CarlHoliday

Nearly thirty years ago, the Greek compose Vangelis released the "Direct" album. One of the songs on the album was "Intergalactic Radio Station" and I've always thought "what a great name for a story." But, time came and went and I never seemed to get the proper incentive to take that title and manipulate it into words. Until now . . .

Thank you for your comment. Wow! You're just as close to the dark side as I am.

Having a blast with Terry Prachett's Small Gods. The religious humor is so funny!

Thank you for your comment. Yes, it is true that damaged youth can't be instantly undone, but with the help of adults who care life may be tolerable in the future.

Thank you for your comment. When I was taking a class at the University of Puget Sound, I encountered a professor much like Alice Adams, but he was a man and was extremely homophobic. He questioned my sexuality and then never spoke to me for the rest of the semester. He said he was a poet, but unfortunately had never been published in anything close to a significant publication. As a side note, I acquired the professor's name from the Pulitzer Prize winning novel by Booth Tarkington.

Thank you for your comment. Yes, Ian did not have a good relationship with adults, but he did find Steve in the group home at 319. Thankfully, he was reunited with Steve and now has a chance to find solace.

Thank you for your comment. Yes, Ian had problems with self-worth and when he first came to 319 he wasn't certain he was in a good place. But, he found a friend and sometimes a friend is all you need to keep an even keel. Unfortunately, Steve was taken away and he only saw a horrible future at the secure group home in Lyons; and, then in total desperation he attempted to go to a place where he wouldn't hurt anymore. Luckily, Ian was saved at the last moment. I suppose Ian's story could go on and on into improbable futures, but I chose to end it when he was taken to the couple who were willing to foster him.

Ian sat on the top step of the stairs into 319 Winesap Lane watching a person from the real estate company in Warnton, New York, put the for sale sign into ground near the top of the rockery. Erik’s trustee squashed the proposed deal with Wayne County thinking a private sale would raise more money. But, that wasn’t what was making him sad. He was the last boy in the house. Steve had gone first. A couple who lived across the street from the elementary school were contacted by Bill Daniels, th

Ian is the last boy at 319 Winesap Lane and he doesn't have any adults interested in fostering him. In an act of desperation, he uses a very sharp chef's knife to make the ultimate cut.

I'm sorry to see you go without reading to the end even though it is a bit of a slog. Yes, counseling is important and needed in this instance, but if you had finished this chapter and gone on to the final two, you might have seen why I didn't bring it up so early in the story. As far as how Charlie responded to Bobby's demand for sex, well I suppose I could've done it differently, but I didn't and I'm not making any apologies for writing this story the way I did.

See comment above to Wesley8890. The story started out okay, but it quickly went downhill from the beginning. I just couldn't seem to stay away from the dark side and, to me, the story suffered.

Yes, it just didn't seem there was an ending to it; and, then I killed the dog and I'm a dog lover. No, from now on it's trying to stay away from the dark side, though it may take longer to write stories.

I woke on Thursday to a sunny day. How prophetic I thought considering the Larsons would be dying before midnight. I took off my pajamas and got in the shower. I should've shaved, but didn't. When I got out of the shower, my cell started its annoying chirping. “Charlie.” “Mr. Hughes?” “Yes?” “Beth Sommerfeld here. I'm sorry to call at this hour (we hadn’t spoken since I called her about the last break in at my house), but I wanted to let you know Robert passed last night around n

Quite frankly I wasn't either.

Only time will tell; next chapter coming soon.

As a dog lover, I didn't want to kill the dog, but I needed her loss to affect Charlie in a meaningful manner. Retribution is coming.

I woke to the alarm and went to the shower. I had a shave in the shower and went to dress in business formal. I had a silent tremor in the back of my head, but went to take Nana outside. It was a cold, damp morning and she took longer than expected. I went to Bobby and jostled him awake. “Whaa?” he mumbled. “Bobby, I have to go to the courthouse now,” I said. “Very important, let no one inside.” “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he mumbled. I drove into the city as a bank of fog tried to inter

Thank you for your comment. See the replies to Wesley8890 and mfa607. As I said before, I believe I am close to being seriously mentally ill due to my inability to stay away from the dark side and my writing is beginning to suffer. As I see it, this will be my last long story and it's only going to be five chapters. I am trying to write a longish short story to tidy up the ending of the 319 Winesap Lane series, but it's not going well and I'm falling into a general funk.

I once knew a pastor who was married to a nice girl, but he was gay and had been a drug dealer. He claimed he saw the light of Jesus, but in the end he tried to fight the "gay agenda" from the pulpit. Imagine two to three hour sermons on the evils of LGBTQ kids and adults trying to turn "normal" people, but that was after we left. Last I heard he had returned to his home territory and was living with a man. Oh, yes, the future does not bode well for Bobby.

Yes, this story led me down a path where even I, who isn't afraid of killing off characters, felt enough was enough. This has definitely slowed down my writing production, if not completely stopped it.

I woke in the morning and immediately became aware that Bobby was still in my bed. In many ways I welcomed the comfort of his young body although it went against all that I was trying to instill in my home. I jostled him and said, “Hey sleepy head, time to get up.” He opened an eye and stared at me. Then, surprisingly, he climbed up on his knees and straddled me. His young cock stared me down. “Suck it,” he said as he leaned forward, pressing his hardness between my lips. I pushed hi

I’m at a juncture in my writing where I seriously think I need to stop it. The problem is basically for the most part I write violent shit and I don’t like it. I’m tired of having likeable characters die in the most horrible ways. For chissakes, how many assaults, rapes, and murders have to be written before I go down to the local sporting goods store and buy a pistol to blow my diseased brain out of my head? I suppose I could call my new therapist, but what the fuck will she do? I try to throw marshmallows, but bricks leave my hand. I tried to start a sequel to 319 about the remaining four boys in the house. But, I threw a brick and hit one of the boys; and, then the last he was seen crying on his bed with his pants and underwear around his ankles with blood and shit smeared across his butt and on the bedspread. After the police were called, he was found stuffed in the chest freezer in the pantry, near death from hypothermia. All my other choices for the next story are also chock full ’o nuts, bricks, knives, guns, homophobes, and every other evil I can think of. So, once The Angel of Retribution has finished posting, I’m going to concentrate on raising our new puppy. Sara, another purebred German Shepherd imported from Germany will be arriving sometime around the end of July/beginning of August. Plus, I’ll return to trying to learn how to play jazz guitar. I have to buy a new (or, refurbished used) guitar, but that shouldn’t cost over $500. I’ve got to go now because my attention whore (purebred German Shepherd), Nana, is begging to go out and chase cats out of the backyard. Maybe, after discussing my situation with my therapist, I can think about going back to writing. Or, possibly, she’ll just tell me to give it up until I can get the evil out of my mind. (Therapists really do not like patients who get suicidal.)

Thank you for your comment. I really enjoyed writing this story because it was so uplifting.

Thank you for your comment. Like some of my stories, there always seems to be something unsaid when I finish them.

Mrs. Larson will be making an appearance in Chapter 3.