Excerpt from FACE VALUE  

    When she looked back at the road she was over the center line and there was a motorcycle headed straight for her. Claire swerved her little yellow convertible back into her lane but not before the motorcycle ran into the ditch on the other side.

After what seemed an eternity the car skidded to a stop. Her hands started to tremble and she could feel the sting of tears which had become all too familiar lately.

Pull yourself together kid. Her father’s voice echoed in her thoughts. You’ve gotta meet your problems straight on. Taking a deep breath to steady her trembling body Claire swung open the car door and scanned the roadway, looking for the bike.

It lay on its side several feet away from her car; an old motorcycle painted with gray primer. The rider had tumbled into an unmoving heap in the grassy ditch beside the road.

Claire fell out of the car and ran toward him. The guy was probably one of those scary men with tattoos and body piercings. He probably smoked dope and had beer with his cereal in the mornings.

     When she reached the cyclist he lay motionless. He was a mound of denim topped by a shiny black helmet.

“Oh my God, I’ve killed him,” she whispered.  Claire bent and reached out to touch his arm, then she heard a low moan and he started to push himself upright. Letting out a sigh of relief, she said “Don’t move, you may have broken something.”

“Lady if something’s broken I definitely didn’t do it.”

Claire was at a loss for words, she had after all, crashed into him. Scanning the road for signs of traffic and seeing none she started to rise.

“You stay there, I’ll go call for help.”

“No need for that. Help me get this helmet off.” He slowly started unfolding his body.

“No don’t get up, you may have injuries.”

“I’m not going to sue you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t concerned about a lawsuit, my only worry is that you aren’t injured,” said Claire as she took in the size of him for the first time.

He was a tall man, well over six feet. Muscular thighs flexed under the well worn denim as he straightened his legs to their full length. She glimpsed skin dark from the sun in the gap between his jacket cuff and the riding gloves he wore. And there had to be shoulder pads in that jacket, no one had shoulders that wide. If he had tattoos and body piercings she wouldn’t mind seeing them first hand Claire decided.

From my award winning story, Hawks.

   Half a dozen Viet Cong soldiers erupted from the grass and Toby killed all of them, including the child.  It was just like shooting jackrabbits he told himself.  
    
    When the killing was done, he stood over the girl, her small grimy hand still wrapped around the gun, the blood soaked doll on the path beside her.  As the acrid scent of death filled his lungs, Toby realized his decision had been made.

Bellingrath Gardens near Mobile, Alabama