Walking: The Ohoopee River Anthology, #1

By KM Paradice

Ollie is a twenty-five year old young man who has been rejected and mistreated by his father, lied to by his mother, and is deeply burdened by guilt after a car crash in which he was the driver resulted in the death of his cousin. Ollie struggles with guilt, bitterness, hatred for his parents and himself, and a volatile anger that is easily triggered. In a vision, Ollie is confronted by a being who appears as an old man who attempts to guide him through the process of redemption. Along the way he is coached by a cadre of angelic beiings who have been given a three-day deadline to get Ollie to confront his own mistakes as well as forgive those who have wronged him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KM Paradice
• Release date: Aug 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201642228

KM Paradice

A prolific writer, an avid gardener, and a life-long  fan of science fiction, KM uses his life experiences to craft stories where dreams are reality and reality is a dream, and the universe of his creating is filled with amazing what-ifs.

Book preview

The Shepherd

Skinny.

Crazy skinny.

Skinny like paper-thin skin hanging on bones kind of skinny.

Ollie sat on a rocky parapet overlooking the river, watching as the hooded shepherd guided the starving bovine herd to the cool waters.

Disgusting! Inhumane! Ollie hurled the charges at the alleged perpetrator of bestial crimes hiding beneath the hood. Criminal! You can’t treat animals like that! You’re going to pay for this! He breathed the threat as the bizarre skeletal parade continued its death-march to the river.

Ollie felt his fists clinch, an almost involuntary reaction, his muscles preparing themselves for an attack and then...

He paused.

Hesitated that brief second.

And the pause gave rise to doubt.

Ollie swore to himself. What’s wrong with me?

Were the gods of wrath yet angry? Did they seek more blood?

And so he waited, his eyes probing the players in the vision, searching for a sign. Would the apparition fade or escalate into yet another promethean reenactment repeatedly punishing him for sins so horrific that they refused the offer of sacrificial atonement?

Ollie looked away from the river, disturbed by the internal imbalance created by his doubts, and his mind raced backward in time to where he had stood before a judge accused of a crime, a heinous slaughtering of an innocent youth, an event over which he had had no control.

Like Ollie’s judgment so quickly dispensed on the shepherd, his own guilt or innocence was irrelevant to his accusers. Justice, they insisted, must be served!

Wounded, emotionally battered, not understanding why he was there, he stood before the judge, trembling and fearful.

The Charge: Negligent homicide.

The court battle became a familial blood-letting. Lives were destroyed. Relationships were torn asunder, never to be healed.

Ollie was exonerated.

His guilt-ridden soul, however, declined to accept the judge’s disposition and instead imprisoned himself, locking himself away in a self-imposed life sentence with no possibility of parole.

Ollie blinked to clear his vision.

A trick of the subconscious, Ollie told himself as the dying cows marched on. His heart, however, was not so easily convinced, and it thundered its verdict on the shepherd, Guilty!

The young man shook his head in an attempt to clarify his thoughts. He looked again. He was still on the rock by the river, staring at the emaciated cows. The vision was yet intact, so realistic that the question began to form in Ollie’s mind, Is it real this time?

The small herd stumbled into the water, their thin legs wobbling as if any minute the frail appendages would give way and the animals would collapse headlong into the water and drown.

No, Ollie said out loud. It’s a dream.  He clutched his head in his hands, squeezing his forearms against his skull like a vise, It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real....

The sound of the water running over the rocks faded and somewhere nearby, close enough that he could smell the coffee on her warm breath, he heard a woman’s voice. He’s alive!

It’s not real... Ollie’s mantra faded like an echo across a deep canyon, now just a whisper gurgling in his throat.

Sir, hold still! the woman was saying. You’ve been in an accident!

How many inside the car? a second voice asked.

Just the boy. The woman pressed her fingers to Ollie’s throat. His pulse is thready, and he’s got a pumper!

Bobby? Ollie’s voice cracked through blood-stained lips. Is he...

It’s just you, kid! Hang on! We’re going to get you out of here!

The air was filled with shouts and the sounds of buzzing saws and crunching metal and blaring sirens. The noise began to fade, and Ollie slipped into darkness, his heart filled with fear and self-loathing. No! Please, God! Not again! Let me die, not him!

The ambulance doors swung open, and the rushing of cool air slapped his face, awakening him to a the sound of a man’s voice blaring like a foghorn, Level I trauma coming in!

A voice over a walkie-talkie crackled in his ears. Trauma Bay Two is open!

The gurney hit the ground and the wheels snapped in place with a click, slap, click. A hand in a latex glove pried his eyes open and a bright light swiped across his face.  Right pupil is pinpoint! Left is reactive! The ER nurse waved the gurney on.

With a blast of antiseptic-filled air, the ER doors flew open, and the gurney rushed past the waiting area where Ollie thought he saw his father and his Aunt Rose. They were arguing. Intensely. Uncle Charlie was pulling Aunt Rose away from his father, her fists pummeling his father’s chest like a punching bag, her legs kicking wildly, searching for a target.

Stop it, Rose! Uncle Charlie was shouting. It’s not the boy’s fault! The truck ran the stop sign!

He killed my son! Rose screamed, waving her cell phone at Ollie’s dad like a weapon. Bobby texted me! He was having premonitions! He begged Ollie to stop!

Like a political prisoner strapped in a torture device designed by Kafka, Ollie tried desperately to call a halt to the oft-replayed horror show, but the blood-gorged guilt monster that controlled the movie projector refused his request.

The cameras rolled on.

Stop it! Stop it! Ollie slapped at his skull and pressed his right foot hard against the ground, searching for the brake pedal, hoping that this time the car would stop. This time Bobby wouldn’t die. This time his self-loathing wouldn’t feed on his grief and turn to anger. This time the anger wouldn’t find a target and lash out.

Help me! Bobby screamed into his hands. "Tell me