Your Stories

In order to have more interaction with my readers I have added a Design a Story section on my website. People input their idea and I write it and publish it here. Depending if they want it posted it or not. These are the stories I have written for them.

Your story from Design a story, she wishes to remain anonymous. Story written by Captain Imperfecto.

July 22nd, 2012

It was the worst blizzard the region has seen in years. The weatherman never predicted it would be this bad, but since when can man predict the weather? Thankfully I am holed up in my comfy cabin with plenty of fire wood to keep this roaring fire going. The sight of my over flowing bubbles billowing up over the top of my sunken tub far out shadows the wall of snow just outside my bedroom window.

I sit beside my bath undressing myself to get in the tub. The sound of the wind howling, like a wolf, echo’s throughout the house as the air molecules find the tiny gaps in the window and rushes in. The smell of timber burning entwines with the vanilla soap bubbles casting off the smell of marshmallows in the air. I’m ready to climb in my tub with a good book when suddenly the door bell rings. Who can this be on a night like this? I wasn’t expecting company.  I hurriedly place on my robe and descend to the downstairs to see who in the world was out on a night like this. Especially  in the middle of nowhere. My house is deep in the woods and my driveway long and winding.  It’s a shock anyone can find it in a night like this.

I peer through the peep hole but the frost has formed over the glass and I can not see a thing. Before I can move my face back from the front door the person knocks on the door again. The pounding rattles the doors and vibrates my face. I jump almost out of my skin because the sudden knock scared me.

“Who’s there!” I shout. Worried because I am alone tonight. My husband got snowed in at the airport.

“Umm ma’am, it’s the police.” he shouts his voice shaking from the cold.

“How do I know you the police? I can’t see you.” I shout from my side of the door. It was true though. The frost had built up on all the windows in the house. The fire from my fireplace was not warm enough to keep the windows defrosted.

“Ma’am your just going to have to trust me, I am a police officer. We are just checking are rural residents to make sure you are safe from the storm.”

Hesitant to open the door I decide to just do it. After all what choice do I have. So with the fear in my heart, I place a brave look on my face and unlock the door. With a thrust, as if the wind push the door open, I whip open the door.

“You better be a cop” Starling the officer and in return his good looks startling me.

“Yes ma’am as you can see I am a police officer its freezing out can I come in?”

“Well sure” I am at a loss of words, which never happens to me. I am a straight forward kind of gal, but he has me all flustered.

“Sorry to bother you but this storm just got out of hand and we want to make sure our residents out here in the sticks have enough provisions to last all night.” He says with his baby face looks but his body was very manly. Even through his thick jacket.

“Provisions?” I said with a giggle.

“Yes ma’am, you know food.” He said with innocence.

“I know what provisions is, I just haven’t heard it used before. But yes I have plenty of food to last me this storm. Its not the first and won’t be the last snow storm that hit’s the area.” I came off rude and stiff but deep down he was melting me.

“Well, okay ma’am as long as your safe. Are you alone here or is your husband or boyfriend around?” He asked his eyes peering past my partially open robe that exposed my neckline and glanced in the living space.

“No, my husband is actually caught in the storm.” I told him

“I hope he’s okay.” He said with genuine concern

“Oh please, he stuck in the airport drinking at the bar and flirting with stewardesses I’m sure.” I said in half truths.

“Why would he flirt with women when he has you to come home to.” The strapping young officer said as he looked into my eyes.

Where do they go from here. Does he leave? Does he stay? It’s your story. You’ll have to take it from here.

July 21st, 2012

This was a requested story I wrote for a reader who entered information in the Design a Story section. He wanted it posted it here. You can have one done too. Just click on the Design a Story tab above for details.
Not a 49er
For my family and the love we have shared over the centuries starting here

The ships were being prepped to set sail from New York on there way to California, “GOLD, THERE’S GOLD THERE IN CALIFORNIA!” a voice rang out in the hordes of people working their way to several ships that were getting ready to make the long journey west in search of wealth and prosperity.

It was the great gold rush of 1849 and people from all over the world, including my great, great, great grandfather, decided to make the trip to the region from North America by way of New York. California was one year from being a state and the great Pacific Railroad had yet to be build . My Grandfather decided a one year boat ride was safer then making the trek on the California Trail across country.

