Think You Can Write?

Purposeful Writing

Writers today lack ability to compose words that connect the reader with a mindset to engage, entertain, and influence those that ponder and contemplate the connected contextual content of so many slashes on paper that attempt to mimic classic construction of such, viably termed, literature. Small wonder that society as a whole has lost its way to elucidate minds and encourage discovery in changing and rearranging the alphabet in ways that tackle the boredom of youth, yet re-energize the minds thought past redemption to understanding age-fraught diseases that lead to forgetfulness and sometimes complete eradication of what was.

Stifled, stunted by contemporary verbiage that is more folly than wisdom at its best when the best of language appears to be that which we now disown rather than use as an indicator of our intellectual ability and foresight and not just an extant reflection of who we once were.

Hampered, hamstrung by rituals and rules constantly changing, and rearranging thought patterns from ancient to present, but not relaying any message with clarity, as yet understood by the masters-of-words who could with the blink of an eye or stroke of pen transport readers from there to then within the space of time, not withheld from those who had imagination.

A preponderance of evidence exists, illustrating ineptitude by many, including those who proclaim they are masters of the written word in teaching it and yet fail to elucidate their ability at every turn, penning composition better suited for elementary students with simple minds that lack sophistication to compose letters of the alphabet that would entice a scholarly mind to read.

Mundane describes with understatement the slew of words on paper that attempt to divulge the essence of thoughts pre-arranged in random order that never meets with structure and organization designed to formulate a clear, concise message with fortitude.

Many redesign and regurgitate the prose of ancient ones in an attempt to supersede abilities in their proliferation of archaic pronouncements in terms that float just out of reach of those who dare to contemplate use of a dictionary, or resource of any magnitude, dispelling the notion that words and their contextual use are unimportant.

The means by which change occurs, lies within the ability of all concerned to see the need to reevaluate the processes used in learning and teaching and mostly in views that are ensconced in boxes with lids and fresh ideas are staled with the hindrance, and no one gets beyond the pale to think beyond the boundaries established by those who did not access galactic thinking.

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What The Lord Does!

“He made heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them. He keeps every promise forever.He gives justice to the oppressed and food to the hungry.The LORD frees the prisoners.The LORD opens the eyes of the blind.The LORD lifts up those who are weighed down.The LORD loves the godly. The LORD protects the foreigners among us. He cares for the orphans and widows, but he frustrates the plans of the wicked.The LORD will reign forever. He will be your God, O Jerusalem, throughout the generations. Praise the LORD!” (Psalm 146:6-10 NLT)

To fully understand where I’ve started in quoting this passage of this Psalm, one would have to start from the first verse. Personally, I don’t think it requires much by way of explication, but for those who may not know or have forgotten, here’s the reminder:

He has created all that was created and without Him, nothing was created.

He is not absent-minded and He keeps every promise He ever makes to all who believe Him.

He opens blinded eyes, both physically and spiritually and when we seek Him, He gives us the motivation and inspiration to rise above our circumstances.

He loves all who live according to His Word because He has a plan for all to achieve.

His protection extends to the those who live among us because of our faith in Him, when they don’t believe. He rains on the just and unjust alike. His covenant with us, is the umbrella, that shelters those in our presence.

He speaks to us and through us, in our obedience to Him, those who are without, will have all they need.

Whenever the enemy rises and dares to show his ugliness, The Lord has an army, bold, brave, and courageous, rising up to extol the virtues of The Lord and to remind the enemy he is already defeated.

The Lord our God will reign forever for He is the same yesterday, today and forever–He never changes His mind or His Word towards those who love Him and obey His Word–to love like He loves and live like we’re living for Him.

Hallelujah! This is what The Lord does!

Be encouraged today to praise Him no matter what life looks like; it’s always better with Him by our side!

Christian Literature that praises Him for all His goodness and leads into His Word. Something for everyone!

http://www.amazon.com/Mary-M-Hall-Rayford/e/B00BAW31CQ/  

All for under five dollars.  Read, enjoy, and review!

Blessed to Bless!

“Blessings crown the head of the righteous, but violence overwhelms the mouth of the wicked.” (Proverbs 10:6 NIV)

The righteous–those living in right standing with God--will always have what they need–food for themselves and plenty to share with others.

The wicked–those who ignore God and His Word--are overcome with violent thinking which leads to violent behavior and will result in the death of them and others.

