Friday, April 29, 2016

Dragonfly (Angels Reign Series Book 1) by Candy O’Donnell


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The Beginning


Lillian bolted upright after the hellish nightmare infiltrated the deepest caverns of her mind. Fuzzy red and green images still played in her head as she shook off the heaviness of sleep. It was as though hell had poked its way through the secret, hidden hollows of her psyche. Her own thoughts slowly came to her as she raced through each scene that had strangled her will as she slept.
She had not wished for these disturbing images before she fell asleep; they just dipped into her mind and nested within. Those real dreams that were supposed to be non-real were not what she wanted to play out before her. Dreams were supposed to be happy, glorious things, not something made of nightmares.
She crooked her head to the right and noticed that her bedroom door was ajar and something with a human form was standing in the hallway. The image was not complete, but murky white, as if whatever was standing there was completely shrouded in a misty alabaster substance and was barely visible.
This shadowy human figure still clung to the outside her vision, moving slowly to the right then to the left, as if dancing. The fog of sleep still cloaked her senses when she forced her hands and arms to move. Lillian wiped her frosty-colored eyes briskly with her hand to gain a better view of who was standing in the open doorway. She still could not see the person clearly. The form and its surroundings were hazy and seemed to move wildly, like a pond after a hand gently touched its surface. Lillian shook her head, but the figure still appeared smoky to Lillian and she blinked many times to clear her eyes of drowsiness. The image was finally static and she was able to perceive what was before her. A faint vapor of a middle-aged woman stood silently near the entrance of her room.

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Friday, April 22, 2016

Night Crawler by Candy O'Donnell



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~The Creature~




Darkness descended upon the small town, cloaking dark dense shadows over houses, shut tight for the night. Rain slashed down in small rivers, causing streams of water to race swiftly through gutters. Street lamps flooded obscure corners with intense, brilliant light as those still lingering out in the storm seek their protective sanctuaries—once there, they close out the impending night. With doors barred and windows locked, the wind howled ever louder to welcome the incoming storm as streaks of lightning flashed across the dreary, obscure sky.

The town priest, John Francis stared out the wet, glass panes of his office with eyes upon the swaying trees as swooping gusts released what was left of their leaves. Beneath his godly demeanor, his muscles rippled—turning his immaculate white shirt into a visible six pack. He narrowed his green eyes at the man relaxing in the chair before his expansive wooden desk.

“How do you propose we handle this, Stephen?” The dark haired follower of God gazed at the older, heavy-set man. John then slipped into the high back, a black leather chair near the darkened window.

“I’m unsure of how to deal with two reckless teenagers that choose to disobey the law or any other authority for that matter.” Stephen replied as he blew his nose into a red handkerchief, “They’re a chaotic bunch of hoodlums.” He then stuffed the sticky cloth into his pants' pocket.

Grimacing slightly, John shook his head and implored, “Youngsters nowadays need discipline, Stephen.”

“Like you had, John, we can’t do that today. Parents cry out against that type of discipline.” He leaned forward with raised eyebrows and preached, “And you know that, priest. It really is an awful set of circumstances. Life today is so complicated.” Stephen’s hand ran over the wood-grained desk before him as he felt every uneven bump. He looked up and asked, “Oak?”

“You sure do know your wood.” Confidence filled the priest when he responded with a lowered chin. Within he wanted to string the youngsters up.

“I should, my furniture is the best this side of the Mississippi. It is better than the other side too.” Stephen smiled and pulled his callused hand back into his lap.

“These boys should be doing community service for their baseball practice on mailboxes. Wouldn't you agree?”

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Friday, April 15, 2016

Angels Go To Heaven: My Mother’s Life and Death Struggle with Leukemia


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Intro: Irish Red
Love that great, big red horse. ~Candy

In the early days of adolescence all young girls want a horse, and not just any horse. It has to be a certain color, height, and gender. Not any horse will do when it comes to a juvenile girl’s preference. Maybe they prefer a dappled flavor, a jet black, or a roan colored equine. In any case, the horse has to be just right and needs to possess a calm disposition.
Irish Red was the name I gave a tarnished ruddy-colored horse in the summer of ‘83. He had the correct look that appeased me as I stared into his large brown eyes on the sheep farm in Oregon that summer. I could see within his pupils that there was an elevated intelligence never before seen in a colt his age. He was still with his mother and was about to wean when my own mother led him from the small dirt enclosure. After one look, I knew he had to be mine.
I had not seen my mother in over five years. She and my father had left me and my sister with my aunt and uncle so they could “work things out.” That did not happen, and I was glad. She married a new man that shared her passion for animals. Their job was to not only care for the many horses on the sheep ranch, but they fed numerous bunnies, goats, cattle dogs, and a black bull that weighed a ton.
I glanced back at Irish Red’s off-white colored mother as her frantic whinnies called out to her departed son. He responded by strutting before the humans gawking at his fine form. Was he showing off? I thought he was as his tail swished to and fro. The colt’s long legs were perfect for rounding up cattle or sheep, and his half quarter, half Arabian hide revealed strength and endurance, much like the horses galloping over the sands of a faraway place. That was where I thought he belonged, in some exotic time where equines ruled the land.
The young colt frolicked in the pasture with the sheep and pretended he too was a white snowball grazing on the tender strains of grass. It was there that he learned how to romp and play, even though the sheep acted pushed out of shape by his antics. He wanted to be noticed by anyone that would take the time to glance in his direction. One could hardly tell what a ham he was when the colt stumbled and almost fell over a small pebble lying on the hardened earth. His ears suddenly perked forward. This informed every living being that the stone had upset his fine gait.
I found this amusing, but he recovered quickly from the mishap. Every young child endures something embarrassing before a crowd of onlookers, and he would not be the last to pull the short straw. I roamed around him and ran my palm over his smooth, sleek coat. It felt like short angora fur, but without the allergies.
“What do you think?” my mother questioned.
I nodded and said, “I love him.” I could not help but smile in his presence. I sensed many outings with this fellow.


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Friday, April 1, 2016

"Z-Radio: A Zombie Apocalypse Novelette book 1" by Candy O'Donnell


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California


I stood on the front porch as a faint breeze caught my short, dirty blonde hair and ruffled it about my head. The evening felt uneasy to me as I stared out over the neighborhood filled with many rows of residential homes. I passed the feeling off as being due to a treacherous day at work.
Dealing with hormonal teenagers was always stressful, and my job as a high school principal was proving to be more than difficult. But I adored watching young minds operate in an educational setting.
A neighbor waved at me as she rolled a large plastic trash container into the garage. I smiled and asked how her day had been.
 “It was great; and yours, Cherise?” The apron wearing woman called back.
I bit my lip before answering. “It was trying, very trying, like it always is, Mona.” I bid her goodnight as I escaped into my small house, then closed the front door and locked it tight for the evening. When a cry in the distance hit my ears, I halted my ascent of the interior wooden staircase and doubled back to recheck each door and window.
With everything in order, I set my glass of water on the counter and proceeded to slowly move up the staircase. A dark, creepy feeling curled up my back as I stopped and listened with great intent. Inside, my stomach churned over what sounded chaotic and horrid in the distance. It was not like me to mull over such things, but an inner hesitation suddenly scampered to the forefront of my mind.


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