My grandfather was a big Irishman who immigrated in the 1820’s in search for a better life, like all immigrants during that time and as they still do today. With word of the instant rich being born in his new country my grandfather thought, "what’s a few extra thousand miles. I made it this far."

“Bar keep.” my grandfather shouted as he slams his mug on the table. The noise making a loud pound as it smacks against the handmade wood bar top. “Another round before my journey.” wiping the foam on his sleeve.

“Going to be a 49er are we?” the barkeep ask

“Yep. I figure a big Irish boy like me can haul away my fair share of gold. And I will.” He said with a stoic voice.

“You know, people die all the time on those trips. A big Irish man or not you'll die before you make it to California.” A tiny voice said over the piano and voices of other men sharing the stories of future riches.

“Who asked you?” The Irishman said taking a sip of his newly poured beer and slowly turning in his bar stool, to place a face on the voice who dared to knock his dream.

Once his eye locked on the person who spoke out, he nearly fell of his bar stool. Before him was the most beautiful girl the Irishman had ever seen, She was tiny, dwarfed by his size and looked like a kid among men as she cleaned up after their filth.

I’m just saying. Working in the bar I hear stories of burials at sea more then people who exit the ship on the other coast.” She said turning away wiping off a table.

She was the Barmaid and the bar owners daughter. She worked there taking care of her dad after her mother died of disease. It wasn’t her dream job but back then family was everything and she wasn’t about to leave her father.

“Well, it looks like I’m going to have to stay here.” My grandfather said with a smile on his face.

They married that year and never parted ways as she took over the bar from her father. A bar that is still there today in our hearts and minds and I am proud to say I’m happy my grandfather was never a 49er.

V.M. wanted to get away from her daily life and enjoy some "me" time. Who can blame her? V.M. told me what she wanted in the Design a Story section and I wrote it for her.

She works a tough job, she enjoys her grandchildren and attending church. She wanted a little adventure and action in her life.You can see other stories from other readers in the Your Story tab.

Enjoy your getaway V.M.

July 25th, 2012

“I can’t think” I mumble to myself as I stand in this dark storage room. The light bulb blew as I flicked the switch, which is indicative of the day I’m having. “ Where did they move the damn morphine” I say out loud, even though there is no one around to hear me.

Another patient is close to their death. And administering them some pain relief is the only comfort I can provide them at this time. The morphine doesn’t seem to be where it should be. My mind doesn’t seem to be where it should be.

The doctor declared him dead just a moment a go, gone to another world. I wish I could go to another world. Not death mind you, just an escape from the everyday life that I know. The stress of this job is taxing on my mind, body and soul. Being a patients nurse in hospice care is so rewarding yet, eats you up inside. There is so much life in our patients when they enter this building but death soon finds them and like clock work I administer the morphine to give them peace in the last remaining day or so they have. I need to get away.

Life is hard nowadays and this economy sucks, but thankfully I have my Cross Bones Harley in the garage. It doesn’t take much gas, so I can ride as far away from death as I can. And I usually do. I pray to God everyday for my patients, I pray to God everyday for my own patience. After this Sunday’s church service, some playtime with my grandchildren, it’s time to go for a ride because the rest of the day will be mine.

I walk my bike out of the garage and park it in the middle of the driveway. I go get my chrome cleaner and shine it up real nice. The chrome shines like a mirror as the sun reflects off the handle bars and exhaust. The glare gives my neighbors fair warning that I’m about to start my baby up. The exhaust pipes are double stacked and stretch the length of the bike, stopping as it reaches the end of the rear tire. The short pipes are loud, I mean rumbling loud, so when I start it, it will shake the windows.

Before I go on my ride, I throw on my blue jeans, place my leather vest  jacket over my black Harley shirt, with white writing in the front that reads “Don’t Mess with Jesus, Ride and be Free.”  That's right, there is a Jesus fish on my ride. I usually wear a helmet but not today. Today I’ll pull my hair in a pony tail and "ride with the bad boys freestyle, this girl ain’t afraid"-I think to myself.

