MAGNESIUM

MAGNESIUM

By: Terri Talley Venters

“We must be getting close, I see the magnesium veins in the rock walls,” Victoria said. She led her boyfriend/colleague down a labyrinth cave system outside of Paris, France.

“Let’s be careful, we don’t want to ignite this mine,” Tommy said. His sandy-blonde hair glowed in the beam of light from Victoria’s headlight. His untamed curls framed his handsome, green-eyed face.

“We’re fine, we’re using battery powered lights, not gasoline lanterns,” Victoria said. She pointed to the light on her headband covering her long dark hair.

They came to a mining tunnel and stared incredulously at the low height.

“Why would they make such short tunnels? We’re going to have to crawl through on our hands and knees,” Tommy said.

“I thought you liked me on my knees,” Victoria smiled, teasing her man.

“You owe me a back rub later for making me hunch over like Quasimodo to get down here,” Tommy said. He smiled suggestively at Victoria, winking at the recollection of prior rub downs and where they often led.

Tommy stared into Victoria’s ice-blue eyes and couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be, than cave exploring with his beautiful girlfriend and fellow archaeologist.

They crawled through the shaft for a hundred yards. Just as Victoria felt claustrophobic, the tunnel opened up to a large cavern. Victoria stood upright again and brushed the debris off of her toned limbs.

The cavern appeared as is if someone currently mined it. The scaffolding and ladders went from the floor to the fifty-foot ceiling.

Tommy shined his flashlight along the cavern walls, its beams bounced off of its treasure like tiny prisms.

“Are those?” Victoria asked.

“Diamonds,” Tommy said, finishing her sentence. He retrieved a small chisel from his excavation kit and tapped at the rock surrounding the precious gem. A diamond as big as his fist dropped into his eager hands.

“Incredible, look at all of them. The diamonds I can see in the room alone must be worth a billion Euros,” Victoria said.

“I never knew such an abundant supply existed, and in France,” Tommy said.

“I wonder who owns all of this? They must be withholding to avoid flooding the market and deflating the price of diamonds,” Victoria said.

“You know, I think I know who owns this, assuming the land owners above also own the mineral rights. Look at what is located directly above us,” Tommy said. He handed Victoria his hand-held, techie-nerd GPS device.

“We’re right below Euro Disney,” Victoria said.

“I feel bad for stealing from a mouse. But this will fund our digs for the rest of our lives,” Tommy said as he pocketed the diamond.

“Shhh, I hear something,” Victoria said. She ducked behind a mining cart and hid from the intruder. She grabbed Tommy’s strong bicep and yanked him down beside her.

“Oh, crap! Who are these men? They look like, no, it can’t be,” Tommy said. His chiseled-jaw dropped to the floor, along side Victoria’s.

They stared incredulously as a group of miners entered the gem mine. Their short stature and bearded faces made them look comical, yet familiar. They sang a catchy tune as they started their work shift.

“They’re dwarves,” Tommy said, without taking his eyes off of the unique, yet unmistakable workers before him.

“This explains the short height of the mining tunnels and scaffolding. They look just like…” Victoria said, cut off by Tommy’s words.

“I know, only there’s more than seven working here today,” Tommy said.

Victoria and Tommy watched the dutiful dwarves arrive to start their shift. They grabbed their pickaxes and prepared for their day digging diamonds and precious gems out of the rocks beneath Euro Disney outside of Paris, France.

They continued singing the familiar song in unison “Hi Ho….”

WATER

WATER

By: Terri Talley Venters

　

Minerva awoke to the soothing sounds of the sea, just as she did each morning. As an early riser, she thrived on the solitude of her early morning swim. She meandered through the palace as her family slumbered. Arriving at the terrace, she jettisoned herself into the peaceful serenity of the open water.

She began her routine at mach speed, waking her body and mind up as her lithe form cut through the water like a spear. Feeling invigorated from the aqua sprint, she dove towards the depths of the sea.

She swam at the ocean bottom, admiring the tiny seahorses with their tails wrapped around the plant branches. The sand, undisturbed, sparkled as the rays of the morning sun breached the water's surface, illuminating the ocean floor.