The righteous are not perfect, but are always trying to please God and are quick to repent when they mess up.

The wicked never acknowledge they are wrong and hate to be corrected.

The righteous are more apt to see the world differently–they see the possibilities for all to succeed in righteousness.

The wicked only see through the eyes of evil–always thinking about how they can obtain what does not belong to them.

The righteous hear God when He speaks and say what He says to all who will listen.

The wicked are carnal and only listen to the dictates of their flesh to determine what they do.

The righteous care for the poor and the needy and will defend their rights before God and man.

The wicked are only concerned about their rights and will violate the rights of others to get what they want and do what they want to do.

God sees the righteous and the wicked and when it rains–it rains on both. When tragedy overcomes the land, both feel the disastrous results. When there seems to be no way out of danger–the righteous seek God, while the wicked seek more wicked. Both have reservations for the end of the matter–at the end of life’s journey–heaven is reserved for the righteous and the lake of fire reserved for the wicked.

The righteous are blessed to be a blessing to others and the wicked–are cursed and cause others who follow them to be cursed as well. Which would you rather be–blessed to bless or caused to cursed?

About Writing

Writers today lack ability to compose words that connect the reader with a mindset to engage, entertain, and influence those that ponder and contemplate the connected contextual content of so many slashes on paper that attempt to mimic classic construction of such, viably termed, literature. Small wonder that society as a whole has lost its way to elucidate minds and encourage discovery in changing and rearranging the alphabet in ways that tackle the boredom of youth, yet re-energize the minds thought past redemption to understanding age-fraught diseases that lead to forgetfulness and sometimes complete eradication of what was.

Stifled, stunted by contemporary verbiage that is more folly than wisdom at its best when the best of language appears to be that which we now disown rather than use as an indicator of our intellectual ability and foresight and not just an extant reflection of who we once were.

Hampered, hamstrung by rituals and rules constantly changing, and rearranging thought patterns from ancient to present, but not relaying any message with clarity, as yet understood by the masters-of-words who could with the blink of an eye or stroke of pen transport readers from there to then within the space of time, not withheld from those who had imagination.

A preponderance of evidence exists, illustrating ineptitude by many, including those who proclaim they are masters of the written word in teaching it and yet fail to elucidate their ability at every turn, penning composition better suited for elementary students with simple minds that lack sophistication to compose letters of the alphabet that would entice a scholarly mind to read.

Mundane describes with understatement the slew of words on paper that attempt to divulge the essence of thoughts pre-arranged in random order that never meets with structure and organization designed to formulate a clear, concise message with fortitude.

Many redesign and regurgitate the prose of ancient ones in an attempt to supersede abilities in their proliferation of archaic pronouncements in terms that float just out of reach of those who dare to contemplate use of a dictionary, or resource of any magnitude, dispelling the notion that words and their contextual use are unimportant.

The means by which change occurs, lies within the ability of all concerned to see the need to reevaluate the processes  used in learning and teaching and mostly in views that are ensconced in boxes with lids and fresh ideas are staled with the hindrance, and no one gets beyond the pale to think beyond the boundaries established by those who did not access galactic thinking.

I’m Coming Down Front Street

New Release–now available on smashwords.com and amazon.com

Deceptive Storms (excerpt 3)

Just when it seemed like he couldn’t hold onto sanity for another minute, right after dinner there was knock on the door.  When his father answered, the first voice he heard was Reverend Anderson and his heart sank.  He sat in the living room, where he had been watching television, thinking, “Might as well stick a fork in me and call me done.”  His father led Reverend Anderson and Pastor Cal into the living room and invited them to sit down.  They did and Vernon’s heart thumped so loudly, he just knew everyone could hear it.

“Reverend Jenkins, thank you for agreeing to see us.  We have a rather grave matter to discuss involving Vernon.  But before we get started, has Vernon told you anything about what happened three days ago?” Pastor Cal asked.

“No,” Reverend Jenkins replied stiffly.  “I know something has been going on, but when I asked, he refused to tell me.”

“Vernon,” Reverend Anderson spoke calmly, “Would you like to tell your dad why we’re here?”

“No!  Y’all here you might as well do what you do,” was Vernon’s rebellious response.

Paul sighed, before he turned to Vernon’s father and began to tell him what happened. Until Paul actually pulled the plastic baggy out of the manila envelope that Pastor Cal had been holding, Reverend Jenkins sat in unbelief.  When he saw the bag, he started to get up from his chair, but Pastor Cal motioned for him to sit.

