On January 13th, I released my second full length novel, Rogues. Out of everything I’ve ever written (and I’ve written quite a few novels that are just gathering dust), Rogues is by far my favorite. There’s a magic that happened while writing Rogues. I became as much of a reader as I did writer for this particular book.
I wanted to share a small slice of that magic with you.
There were points of impact in every human beings life, moments that defined who they were, or where they were going, like arrows pointing them in the right direction, or turn-offs on a busy interstate, repeatedly warning that if you didn’t depart, you would be stuck for the next twenty miles on a useless journey heading away from your destination. These points were usually dramatic, like head on collisions on your way that stop and force you to take another route. The lesser known, and frequently overlooked, were the moments that were small and often forgotten, like pebbles that flew up from badly paved roads and hit the glass. It was those moments that started with something minuscule and ended up with a spiderweb of cracks in what you had once assumed was a perfect windshield. Only then, when staring through the shattered fragments did you realize how important that tiny rock had been.
Earl hadn’t remembered that pebble until much later, months later in fact, after the curtains had been raised and the show was already in progress, a show he had drove into unknowingly. It hadn’t processed in his mind until he was staring at the naked girl who had been completely covered in blood hours before. It may have never crossed his mind again if the events hadn’t transpired the way they did.
Earl had barely been intrigued by the broadcast at all. If he hadn’t been waiting to hear the weather in Amarillo, where the trailer of McCormick spices he was hauling was heading, he may have missed it altogether. Seeing one dead rock star on a television screen was of no importance to him. He didn’t even listen to the mind-splitting yelling that called itself music, but he did have a weak spot for pretty girls. The girl had only been twenty-three, overdosed on one pain killer or another. Drugged out, drunk, and now dead, but the picture shown of her made her look much younger, maybe sixteen or so. The image of a rebellious teenager, only dressing in the black leather and chains to royally tick off her parents. Her hair was dyed in two different colors, both blending into one another. A bright red on top, melting into a deep purple on the bottom, straightened and cut into various layers and edges, but none of that had held his attention.
It was those emerald green eyes. Bewitching green, envious and seemingly unreal, he wondered if they could be fake, but a gaze that intense could not be induced by contacts. That was a gaze that came from somewhere deep.
The comment from the cashier at the truck stop made him look up to see her image. If not for the balding man, Earl may have never heard or seen Eris of Mourning Her.
“Said she was born and raised in ‘bama. Bet her parents are embarrassed,” he chuckled, looking to Earl for approval. He wouldn’t find it, because the moment of him being enchanted with her bright eyes and caring had passed. Earl was more concerned with the storm the forecaster was predicting to come through Amarillo and surrounding cities within the next twenty-four hours.
Paying for the coffee, diesel, and bag of Vanilla Wafers, Earl left without commenting on the cashier’s opinion.
Turned out, the storm was no more than a few minutes of rain, and Earl had managed to bypass most of it before dropping off the load. Even that became something less remembered as he was loaded down once more and headed to another state.
It was an easy enough life. Not too many roadblocks, not a lot of potholes, just that one pebble, flying up to chip the windshield, and then the night it shattered.
Thank you for reading.
Rogues available in Print and on Kindle and Kindle unlimited on Amazon.