Minerva froze, spotting a great white shark a hundred yards away. She prayed the carnivorous creature wouldn’t sense her presence. He appeared occupied with a bloody carcass at the surface. Her eyes scanned the surface above her as more sharks joined the great white and his feeding frenzy.

A dark shadow loomed over her, blocking sun’s rays. Scared, Minerva looked up, knowing the shadow’s source before she verified the terrifying object above her--a boat.

She swam away and headed home, wishing she’d never left the safety of Atlantis. But a wall of rope came towards her, it extended from the surface to the floor with its sides angled towards her.

She knew the dangers of the net; she’d witnessed it capture her fellow Atlantians. She retreated backwards, away from the dangers of mankind’s fishing net. She sensed a presence behind her. Fearful, she turned to face yet another enemy, the great white shark.

The enormous creature swam towards Minerva, trapping her between the net and his carnivorous intentions. He lunged towards her, but missed her in his closed-eye frenzy. She darted around the great beast, never taking her eyes off of the predator. She realized her mistake as the ropes of the net caught her fin.

The shark floated away in retreat, thus avoiding the net. But Minerva saw the net close around her struggling form. She stopped wiggling as the hopelessness sank in. Tears flowed as the net lifted her up towards the surface.

Crunched together with a mixture of fish, she saw the morning sun as the net rose Minerva out of the water and onto the wooden deck of the fishing boat.

“Captain, we’ve caught a mermaid!”

LEAD

LEAD

By: Terri Talley Venters

 

Roy’s palm sweated as he held the pistol in his hand. He stood in the dark alley, adorned in his finest suit and top hat. He stood back-to-back with his opponent and waited. Waited to live or waited to die?

He recalled the events of the evening and regretted his actions. He shouldn’t have challenged Sir Thomas. Roy’s adversary proved himself the finest shot in South Carolina. But unfortunately, Thomas proved himself many times in this very alley and sent a handful of Charleston’s finest gentlemen to an early grave.

But as a gentleman, Roy faced no other choice. Thomas said the unthinkable and insulted the honor of Roy’s fiancée, Sarah. Roy immediately defended Sarah’s honor and challenged the English nobleman to a duel.

“Gentleman, begin,” Roy’s best friend and “second” said.

Roy started pacing away from Sir Thomas.

One, two, three…

Time stood still as he paced to his death or paced to his victory? He thought about running down the alley and disappearing into the dim light of the breaking dawn. He’d live, but endure the brand of a coward for the rest of his life.

Four, five, six, seven…

He contemplated turning around early to fire on his opponent. He needed to outsmart the Englishman, but cheating would only lead him to the gallows to be hung for murder.

Eight, nine, ten!

Roy stepped wide to the left and quickly turned around. He pointed the pistol at Sir Thomas and fired with confidence. He watched Thomas fly backwards in the air and into the brick wall of the alley, landing dead with a lead bullet in his chest.

160 years later

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, look,” David said.

The eight-year old jumped up and down excitedly as he pointed towards the brick wall of Philadelphia Alley in Charleston, South Carolina, also known as “Bloody Alley”.

“What is it, Honey?” the mother asked.

“I just saw a ghost,” David said.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. There’s no such thing as ghosts,” she said, shaking her head incredulously at the active imagination of her son.

“But the man said,” David said, referring to the ghost tour guide.

“He just said that to scare little boys and gullible tourists. You didn’t see anything,” she said.

“But, mom, I did. I saw a black shadow float across the alley and disappear into the wall,” David said, pointing to the digital camera.

“Were you taking pictures again?” the mother asked.

“Yes, Mommy,” he said.

He clicked the camera into view mode and tapped the back arrow. He held the camera up high so they could view the pictures together.

“You took a video,” she said, impressed with her son’s technical gadget skills.

David tapped on the play arrow of the camera to start playing the video he'd just recorded of the alleyway. They watched in unison as the dark shadow of a man in a top hat flew back into the wall.

Carbon Copy

By:

Terri Talley Venters

Lilly Allen, NYC reporter, has brains, beauty, and a trust fund. She hopes the love of her life, Grier, will propose soon. Lilly has it all, or so she thinks.