“Vernon, tell your father what this is and where it came from!” Reverend Anderson said.

“How am I supposed know? You brought that in here.  You tell him,” adamantly denying everything.

“Okay, I’ll tell him.” Turning to Vernon’s father, he pulled out his cell phone and showed him the picture taken on the day Paul had seen him with the seedy-looking guy.  Vernon’s father visibly blanched at what he saw.  The veins in his forehead started to pulse and anger was written all over his face.  Before anyone could have anticipated the next move, he was out of his chair and had grabbed Vernon and threw him down on the floor and started punching him.  It took Paul and Cal to get him off Vernon and even then, his fists were still flailing, almost hitting Paul in the face. He was livid!

“Torrance!” Pastor Cal cautioned him.  “This is not the way.  Beating him to a pulp is not going to help.”

“Oh yes, it will,” Torrance responded, breathing heavily.  “It will help me to teach this boy some respect!  I will not tolerate drug use in my house.  If he can’t abide by my rules, then he can get the hell out!”

Paul was still holding onto him, while Cal attended Vernon, who was curled up in a fetal position on the floor.  His hands were protecting what was left of the exposed part of his face, but where his father’s punches had landed, skin was rising in protest of the beating along one whole side of his face.

After carefully checking Vernon over, Cal determined there was no skin broken or broken bones and he helped him to sit back in the chair from which his father had pulled him.

“Torrance, profanity won’t help the matter here.  Please, get yourself in check. We need to talk.  Beating Vernon is not the answer.  At this rate, the only thing we’ll accomplish here is to get him angry enough to leave and then we won’t have any control over what he does.  Calm down!”

“How can you tell me to calm down?  What would you do if this was your son?  I don’t mean the one that’s grown?  But with a baby on the way, you better know how to deal with this nonsense because it’s not going to get better.”

Cal ignored Reverend Jenkins for a moment.  He was not there to discuss his future child; he was there to find a way to keep Vernon out of trouble.

“Vernon, look at me.  I want you to think about what’s going on here and the fact that you have to stop using and selling drugs.  If you keep going in this direction, it will only be a matter of time before you’re arrested.  Look, I know some of the pushers have kids believing they cannot be prosecuted, but the laws are changing. You can and will be prosecuted and there is nothing your father or anyone else will be able to do about it.  Is going to jail what you really want?”

 

Deceptive Storms (excerpt 2)

“I just got a call from the high school and it appears that more and more kids are involved in drug use.  They’re trying to pinpoint the distribution, but you know how difficult that can be.  This is especially true since they do not control the flow of traffic in and out of the building.  I suggested they put up security cameras in lieu of having someone man the doors.  At any rate, they said they would take my suggestion to the next board meeting.  I’d hate the thought that some of our kids are involved, but one never knows what kids will do when they are out of sight of authority.”

“Yes, I do know.  I’ve actually been a little concerned about Vernon Jenkins, lately.  He seems to be more resistant to the teachings at the church.  I’m not sure if it is just teen-age angst or if there is another problem.  I’ve tried to talk to him, but he always leaves as soon as church is over and I think he only attends the youth meetings because his dad makes him.”

“Both he and his dad are having a bad time.  I’ve offered to counsel him, but his father insists he can handle it.  I’m just not sure if he’s trying to handle things as his dad or as a minister.  Sometimes those lines can be blurred.  I hope that’s not the case here.”

“Pastor Cal…I …uh.  I was trying not to say anything until I could prove my suspicions but I think Vernon is using.  He’s distant and his eyes are always glassy-looking.  I know the symptoms.  The pulling away from people who know you well, trying to fit in with all the wrong folks.  I hope he’s not, but all the signs are there.”

“Before you draw any conclusions, see if you can get him to open up and talk to you.  I’m sure if we can get him to talk, we’ll be able to help him, but if he’s not willing, the only thing we can do is to alert his dad.  You want me to do it?”

“No sir.  At least, not yet.  Let me try talking to him.  His dad has quite a temper and I would not want to be responsible for anything that happens to Vernon because of his dad’s uncontrolled anger.  I’ll make it my business to talk to him tonight and let you know what happened.  Was there anything else?”

