Valerie Alston-Holt and her biracial son, Xavier, live in a small, quiet neighborhood of North Carolina.
Mr. Alston-Holt has passed leaving Valerie, a professor of forestry and ecology, alone to raise their musically-gifted son.
Enter a new family and a new house- The Whitman’s. The Whitman’s are very-well-to-do for the standards of this small community. Mr. Whitman is used to buying whatever he desires- and he desires the best- no holds barred- no rules above his purview.
The main character that causes the conflict in this story is the old oak tree in the backyard of the Alston-Holts. Because for the heavy-handed construction of the Whitman’s residence, the tree has been damaged.
Soon, Xavier’s life is at stake because of a fight for the rights of a tree.
Curled armadillo-like in the corner of the octagon, my lifted arms were tightly wrapped around my head.
The Ragin’ Cajun had swept me from my feet after repeatedly pummeling my left calf.
I only had moments to turn this match back into some semblance of equal standing or the referee would call it.
Slowing spinning to my right, I used my leverage from the wall of the cage to allow myself to become up upright.
The crowd was in a frenzy. The Cajun was a favorite in Atlanta. It didn’t matter that the entirety of the stadium was against me; my body responded to the jeers as easily as the cheers.
Once on my feet, my arms could again block the continuous jabs and uppercuts that were assaulting me.
He was smiling.
He thought he had my number.
I knew if I waited long enough, he would try to clock me with his signature move. I had watched every match this clown had posted on YouTube. This cocky imbecile had his own channel. And in the studying, I had found his ‘tick’.
Just before he would do his patented spin-kick butterfly to down his opponent, he would always glance to his corner.
If I could wait, his eyes would turn to acknowledge his upcoming triumph, I only had to hold on.
Exhausted on my feet, I decided to encourage his victory. I lowered my hands, just a little, and allowed the Cajun to fully connect a fierce jab to my solar plexus.
I doubled over. It looked as if I had been crippled. I seemed to be gasping for air.
The deception worked.
The Cajun instantly turned and smiled to his corner.
From my hip, I threw all my weight for a right-handed uppercut straight to his left jaw.
The Cajun went down.
I stepped back.
The referee looked at me.
I just motioned for him to begin his count.
This had been written as a prompt for The Fabulous Free Versers Club @ FanStory. Then I realized, this was far more a flash story than free verse.
Former Detective Harriet Blue, an inmate at the local federal prison, is once again the victim of an inmate assault. At least Harriet Blue can usually give as good as she gets.
While incarcerated, the Police Commissioner’s daughter, a trying-to-recover addict is found missing- both she and her baby daughter.
The Commissioner visits the prison to try to enlist former Detective Blue’s assist in finding his daughter. He promises her a lifting of her suspension from the police department, and freed from incarceration, if she finds his daughter.
While at the prison, there is a major lock-down incident. The physician for the women’s wing of the prison is murdered.
Detective Blue accepts the offer of release and decides to not only try to find the missing daughter of the Commissioner, but to solve the murder of the doctor at the prison. The prison’s doctor was one of the only people that befriended Blue during her incarceration.
A quick read. You won’t put it down until the end!