Grier Garrison, Create Life executive, is running the company while his father, Dr. Michael Garrison, awaits a heart transplant. Grier knows the truth about Create Life and its shady side business. He fears that Lilly and her twin brother, Luke, are in danger.

While working on two unrelated news stories, stolen newborns and cloning, Lilly discovers a shocking connection. Horrific things are happening, but who is behind it all?



Coming soon from
www.WildChildPublishing.com

CALIFORNIUM

CALIFORNIUM

By: Terri Talley Venters

Sophia bolted upright in bed as the room shook around her. The light fixtures rattled and the pictures fell from the walls. She peered out her window overlooking the Pacific Ocean and Pebble Beach, California. Everything appeared normal on the west side of her home on the famous Seventeen Mile Drive.

“Danny, get up! It’s another earthquake,” she said. She nudged her lazy husband and ignored his reluctant groans.

“It’s not even a 5.0, go back to bed Sophia,” he said. He rolled over and placed the pillow over his ears to block out the sounds of his nagging wife.

“Listen to my Irish immigrant. You’ve lived here a year and think you’re a native. I’ve lived in California my whole life and this is it. This is the ‘Big One’, ” she said, making finger air quotes.

“Oh, alright,” Danny said.

He climbed out of bed and pulled his flannel pajama bottoms over his tanned legs. He clicked on the remote control and watched their big screen light up to Fox News. He rotated the enormous flat screen towards the sliding glass door, allowing them to view it from the outside.

Sophia put on her silken robe and walked out unto the first floor terrace. They stood safely outside as they heard the shocking news report.

“A 12.0 Earthquake hit greater Los Angeles this morning. After shocks are reported as far north as Vancouver, and as far south as Baja. This is the ‘Big One’ predicted by geologists,” the newswoman said.

“We should be okay this far north,” Danny said. He wrapped his arm around Sophia to comfort her.

“Tsunamis,” she said, staring at the ocean.

“This cliff is at least 200 feet high. We’ll be fine on high ground,” she said.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Sophia turned to Danny, her face turned white with fear. The earth trembled beneath their feet. “What was that horrific sound?” she asked.

“I don’t know, it sounded like thunder, but only from the ground,” Danny said.

They whipped their heads back towards the television.

“The San Andreas fault is shifting along the entire coast of California. The western plate is moving towards the Pacific,” the newswoman said.

The live aerial footage showed the enormous crack in the earth’s surface. It moved like a lightning bolt and crackled like thunder. The crack widened as the western side of the fault floated towards the Pacific.

The television turned black as the power failed.

“The geologists were right. They said when the “Big One” hit, half of California would fall into the Pacific Ocean,” Sophia said.

Sophia and Danny held hands as they watched the earth beneath them drift away from the Continental United States and fall into the sea.

AIR

AIR

Cornelius stood guard at the Biltmore Estate in Ashville, North Carolina. He sat in his usual spot, perched on the rooftop, guarding the west entrance of the estate. Thousands of tourists traversed the long hallways each day to gawk at the Gilded-age opulence of the largest, privately-owned home in the United States.

Cornelius protected the estate with over a hundred others. He took his duties seriously. He and his coworkers never moved an inch during their twelve hour work shifts. But staying perfectly still proved easier than expected, especially since Cornelius recently turned one-hundred years of age.

As the next group of tourists appeared on the rooftop, Cornelius noticed a child who appeared about eight-years-old.

The small boy held his Mother’s hand, pointed at the guard and asked, “Look at that one, Mommy, why is he so ugly?”

“Michael, sweetheart, it’s not polite to point and say mean words,” the boy’s mother said, rolling her eyes, incredulous of the words pouring from her child’s mouth.

“It’s okay, Mommy, he can’t hear me,” Michael said, looking up at his mother to make his point.

“I know baby, but let’s practice our good manners just the same,” she said.

“Can we walk to the edge with Daddy and look? Please?” Michael asked, pleading with his pout lower lip.

“No, Michael, Mommy is too scared to look over the edge. I don’t know why your father insisted we take the rooftop tour with a small child. It’s so windy, and I’m terrified you’ll blow right off the edge,” she said, squeezing Michael’s hand.