“No, not at all.  I’m sure you have things to prepare for your meeting.  Call me tomorrow when you get a chance.  And…by the way, Pastor Dee and I are expecting a new baby…”

“Congratulations!” Reverend Anderson interrupted, surprised by the news.

“Thanks, but we want to keep this quiet for a while.  Because this pregnancy puts her at risk, she’s not going to be around the church much and I’m going to need every minister on board to fill in the gap.  Can I count on you?”

“Absolutely.  And please let Pastor Dee I’m praying for her and the baby.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate your prayers.  I’ll talk to you later.”

After Reverend Anderson hung up the phone, he smiled to himself.  He knew that Pastor Dee and Pastor Cal were relatively newlyweds, but he didn’t think that a baby would ever be part of the equation.  “How about that?” he thought.  “They still got it going on.” He pulled out his bible and began writing some notes for the youth meeting.  Before long, stumped as to how to approach the subjects he wanted to discuss, he got on the Internet to see if there any websites with good suggestions. As he searched, he remembered.  He remembered his own involvement with drugs and how it could have cost him his life.

Paul Anderson, the greatest athlete known at Community High School, had many offers from various colleges and had been awarded all sorts of scholarships.  It was the spring just before he graduated high school that things fell apart.  He and some of his buddies had been out celebrating their impending graduation and all of their accomplishments in high school.  When someone had pulled out a joint, at first Paul refused—thinking about all he had ahead of him—he didn’t want to ruin his chances to be successful.  After a while, someone dared him to take a drag.  Never one to resist a dare, he accepted the joint and inhaled deeply, sputtering like crazy as he coughed violently.  The other guys laughed at him, but since his eyes were smarting and his lungs burning, he didn’t see anything funny.  The longer he sat, watching them pass the joint, the calmer he became until he finally took another hit.  This time, he didn’t sputter or cough; he just sat back and grinned stupidly.  By the time he got ready to go home, he couldn’t focus.  The world seemed to be moving faster than he was and he was trying to catch up.  He heard laughter faintly as though it was far away, but he couldn’t see who was laughing.  His buddies all appeared to be far away. Finally, he heard someone say, “we gotta take him home.  He can’t drive like that.”

Unfortunately, they didn’t move fast enough. By the time someone thought about getting his car keys from him, Paul had walked out the door, keys in-hand.  He struggled trying to open the door when he couldn’t get the keys to slide into the lock and then almost fell getting into the car, but he finally got the keys into the ignition and started the car to head home.  That was the last thing he remembered of that fateful night.

Deceptive Storm available on amazon.com and smashwords.com Enjoy!

Deceptive Storms (excerpt 1)

She sat with a glass of wine in her hands, swirling the burgundy liquid slowly, reflecting, contemplating her life.  Taking a luxurious sip, she sighed and wished for more than what she had.  More money, more house, more of a man, more happiness—just more of everything.  Leaning back on the black leather chaise in her living room, she closed her eyes, glass still in hand.  Her thoughts vacillated between what was and how she was going to fast forward.

“If I could just shake the past and move on, I’d be alright,” she thought.  “I just need to shake the past.”

Her past was a multicolored debacle.  One misstep after the other.  She tried hard to think about the last time she had actually done anything right.  She couldn’t remember.  Brain cells only seemed to recall the squirmy situations she had created or fallen into.  Fallen into—with deliberation.  She shook her head at her own recriminations.  Deciding to traipse down memory lane, she focused on the first real love of her life—the love that had left her dangling for years and finally cut off her emotions to the quick.  She had loved the wrong man as so many before her had done, but she just knew—Brian was the only man worthy of her love.  The real tragedy was that Brian was from Loser Street—and just didn’t know how to get off of it.  Appearances can certainly be deceiving.  Hefty and handsome as any movie star, Brian strolled into Charleston Café with his friends, easily the center of attention.

She had seated them at the best table in the house—near a window so they could keep an eye on the object of their discussion—the latest fast car purchased by the racing car company that was based in town.  Sleek, low to the ground, shiny black with yellow pinstripes and the company sponsor listed on the side, it was something to behold.  Apparently, the three men discussing the car thought so, too.  She heard someone say something about the most “horsepower that was legal” and that was as much as she needed to hear.  She really wanted to meet the man behind the smile and the talk.

