The Gifted War (name pending)

Hello all,

I have been wanting to write a short(ish) novel for a while and to be honest, whilst this is in "short stories", it probably won't be that short but I do hope that you read the following narrative and enjoy it.

If the response is positive then it will also compel me to write more

Feedback welcome. I know that I need to improve my literary skills and I aim, with this, to do just that.

Not sure if I should post a synopsis prior to writing? If what is going on is really confusing (which it kind of is meant to be so that you can sympathise with the character as the whole thing is new and weird to him too) then I will do so.



[edit on 23-2-2010 by george_gaz]

More of this is true than they would have you believe.

1926 - Podkamennaya, Siberia, eighty miles from Tunguska.

As the lightning cracked, splitting the atmosphere, its bright flails whipped the Earth where the deafening strikes were met with the piercing screams seeping from a farmhouse. The walls of the wooden framed building seemed to bulge and contract as each blast sounded. The rain beat on the windows as the shutters went back and forth offering a high pitched crack adding to the noise that filled the remote farming plot.

Inside the once quaint house a Russian wife lay on a makeshift dining table in a cluttered kitchen. Her husband stood before, sweat pouring from his brow as he attempted to carry out a home birth. The child’s reddened crown could just been seen as each wince indicated a lady in more pain with each push. The father to be beckoning the child out, requesting his wife to push harder in an effort to end the suffering. Shoulders, arms, torso, the child was beginning to take form.

The father grasped the shoulders as the wife pushed and the baby slid into its brave new world. "It's a girl." The peasant father held the child still attached via the umbilical cord. The wife let out a wry smile in between sobs. The baby made no sound. Its eyes flickered and head turned taking in its new surroundings.

With scissors in hand the husband prepared to sever the child’s maternal tie to its mother. As the blades pinched together the cord tore and a deafening boomed overhead as the newborn let out a piercing wail that overshadowed natures applaud. The room shook and the hanging utensils above the table flew from their hooks being strewn about the room. The shutters bellowed outwards against the power of the wind. The new mother was thrown backwards and slid across the table before falling over the edge and landing hard on the stone tiled floor. Simultaneously the father was shot back landing in a chair which was sent scraping against the stone before hitting the back wall shaking the timber. Had the thunder just caused the room to turn inside out? A shockwave seemed to have resonated within the room with the epicentre being the newborn child.

The father held the child at arm’s length. A look of terror crept across his face and his eyes met his wife's, "We must protect her, hide her ... our darling little, Nina."

1965 - Houston, Texas

The bright sky shone between designer drapes to light up a small yet clearly wealthy apartment. This small apartment was located on the third floor of a dilapidated block in a rough neighbourhood yet appeared to be furnished in a wealthy manner.

Four state of the art televisions towered in front of a black designer leather sofa separated by an expensive and genuine bear skin rug. On that rug lay a man, a man whose eyes flickered as the sun pierced the thin skin.

Price brought his arm up to shield his eyes as he grunted at the sun for waking him to a nasty hangover. "What is this crap?" Price fumbled around on the floor in search of his watch. He checked the time, "Half eight! Crap!" He rubbed his head, ‘I am getting too old for this,’ he thought to himself. Price jumped up from the rug and dashed to his wardrobe that was lined with high class tailor made suits. Throwing one on and fastening the tie in front of the mirror before brushing his teeth, Price was late for an engagement.

Throwing on his shoes he darted out the door without noticing he was wearing odd loafers. "Crap! I don't need this!" Price hurried back inside, correcting his mistake before rushing down the hall brushing past an old lady, "Look where you are going you young buckaroo!" Price turned his head and replied, "Sorry, Mrs Applegate! You look lovely today," before muttering under his breath "despite the fact that you look like you have outlived a life sentence."

Price blasted through the front door onto the street where the sun caught his eyes and almost knocked him off his feet. His head throbbed and no amount of rubbing his temples was going to alleviate the pain. Price ran down the sidewalk at a fast pace grabbing an apple from a stall as he passed. The shopkeeper bellowed; "Hey! You haven't paid for that!" Price locked eyes with the man and explained that he had paid, to which the man accepted and went about his business.

Crunching on the apple Price slowed as he past a cafe, "You have my paper," Price said to a man sat down with a coffee, again locking eyes. "Right you are young man, please, I meant no offence." The man handed the paper over.

Price slowed to a walk as he digested the front page before dashing the tabloid into the bin. Rounding a corner, Price dabbed the sweat from his forehead as he approached a car showroom that was boasting the new Ford Mustang.

