Cartel of the Infernal Machines (Chapter 1)

The Village

In the spring lull before the summer storms, our sleepy little village died. The golden fields reflected the cold black grimace frozen on every face. The end came at a traditionally happy time when the crops were growing with vines heavy with fruit. This is when the skies filled with bright metal lights and the whine of engines burnt the air.

I had went to the village to fetch water for my father who was plowing the field that ran adjacent to our land. It was a warm day with a freshening breeze that promised a shower in the evening. As I walked languidly down the dusty path I remembered my mother's touch with a smile.

Whenever I or my sister were troubled she would smile sweetly and take both of our small child's hands into her field worn ones and calm us. The warmth of a mother's touch is all healing and all powerful. At least it was for me at seven years old.

I heard it before I saw it. A high-pitched whine that I could not place. I ran into the square and looked up just as the sky exploded with activity. Metallic lights and bright flashes blinded me. I couldn't make out any shapes, just a glimmer of movement.

The flashes faded as the craft slowed to hover over the land. So many appeared that they seemed to fill the horizon. I was in awe, still unafraid of the strange sight up in the sky. Fear would not be long in dawning as the dark intentions of the visitors became apparent.

My elder sister ran toward me screaming and pointing into the sky. She was fourteen and excitable, not a good trait. My father had always prided himself on his composure and had taught me to do the same. I thought it funny that I was the calmer of the two of us at this strange time.

I tersely told Elke to calm down and took hold of both of her hands for effect and looked straight into your eyes. It worked, as I saw the trapped rabbit look go out of her eyes to be replaced with curiosity. Our momentary control was shattered soon after as we watched helpless as our mother was burned alive.

changing gears...

I have decided to back away from poetry for a while and focus on a short story that has been rattling around in my mind for a while. The plan is to post one chapter a week and see where this thing goes.

PLEASE post comments to let me know what you think as the story rolls along. I can't get better without imput.

jeem

Back Yard Drawl
By Jim Markley


Saturday September 11 is the 25th anniversary of an event Major League Baseball would rather have us all forget. On this date in 1985, Pete Rose slapped a single into the outfield for the 4192nd hit of his career.
With that hit, Rose surpassed baseball immortal Ty Cobb and went on to finish his career with 4256 hits, 3562 games played and 14053 at-bats, all of which are all-time marks in the sport.
Of course Rose also went on to be banned from the game he loves due to a gambling problem that revealed he bet on his own team while managing the Cincinnati Reds.
The grand old game had not seen such a sordid spectacle since “Shoeless Joe” and the Black Sox Scandal of 1919.
While as of now, there is no ground swell of support for Rose to be included in Cooperstown, that situation could change in the next few years as the baseball powers that be start to consider players of the steroid era for enshrinement.
Are Rose’s transgressions any more heinous than the juicing behemoths who wiped away both Maris and Aaron from the record book? That will be the question.
Will those who came forward and were honest about their performance enhancing drug use be treated differently than those who consistently denied their involvement, until they were caught red-handed? (Like Rose)
Gambling addiction is seen as a mental disorder of the nature of alcoholism or drug addiction and the treatments are similar. Several admitted drug addicts are in the hall along with many alcoholics.
If flawed heroes like Ferguson Jenkins (an admitted cocaine abuser) and Mickey Mantle (a historic alcoholic) are in Cooperstown despite their problems, does Rose not deserve the same treatment and consideration?
This is not a plea to enshrine Pete Rose.
It is a plea for consistency of treatment. If baseball writers choose to exclude Rose, along with all steroid-tainted athletes from the 90’s from the Hall of Fame that seems fair and is their right.
What would not be right would be to give hallowed spots of honor to players who knowingly gained a competitive advantage by using performance-enhancing drugs, whether they admitted it freely or were forced into it.
If the door is closed to Bonds, Clemens, and Sosa, then it seems to follow that admitted users would also be left out in the cold. Players like Alex Rodriquez, Andy Pettite and Jason Giambi should not be considered for the hall.
The worst case scenario would be a piece-meal approach where each player is rewarded or denied based on whether they appear “sorry” or contrite” about their actions.
A person can appear very sorry, but are they very sorry for what they did, or are they simply very sorry they got caught? Knowing the true motivations of others is probably the slickest of slippery slopes.
It seems strange that Rodriquez admits using P.E.D.’s at the beginning of last season after trying to cover it up and apparently all is forgiven.
McGuire pleaded the 5th before Congress to avoid prejury charges and is now the hitting instructor for the Cardinals.
Pete Rose however, has to buy a ticket in order to get into Great American Ballpark and watch the Reds.
I hope the baseball writers do not decide to tread on this one.