Standing at their table waiting to take their order, her eyes shifted from one to another.  The other two men were slightly older than the man talking and she could quickly detect that the younger man was trying to convince the other two to do something.  After taking their order, she deliberately brushed against the younger man, knowing he would have to pay attention, but he didn’t.  He moved slightly and kept talking.  After she had placed their drinks on the table, he glanced at her briefly and nodded.  She perceived the nod as recognition and invitation to something later.

When they had finished their meal, the younger man eagerly picked up the check while the older men smiled, shaking each other’s hands, ready to go their separate ways.

“Brian,” she heard one of the men say, “you’ve got yourself a deal.  Come into the office tomorrow and we’ll sign the paperwork.  It’s nice doing business with you.”  They left Brian in the Café.  She had asked if he’d like for her to take the payment to the cashier, but he said no and ordered a cup of coffee.  He leaned back in the chair and openly appraised the woman in front of him.  Heat began to crawl from her toes to her face under his scrutiny, but she smiled as he apparently decided he liked what he saw.

He rose from the table and left her a tip with a note.  A telephone number.  A number that would eventually lead to more heartache than she could have ever imagined.

She had called him after her shift ended and they made plans for dinner and a movie.  The dinner and the movie were good, but his conversation was mesmerizing.  She couldn’t stop listening to him and encouraged him to keep talking.

He was one of eight children, his mother was not very healthy and his dad was a truck driver, always on the road.  When he finished school, he decided that he did not like his life and was determined to recreate himself.  He left the hollow that he had grown up in and went to Texas.  There he attended college, but became more involved with racing than books.  When he discovered that he had a knack for driving fast cars, he quickly adapted by attending the races and eventually got a chance to show what he could do.

He left ten experienced drivers in the dust during his first race.  No one watching understood how he had managed it, but he had easily won the race and a few hundred dollars.  The race itself was addictive, but the money was the jolt that kept him going.  He thought he had finally found his niche in life.  Not only was he good at racing the cars, he was an expert at finding investors to sponsor him in races.  He loved the feel and the smell of the cars, but he loved the stench of the jumpsuits after a race.   More importantly, he loved the attention he got wherever he went.

“Oh yeah,” she remembered, he loved the attention.  In the three years they dated, she could barely keep him focused on their relationship because of all the attention he received by racing.  Every where they went, people wanted to talk to them.  Alone time was seldom, but he seemed to enjoy her company and she was totally lost to him.   Lost—that’s a word she would remember for a long time.

She thought they were on their way to a march down the aisles when she discovered that he was on his way—to another woman.  She didn’t see it coming.  Never had a clue.  The connecting line had been cut and she fell with a clump, thump, and a bump—heartbroken and hell-bent on revenge.

Available on http://www.amazon.com and http://www.smashwords.com  Enjoy and review!

Battlerama Super Tweens On The Other Side (excerpt b)

Botcha-ku had not prepared his team for the additions, but it did not matter. He was a master in martial arts and he could take on the whole team by himself, but he did not think it prudent to do so. When he raised his hand, the team attacked.

“Kiao!” they yelled and split the air with their flying kicks.

“What does the fox say?” Derek yelled.

The Seven and their help easily deflected the onslaught of kicks and punches because Shane moved so fast through the rumble that the Dragon Slayers did not know who they were fighting. Derek was able to get his hand on one person and used them as a sling, pushing back the others. When they finally broke rank, Ian and Deborah were back-to-back in combat with two of the Dragon slayers, while the Seven were working on tiring out the rest.

For a short time, Botcha-ku watched until he grew weary and with his magic conjured up rabblers from the other side and turned them loose on the group. Now, since each of the Seven had a short sword in their hands, they could easily fight off the rabblers. Maria vanished and suddenly, the rabblers began falling backwards as if they were pins in a bowling alley.

“What does the fox say?” Maria yelled.

Anthony, taking his cue from Maria, blew an ice ring around the fallen rabblers that would hold them since they would not be able to stand the touch of the ice. Tori grabbed Shane’s and Jiao’s hands and cloned them until there were six of each of them and Botcha-ku didn’t know which to decimate. Kiara fought valiantly alongside Chin and Derek until Derek seemingly gave up, unable to breathe.

Chin and Kiara stepped around him to protect him and when Derek inhaled deeply, he blew a ring of fire around two of the Dragon Slayers.

“What does the fox say?” Kiara yelled.

