

Oh, I was somewhere else!

I unlocked the door and swung the heavy oaken door open.

I was going to say to whoever was there that I gave at The Office.

The words got stuck in my brain before my mouth got into gear!

Ka, Thryn!

She was the mystery woman waitin’ on the Australian beach for Beso and me to show up. She helped us to escape to Ayer’s Rock, to catch up with our friends.

Todd!

Now he was a very bad dude who kidnapped me. He wanted to steal my dreams but Ka, Thryn had other ideas for him. He met Jesus! His brothers were a different story though.

No words were spoken as they walked in.

Ka, Thryn gave me a hug.

Todd gave me a bear hug and I winced in pain from my broken rib. I received that from being run over by a runaway sofa from a 2nd floor stairs a few months ago.

Ka, Thryn smiled at me, puts 2 slim white fingers to her lips, touched them to my lips.

Now, that’s about good as Beso Azul’s!

She turned to walk into the Inner Sanctum with Todd in tow. He gave one last look at me, shrugged his wide shoulders, and closed the heavy door to the Inner Sanctum.

What had just happened here? I haven’t seen them in a dog’s age since our time in Australia. They just show up at my front doorstep, walk in, and sequester themselves with Cat and have a jam session? What’s going on in the space time continuum?

The brief encounter at the front door that I had with Ka, Thryn, she has not changed at all. She’s still wearing that mystical white shimmering caftan from head to foot. A few strands of her bright red metallic hair that couldn’t be contained, shone forth. Her eyes are still beautiful; green with gold flakes that just sparkled with enough mischief to getcha in trouble.

Brother Todd on the other hand looks totally different. He’s