I throw my leg over my bike and straddle the seat. I settle in and start my engine. The motor roars as I rev it up. The sound traveling 3 blocks deep, notifying everyone to stay out of my way. I stare directly in front of me, looking at my neighbors that are looking back at me. I know I am suppose to Love Thy Neighbor, but my baby needs to warm up. The bike shimmies my body, between idles and revs, like I’m dancing to a beat that's all my own, and I am, I truly am.

I use my thick black leather riding boots to place the bike in gear -stomp hard on the lower floor board and without looking, I give it gas, and charge out of my driveway, it’s me time…

“Bad to the bone Bad to the bone B-B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-B-Bad B-B-B-B-Bad Bad to the bone

The wind shoots through my pony tail as my hair whips in the wind. I ride long and I ride hard. It’s my getaway from reality as I head to the mountain trail that rides along the ocean side. I love it here, just curves, hills, and more curves along the rocked walls and foliage all around. No stop signs or traffic lights, I’m free as a bird, just me and my baby, just ride baby ride.

There is nothing like the smell of the open road, ocean air and exhaust from my bike. I glance to my left to catch the breaking waves. The white caps cresting on the edge as if they were waving “hi.” The ocean breeze puts tension on my bike, but the high handle bars allow me more control so I can take the soft corners of this road. The more I ride, I see the gifts God has given me on such a glorious sunny day. I know that the death I see, day in and day out, isn’t the last we will see of each other.

There is something about a ride on my baby that gives me freedom to think and freedom to feel. I don’t want to stop this ride but the sun is about to set and I want to catch a glimpse of it as it hides beneath the ocean. I want to pay respects for another day granted, on this wonderful day.

The sun begins to drift and I don't wanna miss it so I pull the bike hard left across the on coming lanes to get into an overlook area but wound up facing a large semi-truck. We are face to face, so I pull my bike hard right to avoid a collision. Not in the mood to play chicken with a 32,000 pound truck. I then pull my bike back left, like I was riding in a serpentine and the bike and I glide right into the overlook unscathed.

I pull my bike on the side of the road to enjoy such an awesome sight. The bright orange of the sun soft enough to look directly at, as it is swallowed by the sea. The reflection on the oceans surface slowly fades away, like life, but it will rise again on another day, that' s how I like to think of it anyway.

“What a sight and a spot to view it.” A voice rings out from behind me.

“Yes it is”, I say, without looking back.

“Something as beautiful as that lets you know that there is a God up there.” The baritone voice echoing in my ears.

I sigh, “Yes, it was a beautiful sunset.” I said with a little hope to my voice.

“Oh, yes that too.” The voice blurted out, stunning me.

I turn around and see a group of motorcycles that had stopped, where I did, so the riders can watch the sunset. I was so consumed in the suns beauty, I never heard the bikes pull up.

“Hi I’m Rick,” He said, with a smile that cut through his beard.

“Nice to meet you Rick. Where you guys headed?”

“We are just riding and honestly we don’t know where will end up, but i gotta tell ya, liked those evasive moves back there, it made us turn around. Do you wanna ride with us?” He asked straight forward. I could tell by his eyes he was serious and his demeanor told me he was sincere.

Yeah, I’ll go.” I said with butterflies in my stomach a nerve in my backbone.

“Well, get on your bike girl. And ride baby ride.”

…I broke a thousand hearts, Before I met you, I'll break a thousand more, baby, Before I am through, I wanna be yours pretty baby, Yours and yours alone I'm here to tell ya honey, That I'm bad to the bone."

Written by Christopher P. Fusaro

“Bad to the Bone” lyrics written by: George Thorogood

July 31st, 2012

M.C. wants to remain anonymous. M.C. told me what she wanted in the Design Your Story Submission Form section and I wrote it for her. She wanted to be in an intense story with maybe a little bit of danger and some peace, possibly romance. I'll try to accommodate all of it. Hope you enjoy M.C.

The wedding reception was in full swing. The beautiful bride and the groom began celebrating their new life together. The entire wedding party was on the dance floor, however the best man was not. Everyone was too drunk to notice that he was missing. He was being held in the catering kitchen. Tied to a chair after being found by Mr. Dent.

“You can’t protect him forever John”, Mr. Dent said.

“It’s their wedding day damn it.” John said, sweat glistening off his face.