“Please notice all of the gargoyles perched along the rooftop of the Biltmore. Each one is different, and some even boast voluptuous breasts like this one here,” the tour guide said, pointing towards the female gargoyle. She gave the men a few seconds to admire the taut nipples of the statue and shoot a few perverted pictures before continuing with the tour.

“Some gargoyles are used as waterspouts to divert the rain water, while other serve as guards to protect the estate. I’ve worked at the Biltmore for over thirty years. And every so often, I notice the gargoyles are perched in a slightly different spot than they were the day before,” the guide said.

“How do the gargoyles switch places,” Michael asked.

“Magic,” the guide said, smiling as she tossed the sandy blonde hair of the adorable blue-eyed boy.

Cornelius refrained from chuckling at the tour guide’s comment. He’d noticed it too. The gargoyles did appear in different places on occasion. But while the guide found it magical and amusing, it infuriated Cornelius.

Cornelius heard the sound of wings flapping and cursed silently because he knew the noise belonged to a pigeon. Those damn “rats with wings” proved the bane of his existence because they were stupid, loud, dirty, and pooped everywhere. He crossed his fingers, and prayed the pigeon pooped in a territory belonging to another guard. The last thing Cornelius wanted was to clean pigeon poop after his shift ended.

“Mommy, look. The toes on the gargoyle just moved,” Michael said, pointing.

“No, Honey, you’re imagining things. Gargoyles can’t move because they’re statues guarding the estate,” the mother said.

“But the lady said sometimes the gargoyles switch places,” Michael said.

“Why do you listen to the tour guide and not me when I tell you to clean your room. She merely teased when she said the gargoyles switched places," the mother said.

“But I saw…” Michael said.

“It’s just your overactive imagination. Come on let’s go. Mommy and Daddy are anxious for the wine tasting at the winery,” the mother said, pulling Michael away.

The group of tourists exited the rooftop for the last tour of the day. Dusk loomed ahead and Cornelius looked forward to the end of his long shift. Although his duties at the Biltmore Estate seemed important, the job itself felt easy. But sitting in the same place twelve hours a day for the last one-hundred years proved exhausting.

After the sun set and the darkness of the night settled in, Cornelius watched the last of the tourists and the guides leave the Biltmore, shutting down for the night. Cornelius breathed an enormous sigh of relief. His stomach growled with hunger as he contemplated what to eat for dinner--venison, lamb, beef, game or fish?

Tonight he felt like dining alone. His tough day guarding the rooftop put him in a foul mood. He felt antisocial and hoped none of the other guards took offense for his craving solitude for a few hours. He could always meet up with the others later.

Cornelius watched the last of the Biltmore workers vacate the grounds until sunrise tomorrow morning. He wiggled his toes and rolled his shoulders to help alleviate the cramping in his limbs from sitting perched all day on the rooftop without a single break.

When the coast looked clear, Cornelius, the gargoyle, extended his wings. He jumped off of the Biltmore rooftop and flapped his powerful wings through the air, flying into the darkness of the night.

IRON

IRON

By: Terri Talley Venters

“Hello President Putin, thank you for meeting me,” President Chen said. Although China’s newest leader spoke fluent Russian, both parties agreed to speak the language of their common enemy--the United States of America.


“Hello, President Chen. The Iron Curtain collapsed decades ago and yet we meet behind closed doors. I must say, you’ve piqued my curiosity,” Putin said.


The most powerful man in Russia presented China’s President with a bottle of his best vodka and immediately poured two glasses. He gestured for her to sit in the chair opposite him to join him for a drink.


“We need your help,” Chen said. She sipped the vodka as it warmed her fifty-year old belly.


“The most populated country on the planet needs the help of Mother Russia?” Putin asked. The sixty-year-old man placed his fingers on his thin beard, rubbing it in deep thought. He drank most of his vodka pour in one gulp, following the Russian custom.


“We need your help to take over the United States of America,” Chen said. Her black slanted eyes stared at Putin to convey her seriousness. She needed to work twice as hard as her male constituents to prove her worth, even after her victorious election to become the first female leader of China.


“How do you plan to accomplish such a monumental task?” Putin asked.


