a random parts story

Author's Note:

I wrote this story for a group of friends at work. We each submitted a genre, a character, and a line of dialogue. From those submissions, we drew one randomly. The random parts were:

Genre: Romance (or just a love story, since a Harlequin novel isn't work place appropriate)

Character: Jeff, a scientist or wizard

Line of Dialogue: "Is that what it was?"

We had a month to write 1,000 words and post it before we got back together for lunch.

Also, a song is quoted. It is pretty much Brave Saint Saturn's "These Frail Hands."

***

Jeff Kaukonen had been playing guitar since he was a kid. He got an nylon-string guitar and started taking lessons and doing recitals of old European tunes. But late at night, he would go to the garage with his guitar, hi-fi set and headphones, and play along with Jimmy Page, Brian May and Eddie Van Halen.

By the time he was 17, he bought an electric setup, started a band, and was touring around the country. He almost didn't graduate from high school, but his mother made sure his band mates helped him get his homework done. By the mid-80s, he was doing world tours and had been on the cover of every notable music magazine (and some others) except Rolling Stone. After six albums, his band broke up. Through the early 90s, he continued to appear on records and in concert with other rock legends, but he knew his fifteen minutes was nearly spent.

The Price of Deceit

Rumor was he had never failed to bring in a bounty, which meant Tom K. was one of the few who had never gone after the same bounties as her. Erin had seen him around the bar, hotel and restaurant in town they called The Deposit Box. Most bounty hunters would accept pay in credit to The Box instead of cash. It was easier, since they knew they'd spent money at The Box anyway.

Erin never saw him out on the hunt. That didn't mean much; being seen meant you weren't doing your job right. There were plenty of young, eager guys looking to collect on bounties that Erin James would see coming from a mile off, or would hear stalking through a forest while she sat up in a tree waiting for them to flush out the quarry for her. Those were the guys she'd end up hauling back to town with whoever was on the poster. Chances are nobody knew who these young bucks were anyway; probably runaways. But if she had any living kin, she know they'd like to be notified of something happening to her.

If a bounty hunter had bagged one job, they might have been lucky not to get shot and killed. More than one, and they had at least some skill. Every bounty hunter worth his salt knew the others; the ones with some skill. They weren't so much wary of being at odds going after the same score. There was an unwritten and unspoken code of honor between bounty hunters. They kept tabs on one another in case someone decided the hunt wasn't worth the money and became a hired gun. There wasn't a code between bounty hunters and former bounty hunters.

The Raven

Brother John opened his eyes and saw the raven flapping in the sea breeze between him and the low blanket of clouds. He lay in the soft sand of the beach, his clothes soaked through.

He had first seen the bird as he sat up on the cliffs near the abbey. He had been recording his journey here from Italy and summarizing his experiences as an acolyte.

At first, he didn't recognize the bird. It had just been a dark spot in the Irish Sea. Once he realized what it was, and that it seemed to be coming toward the beach below him, he began making his way down the sea cliff to the shore.

Where could such a thing be coming from? And how could such a fragile thing have come so far?

a summer story

He was lost. He knew that now.

He had been separated from the rest of his group for hours. He had gone out ahead of them so he could stop and fix his pack. One by one he watched them pass. For hours he thought if he kept pressing on, he could overtake them again. For hours there had only been two choices: go back or press on through the canyon.

Now there was a break in the smooth canyon walls. Another river had carved its way from the east through the sandstone. He was no longer sure he could find his companions again.

He was sure that unless he found them, he would not make the rendezvous. If they were still in the canyon, they wouldn't make it either. Chances were they hadn't stopped for him or sent someone back to look for him.

They had left him. For all they knew, they left him for dead.