“And you brought me here" ,Mr. Dent says as he walks out of the shadows and into the light," Did you think I wasn’t going to find you at your best friends wedding?"

Mr. Dent is a powerful man with powerful friends. It was because of his powerful friends that he was able to find out that John is an undercover agent for the F.B.I.

John took years to work his way up within the ranks of Mr. Dents' organization. When Mr. Dent found out about his agent status he was going to kill John. But John made promises to him to save or at least delay Mr. Dent from killing him.

"Do you think I'm a sentimental or compassionate man John? I can kill you and them now and still have wedding cake.” Mr. Dent said with a matter of fact tone.

“I can still get what you want but I can’t do it with my hands tied to the damn chair!” John said with frustration in his voice, while shaking his body wildly trying to loosen the grip. The tight tape would not allow him much movement beyond a few inches.

“John, John, John", Mr. Dent says while shaking his head. "You have had more then a few chances to get what I have been asking for" ,the sneer on his face can intimidate any man no matter who it was.

"I can kill you and get it myself. I will find pleasure in killing you. But I am afraid your best friend will be a victim of your inability to keep your promises. You should have gotten it before you ran.”

“Look Mr. Dent", John begins, trying to reason with an unreasonable man, "There is no need to make this any worse for the both of us. Regardless of your powerful friends, you don’t want the heat of a dead F.B.I. agent on your hands. And I don’t want my best friend tortured. I’m already resigned to my fate. Let me change his. Please.” John is winded and the desperation is cracking his voice.

The kitchen is getting more crowed with staff and it's becoming harder and harder for Mr. Dent’s henchman to keep the kitchen staff out.

“Okay John. You get what I want and your best friend and his new bride will live. But if you cross me, then I’ll find your family and kill them too.”

One of Mr. Dent’s thugs removes a knife from his pocket. He slowly teases John with it, gliding it across his face, moving the tip of the blade down his forearms, then quickly cutting the silver tape, freeing him.

John rubs his hands over his wrists in attempt to relieve the pain from the tearing of the tape from his skin.

“Oh and John”, Mr. Dent says catching John before he walks out the door,“Don’t even think about escaping because will be waiting. You have until the end of the reception to get what I want."

John rushes to the bathroom to clean himself up. He takes off his tuxedo coat and lies it down on the bathroom counter. He stares at himself in the mirror while he turns the water faucet on.

Think John, think -his mind wondering. He pools water in the palms of his hands and splashes his face. Maybe it was his attempt to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

"They’re going to kill you anyway and your family and friends; you know this, think damn it.” John says a loud, realizing his true reality.

The water flows from the faucet as John continues to rub water onto his face. He stands there in a trance pondering his next move. His mind running rampant - If only didn't bargain with Mr. Dent when I was confronted about being an agent. If I didn't throw my friend under the bus by using his life to barter my own. But he surely he would have killed me then. I have to get those wiretaps from him. But how? I could just ask him but he won't hand them over, if hasn't turn them in already.

John reaches over and grabs his jacket and puts it back on, adjusts his bow tie and looks at his watch.

“About three hours”, he says.

Leaving the bathroom behind, John walks to the edge of the hallway and stops at the threshold that crosses over into the dining area. He begins to survey the dance floor and crowd. He's trying to locate anyone who might be associated with Mr. Dent that may be watching his every move. His eye catches a girl sitting at a table by herself. She was very pretty, petite, black hair, olive tone. She was just his type. But he wasn't looking for a date.

“Anyone sitting here?” He asked, tapping on the lonely girls shoulder while she sat quietly.

She turns around and confronts him, "Of course there is, it's a wedding we have assigned seating.” She retorted with a quick quip.

“Well”, John says while looking about the table for the reservation card. “Okay, hi, I’m Miss. Hurst.” Leaning over and grabbing the reservation card and placing it in his pocket as he takes a seat.

“Look”, the petite female said, “I’m not a bridesmaid and I am not looking for a date or to get married, hell I don’t even want to dance. I just want to sit here and wait until this miserable thing is over.”

“Well I can make it interesting you know" John says while drinking from a glass that had already been placed at the table.

“Oh yea? And how is that.” She said taking a sip from her champagne glass.