“The United States is bankrupt beyond recovery. They ran their deficit up to infinity. They print more money than they can back up in gold. They issued Treasury bills to raise money. China started buying all of the zero-coupon T-bills years ago,” Chen said.


“Zero coupon means they owe you more than they paid because it doesn’t include the interest until the back end?” Putin asked, confirming what he already knew.


“Yes, many T-bills are due, and they can’t pay. So what do you do when you can’t pay your debts?” Chen asked.


“The creditor takes possession of the debtor’s assets,” Putin said. He shifted his eyes as his mind comprehended the revelation.


“The United States owns land, structures, and all of the gold in Fort Knox and the Federal Reserve. But most of the real estate is owned by the Americans,” Chen said.


“You are correct, but most Americans mortgage their homes. The bank owns the property until the mortgage is paid in full. If the payments cannot be made, the bank repossesses the land and structure,” Putin said.


“And who owns the banks? The federal reserve took over all banks since so many failed during the mortgage crises,” Chen said.


“The government turns over the banks to China and you control the interest rates,” Putin said, marveling at the genius first female president of China.


“I won’t even need to raise the interest rates because the Americans cannot afford to pay their mortgages,” Chen said.


“They have no money because the U.S. Dollar becomes worthless. They have no jobs because our Chinese companies will only hire Chinese and Russians,” Chen said.


“The Chinese take over the homes, jobs, and the lives of the American People,” Putin said.


“And the Russians as well. We need your help. More importantly, we need your military support,” Chen said, she finished the last of her vodka and nudged the glass towards Putin to indicate her interest in another round.


“Mother Russia helps China invade the United States of America, in exchange for what?” Putin asked as he obliged Chen’s nonverbal request for another round of Russia’s drink of choice.


“The entire Eastern coast of the United States,” Chen said. She sipped on the vodka and appreciated the liquid courage to broach the subject of her controversial plans.


“I like it,” Putin said with a nod of approval.


“We have a mass foothold in the States already. Every Chinese restaurant in every strip mall across the nation is actually a sleeper cell awaiting instructions for a hostile takeover,” Chen said.


“Brilliant, Miss Chen. Russia invades the East coast, and China invades the West coast,” Putin said.


“And the Americans get squeezed into the middle,” Chen said, finishing Putin’s sentence.


“Exactly, but I do have two conditions,” Chen said.


“I’m listening,” Putin said.


“China and Russia share the use of NASA’s launch facilities,” Chen said.


“Of course. We both use the Florida, California, and Texas facilities equally. It only seems fair. What else?” Putin asked.


“China wants all of its foreign nationals to be granted safe passage to the west coast,” Chen said.


“I don’t see a problem with that,” Putin said.


“Including all of its women. Millions of our Chinese infant girls were adopted by American parents. Many of them are grown and are now of child-bearing age. We need them for breeding with our overabundance of Chinese men,” Chen said.


“Ah, I see, with all of the space on the west coast, you no longer need to enforce your mandate of one child per couple,” Putin said.


“Yes, I hated the policy and never married because of it. I couldn’t bear to ever face the possibility of giving up my child simply because she was born a female. I decided to devote my life to politics in hopes of finding a way to rid China of the horrific mandate,” Chen said. Her eyes moistened from the confession.


“So how do you propose we keep the Americans out of our repossessed lands?” Putin asked.


“We set up borders to keep them between Denver and Chicago. The Southerners may try to head south to Mexico, if the Mexicans will accept them. And the Northerners will probably flee towards Canada. Or they can find their way in the vast nothingness of the new Middle America,” Chen said.


“How ironic to think that the Americans will be treated as they treated the Native Americans centuries ago. It’s Karma,” Putin said, nodding his head with approval of the dramatic irony.


“And now we use your ‘Iron Curtain’ to border our new Eastern and Western Territories. We build a cross between the Great Wall of China and the Berlin Wall to contain the Americans in Middle America,” Chen said.


“To Iron Curtains,” Putin said as he raised his newly poured shot of vodka into the air.


“To Iron Curtains,” Chen said as she clinked her vodka-filled glass with Putin’s to toast their plans to take over the United States of America.


“Da svi dan ya,” Putin said.


“Sayonara,” Chen said.


“Good-bye, United States of America.”