"Mr. Evans!" A voice was thrown in Price's direction from a greasy salesman and it took a moment for Price to realise he was talking to him. "Good to see you, sir. The others didn't think you were going to make it but I had faith. I held the car to the reluctance of many a man looking to purchase." Price went over and shook hands the salesman as the man keen to make a dollar said, "You want to test drive?"
"No thanks, I know this car is a beauty, I am ready to purchase."
"She is a beauty huh. You are the third and final buyer sir. We stocked three; we sell three just so long as you don't let me down, huh?” the man nudged Price in rib jovially, “I am sure you will be very happy. How do you intend to pay?"

The salesman led Price to a small office on site and they sat down at a neat desk, "By cheque,” Price dug into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. He signed it, "How much do I owe?"
"It is a great price this automobile, especially for what you are ..."
"How much?" Price interjected, keen to get the deal signed.
"Two thousand, three hundred and sixty eight dollars, sir."

Price jotted the sum down and handed over the piece of paper. They locked eyes, a greedy smile crept over the salesman’s face, "Enjoy the commission the paperwork will be complete tomorrow," Price said as he took the keys and darted around the back where his new baby awaited.

As Price peeled the vehicle off the forecourt the salesman looked down at the blank piece of paper he held in his hands, a mist of confusion enveloped his mind.

Price had barely made it four hundred metres before a car viciously pulled out in front of him forcing him to push down hard on the brakes. In a fit of fury, Price thumped the horn which managed to drown out the expletives coming from his mouth.

Price exited his new vehicle to be met by a man dressed in a long dark trench coat with matching black fedora. "Just what the hell do you think ...” Price was cut short.
"Mr. Price, I assume?" Price was taken aback by the man’s greeting.
"Who are you?"
"Mr. Price, I am a friend and I would like to have a quick word with you if that is no trouble." The man gestured towards his vehicle.
"I don't think so, pal." Price turned away.
"Do you think I do not know how you just acquired that vehicle?"
Price stopped dead, turned and locked eyes with the man. "I am not in trouble with the law, I purchased this vehicle and you will now be on your way."
"No, I won't, Mr. Price.” The man let out a chuckle, “Play nicely, that won't work on me."

Price looked over at the vehicle, a sedan, blacked out, possibly Government Issue. It would not be the first time Price had had trouble with the Federal Bureau but this seemed different, 'How could they know about me?' he thought to himself. "Mr. Price, please, this is in your best interests." Price began to feel himself compelled to get in the car with this unknown and somewhat mysterious man. Something was dragging him, a force, towards the car, Price knew it was the right thing to do but did not know why.

Little did Price know that he would be thrown into a world like he could never have imagined possible. A world and a war so secret that even a man equipped with his skills would not be able to penetrate its dark, ominous depths.

Four hours later, undisclosed location.

“You have a gift, Mr. Price. You are well aware of that.” The mysterious man had now laid his trench coat to rest on the back of a chair in a cold, bleak box room. Two chairs and a metal desk furnished the sparse space with three strip lights beaming down to illuminate the windowless room. Two guards, in sunglasses, stood either side of the only door and a large pane of mirrored glass took up one wall.

“We have been watching you over the past few months,” the man continued, “your, shall we say, antics, had been brought to our attention. Did you honestly think that ripping off merchants with blank pieces of paper was going to go unnoticed?”

“No comment,” Price felt that he was being interrogated and words were going to cause him difficulty.

“Mr. Price, you are in no trouble,” the man rubbed his eyes, clearly frustrated with Price’s lack of cooperation. “You are failing to grasp the scope of what you possess. We want to help you harness that and use it for good.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“Right, ok, we are going to cut to the chase here Mr. Price,” he motioned to the window and clicked his finger. Suddenly Price felt a wave of ease pass over him, he felt safe, and trusted the man opposite.

“I will take a seat and explain the magnitude of what you are facing. There is a war going on Mr. Price and I am not talking about the arms race and I am not talking about that Sputnik fiasco either.”

“I like rockets,” Price was at such ease that he could barely control the words he spoke, he felt like a child.

“Yes, don’t we all. Mr. Price, there is a hidden war being waged between us and the Russians and frankly those commie bastards are winning. You, Mr. Price, you are a vital soldier in this battle. An essential piece to make our puzzle a successful one.”

“I like puzzles,” Price felt giddy as the man turned, in anger, toward the window and rose from his chair.

“For Christ’s sake, I want you to make him feel comfortable not bloody drunk!” The man took a few deep breaths and sat back down. “We do not have time to waste, Mr. Price. Please concentrate on what I am about to tell you.”

reply to post by george_gaz


Oi! Where's the rest?

Fairly new here, and going through old threads in the short stories forum, and came across this one. Awesome stuff you have here, but ... where's the rest? You can't do this to a person, leave em high and dry like this, it's just not right, I tell you