John gets up from his seat, walks towards the dance floor but before he does he grabs the mystery ladies arm and leads her to the strobe lights and drunken dancers.

“No wait, wait, I can’t dance.” She says in vain as he spins her around and begins to dance.
They move and sway to the up tempo music. John can definitely dance and his mystery partner is doing her best to keep up.

“I need you”, John says in her ear. The music pumping loud.

“What?” She said while pushing John back.

“No, not in that way. I need your help. There are men trying to kill me and I need you to distract them.” He said, talking close to her face.

Everyone around them is oblivious to John's plight. The other people on the dance floor move about the dark lighted dance space. The music is loud and lights flashing quickly in the jubilee. Their words are trying to penetrate the blaring music.
“Look, I don’t know what you think your going to do, or why your involving me, but you need to lay off the open bar buddy”, she sarcastically says.

“If I prove it to you, then will you help me?” John looks at his watch, “I only have a few hours left. I need an answer now.”

“This is crazy you know that”, she said, shaking her head and smiling. “Okay I’ll play along, prove it superman”, she announces in his ear.

John leads her off the dance floor by her hand and wades through the intermingling guests while he formulates his plan in his head. As they get closer to the exit, he spots a shadowy figure moving towards him, the only face not smiling in the crowded bunch. He quickly sits down at the nearest table.

"Quick, kiss me", he says.

"What? What?", his mystery lady asks. She has an appalled look on her face.

"Kiss me hurry!" John shouts.

He leans in and meets a little hesitation from her until his mystery guest surrenders to him and kisses him. The music plays in the background that is perfect for their moment. John opens his eyes and watches where the shadow fades away in the distance. Found him - John thinks as he continues to deeply kiss his mystery guest losing himself for the moment before she comes to her senses.

"Okay stop", she says, pushing him back. "We aren't going to have a one night stand and you aren't proving anything to me other then your so-so kissing", the kiss was just right and sent chills down her spine, but she didn't want to encourage him further.

"My right shoulder", he says to her.

"What?", she replies

"Very carefully and not too obvious look over my right shoulder and you'll see my killer." John says with confidence.

She glances over his broad shoulders.

"You mean the large man that is quickly coming this way?" She said, a scared tone to her voice.

John turns his head to look over his shoulder. The man is closing in on them fast, "yes!" He shouts.

John ducks from the grabbing hands of the large thug. The thug grabs air as he falls over the chair and into the table. John quickly pulls his new friends hand and they begin running away, looking back at the gangsters' struggle to regain himself.

As they approach the door John is approached by a staggering guest of the party who is clearly drunk.

"Johnny, hey pal." He says slurring his speech and grabbing on to John's shoulders, stopping his momentum in his tracks.

Mr. Dent's henchman gets up off the table, while pushing the wedding plates and table cloth away. The loud shattering noise capturing the attention of the guests who all turn to see, assuming it's a guest who has had one too many.

The shadowed figure closes in fast on John who can't seem to get his drunken friend out of the way.

Whack!- a pounding noise over takes the voices of the people that are standing close to the hall entrance.

John's new girlfriend kicked the goon in the groin. She then locked her hands together and with a powerful swing, hitting the thug in the face, sending him to the ground.

John pushes his friend back and they go running out the door.

"Holy shit that was awesome!", John said laughing.

"Well you dragged me into this mess, it better be good!" She yelled as they both went running out the door.

"My car is over here", she says, both are winded from their sprint.

"No, I can't go. They're going to kill my friend. I used you," he says catching his breath, "and I am sorry. I had to draw him out of the shadows. I have to go back in and finish this", John says standing halfway between freedom and the lions den.

The moment between them is silent but the noise from the reception is all around like their special moment on the dance floor.

"You can leave with me right now and be safe", she said. The keys to her car in her hand.

"I know, but I have to go back in. Thanks for the dance and kiss even though you thought it was so-so", John said, as he turned away to head back to the reception in his attempt to alter fate.

"Hey! I didn't get your name", John said turning back to her.

"Yes you did", she said, "It's on the reservation card in your pocket." With that comment, she gets in her car, closes the door, and drives away.

Written by Christopher P. Fusaro

Click on the Design a Story link to provide some details and have your own story posted for free. Read the Be in Your Own Story link.

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