Mountain Cove Forest: Or, the Commander

By R.A. Pace

R. A. Pace worked as a new journalist for nearly a decade while gathering the material for Mountain Cove Forest: Or, the Commander. All the same, the enclosed literary work tells the ancient story of heaven and hell, drawing from the poetry of John Milton while keeping with the literary styles of Samuel Beckett and Ernest Hemingway. To be appreciated intellectually, Mountain Cove Forest is also a stab at the philosophy of Jean-Paul Sartre, hopefully exciting the reader to think critically, even when challenged to not do so.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546241393

R.A. Pace

R. A. Pace has self-published six works of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. Wilderness Fairies: A True Story is her first work intended for children and young adults. A graduate of Western Carolina University’s creative writing graduate program, she considers herself “a writer’s writer.” She lives in Asheville, North Carolina.

Book preview

MOUNTAIN COVE FOREST

OR, THE COMMANDER

22846.png

R. A. Pace

22876.png

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2018 R. A. Pace. All rights reserved.

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  05/08/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4140-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-4139-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018905550

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

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

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

II

THE COMMANDER

Chapter One

Chapter One, Again

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

III

MOUNTAIN COVE FOREST

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Who said Satan went to Hell?

CHAPTER ONE

22759.png

N ow, let me explain myself, I’m a damaged good. But, at least I didn’t murder, rape … or, was it … ? I can’t fathom the sleep; the dead show so many features of some undefinable twist … did I kill them? Rape? Was it … moi … but, not me? Brought back the ghosts, I did? Beckett, Hemingway, the others … and, I said it wouldn’t happen: me, happy! All of the influences, and I’m crisp enough to cut, to kill. I killed them. I ravaged them? They’re dead, insane, gone. He’s gone, too. Why? Why did they do that? I couldn’t help it, after the bad times. I couldn’t stay, put, kneel; like the loyal old dog. And, am I still living, alive, awake? Here, here, I think that I am. So, why did they do that? Doesn’t Jesus say … ? No. Not perchance, only ‘here.’ It starts here. It always does. I think a though, and … they’re dead, the dying faster than most. I, though? Here. Make it as minimalistic as possible, then, cut! Don’t get me wrong, I’m a murderer—a, ‘thou shall kill,’ if necessary. Necessary, as always, as it always has been, necessary. Why did God put me here with all of them, and then tell me to, well, sit? I sat. So, I thought. I talked to terrorists, those who terrify, and, well, I killed them. In my dreams? No, as a veteran. It started more than a decade ago now, the killing, for me, my role … unbecoming of a lady. That’s right! I’m a woman! A woman who was raped, over and over. Why can’t that be the reason? I’m dead. They killed me, too; too many years unkept … and, not a woman. No make-up. No dresses. No high heels, or those delicate braziers. I’m unkept, almost a man. I gave up all of that girly stuff for sin, for sin’s sake; I wanted to be alive, well, alive, alive, living … and, now, look what I’ve done; I’ve killed, but not as a civilian would, as a warrior does. And, I’m a damaged good. Let me explain my position, more so. I live in one place, blame others, living in that one place, and, bam! Anxiety. I’m wrought with so much anxiety that I can’t exit! But, but, I’m hurting, slowly, dying lavishly. I love myself. So, I killed? No. I’ll never know the, because I’ll always have to be ready to kill them, so, don’t get attached, don’t do anything, just be, here, in this place, this hotel, with this ancestry, the family money, and, call it defense, a defense strategy. Come here, I told them. Mental institutions, prisons, death! Come here, and sit for a while. I know what you did, would do … to us? The, we. Yes, that’s us. And, be here for a while. Die a little. Dead. I got to be authentic, true, real … for all of those years. You, dead. Me? Alive. Simple English; simple language, and I became an artist’s artist while you were rotting in a grave. But, you kill us, too. Some of us. Or, all? I wonder, wandered, wanted; yes, I wanted to die. After the rapes got out of the single digits, I wanted to die. You, on the other hand, wanted to live, as angry, and full of hate, you wanted to live, as angry, and full of hate, you wanted to go on living, dying, dead. Was I ever a terrorist? Did I take command, and terrorize? It’s in my blood: the answer. It’s in blood, scars, wounds, trickling into an abyss, an open place where I might be happy.

I’m going to introduce you to sex, he said.

Silence.

Mom, that man just grabbed my crotch, I exclaimed.

Here. I’m here, now, in this place; calling it enlightenment … for all of the wrongs, I can still be free, to have liberty; to be happy? I’m well off, depending. I had my life ripped away from me at an age that’s any age, but, in childhood? You came here to terrorize me in childhood. I died, literally, at the age of 19. My heat heart back, and I’m in a different place; I’m okay. Explain to me about what I did to you at three, four, eight, nine, fourteen? What was it? And, then, at 17, I found freedom, I became master-and-slave, I enlisted.

CHAPTER TWO

22759.png

A m I communist, as in, a member of the communist party, not just a sympathizer? No. Am I a bed wetter, or have I wet the bed since the age of twelve? No. Okay. Dotted line, a bit of ink, my signature’s still legible. Low scores (I didn’t know that you’re supposed to take the bits that you don’t like, too?).

‘I don’t want to be a code breaker,’ I thought.

High medical, or Biology scores. So, what? Personnel, or police woman, take your pick.

I’m looking to improve my skills with people, I said.

No.

I’m thinking of becoming a police officer, I mumbled, sort of.

Ah, ha-ha, you don’t want to do that, my Clinton-hating recruiter noted.

I think that I do.

No, you really don’t.

Whatever. AFSC 3S051. Thank you.

You’re young, and if you’re thinking of getting out in four, you just need to do something that translates to the ‘civilian’ world.

Silent.

‘What the hell is wrong with these people?," I thought. I don’t down the ‘military’ world, I continued in my head, thoughts to myself.