Botcha-ku was astounded. He knew they had powers, but he didn’t know the extent of their powers. Just as he was about to even the odds against them, he found himself in a tango with Chin. There was very quizzical look on Chin’s face and an equally quizzical look on Botcha-ku’s face. It was if they both recognized something very familiar within each one.

Botcha-ku’s memory surfaced first and he attacked Chin with everything ounce of strength he had and would have brought forth more magic, if Chin had not moved quickly, taking him down in a sweep kick, and was sitting on top of him. Chin quickly pulled the short sword he had coated with his own concoction and pricked Botcha-ku’s skin with the blade.

Within seconds, Botcha-ku began to weaken and wither. Chin had made sure there was not enough of the toxic plant juice to kill him, just to revert the anti-aging agent he had made for himself and Pang-chi. Chin was a bit regretful about Pang-chi, but Botcha-ku had to be stopped and as for Pang-chi, she had outlived her life a long time ago.

“Tell them to stand down!” Chin warned Botcha-ku.

“Xiàtái!” Botcha-ku shouted in a quivering voice.

Battlerama Super Tweens On The Other Side available on amazon.com and smashwords.com. Enjoy!

Battlerama Super Tweens On The Other Side (excerpt)

“We’re going to have to take them to Botcha-ku,” said Natony. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Yeah, but will he do it to them or to us,” Bodak said. “He’s going to be really po’d about this.”

“Well, he can be ticked off all he wants to be. We have done our part. Now it is up to him to finish it,” Ariak chimed in. Her green eyes bore down on Kiara as if she thought that would make Kiara speak, but it didn’t.

“Okay,” Ramar said, “let’s just move them out.”

“I know you don’t trust us,” she said to the huddled group, “but we really are trying to get you back to your side of reality. We won’t try to touch you again, but you must follow us and do it quickly.”

Anthony was the first to move and he signalled the others to walk behind him in single file. They moved out as one column, looking neither to the left or to the right, their hands down by their side. When they reached the outer boundaries of So-Shun Forest, the trees parted for them to enter and then closed ranks behind them. The six said nothing, they simply kept moving forward.

Suddenly, Ramar stopped. “Wait here,” she said. “This is as far as we go.”

She clapped her hands in a quick, rhythmic way and a building rose from the ground, covered with tree leaves of all sorts of colors. Before the door opened, she stepped back and signalled the others to do the same. When the door opened, Botcha-ku walked out and stared at them.

“Have you accomplished your mission?” he asked Ramar.

“We have obtained powers, but one got away and we were unable to touch their pendants.”

Botcha-ku took a pendant from around his neck, but before he could do anything with it, the flying carpet of leaves appeared overhead. Everyone looked up, but they could not see anyone on it. When Irot, Tori’s alter flew about the flying carpet, she was exposed to the metallic top and fell to the ground. Just about the time, Tori hit the ground, the drink the six had earlier wore off and all of their powers were restored to normal, but the alters had to be defeated.

When Botcha-ku realized the Six had their powers, he ordered the others into a fighting stance and they were about to ignite a fight, but the carpet of leaves turned over and they were all exposed to the metallic surface, and they felt the power drained from them. Now, all they could do was to fight—yam-yam-style.

Maria signalled the Six not to use any of their powers in front of Botcha-ku as long as he was holding onto that pendant. The Six fought the seven like they had never fought before. There were twirling kicks, and high-flying kicks, and jabs and punches, and twists and twirls like they had never seen before.

“Blossom!” Anthony called. The six stood back-to-back, turning clock-wise or counter-clockwise without ever missing a beat. Since the seven alters could not break the line of the six, they were soon defeated; especially when Maria started working on their minds. When Botcha-ku saw what was happening, he attempted to run back into the building, but Shane was faster and blocked his way.

“Either we all go back or none go back,” he threatened, Botcha-ku.

The seven attempted to rise up again, but this time, Derek pulled up a tree and leveled them before they could do anything.  “Now, stay there,” he admonished, as he piled another tree on top of them.

When Botcha-ku attempted to wave his hand, Sutfol and some of the trodles appeared. Sutfol held Botcha-ku’s hands together and the trodles pulled branches from the trees which he used to tied his hands.

“Now,” Sutfol said. “You will kindly allow our friends to go back to their reality or you, too will stay.”

“I will not,” Botcha-ku stammered. “They will not return.”

Battlerama Super Tweens On The Other Side available on http://www.smashwords.com or http://www.amazon.com  Enjoy!