Writing for a Cause: “The Last Train Home”

So now I’m branching out from just blogging to writing fiction…short stories and even a novel. To start getting the word out about my writing, I’m teaming up with my cousin Wesley White to bring awareness to two causes: to leukemia, and to my writing.

Wesley is currently in remission from leukemia. Before he came down with this disease, he had been training on a mountain bike and running, thinking about completing his first Half Ironman, until his diagnosis. He went through a successful stem cell transplant and is back on the road to full recovery. Unfortunately, the costs of his treatment — and for having to keep his custom auto body shop closed during several months in the hospital — mean that we’re all doing what we can to help him get caught up.

Here’s how it works: below you’ll find the opening to my latest short story, “The Last Train Home.”

If you like it, send a donation of at least $1 to this PayPal address: wesleywhite1918@gmail.com. Then I’ll send a copy of my story, in pdf and mobi (Kindle) formats, to you. Share this page so that even more money can go to help my cousin get things back up and running again.

Here’s a preview:

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Lydia cursed her husband as she shivered on the escalator down toward the subway station. A slight, slender woman in her late thirties, Lydia felt as though she would simply blow down the shaft. Her long auburn hair plumed up into the night. Just because she’d had a seizure a month before didn’t really mean she would be a bad driver. But he’d told her she couldn’t drive anymore, didn’t need to drive anymore, because now she was an epileptic.

Did that mean he’d gone out and gotten a better job so she could stay home? Or offered to drive her to work every day? Of course not. And so the icy blades of wind that threatened to slice her into bits on this long escalator ride left wounds that she hoped he could feel on his short four-mile drive home. From HIS job.

Public transportation really wasn’t all that bad where they lived, she thought. And she wasn’t stuck in traffic anymore, because he picked her up from the train every night, and rush hour didn’t go the way they went. But this wind –

Suddenly Lydia lurched forward, and she bumped into the person in front of her. A tall, solid form in a brown trenchcoat winced under the impact but did not fall forward to start a row of dominoes that would only spill onto the chilly tile at the bottom. Instead, the body turned, slowly, and two blue eyes pierced her so thoroughly that she forgot all about the cold wind. These were eyes that you only see when you’re fast asleep, and the wolf who’s chasing you through your dreams catches up with you. These were not eyes you wanted to bump into while riding down an escalator (which seemed to be going all too slowly).

“I-I’m sorry,” Lydia stammered. “Someone, someone pushed me.” The eyes looked over Lydia’s head, settling with such hate that she turned too.

No one was behind her. All the way to the top (and this was an escalator that was two stories tall), there were no passengers behind her. That was strange, because she had felt people crowding in behind her when she put her token into the slot and found the top of the escalator. She’d gotten a little dizzy and light-headed, in fact, because so many people were behind her. But then she’d snapped out of it and found herself on the way down.

The eyes came back to her. “I…I must have slipped,” Lydia apologized. “I won’t d-d-do it again.”

Want the rest? Send in your donation!
Note: Because this is for an individual, it’s NOT tax deductible. However, it will definitely help out!

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