ben woestenburg
Bio
A blue-collar writer, I write stories to entertain myself. I have varied interests, and have a variety of stories. From dragons and dragonslayers, to saints, sinners and everything in between. But for now, I'm trying to build an audience...
Stories (104/0)
IN THE SERVITUDE OF FREEDOM
BY THE RIGHT OF AN EARLIER CREATION Mortie scratched the side of his head and groaned, trying to remember what happened, but more than that, where he was. He felt strangely nauseous. His tongue was rough, tasted thick and fuzzy; the last thing he remembered was the drink she’d brought him. That had to have been when they were in the restaurant. But where was he now? He thought he could sense the steady rocking motion of a train, hear the piercing whine of the steel wheels on the tracks—he could even feel the cracks where one length of track met the other—Click-clack, Click-clack—like the stuttering limp of some Ancient Mariner.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
Do Dragons dream of sheep at night?
There weren't always dragons in the valley. That's what Nan used to tell me when I was a child. She used to lull me off to sleep with great tales of derring-do. They were tales of knights errant, and the princesses they saved, and yes, of dragons. I must admit, there were nights when I couldn't sleep because of the visions that played in my head. I'd lay under my furs, peering out at the shadows leaping against the walls because Nan forgot to blow out the candle. I'd look out of the narrow casements, the shutters blown loose by incessant winds blowing up from the valley below, beating against the castle walls, knowing I could never slip out of bed to cross the room and blow the candle out, or shut the shutters. Of course, there's no such thing as dragons. Not in this day and Age.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
Alone on a wide wide sea
It was cold and clear; a crisp night. Which could be expected on a moonless night, she told herself, looking up at the stars as she crossed the foredeck. There’s so many of them. What light they made, rippled in the ship’s wake along with the cabin lights, all magnified in their own reflection. She was quick to open the door on the port side, making her way into the stairwell the crew used.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
Ten days after Reggie’s died, Artie was on the train, heading for London. It’d been a difficult time dealing with lawyers and the estate. But he and Claire sorted things out enough to realize Reggie actually owned the property. The more Artie looked into things, the more he realized Reggie had planned for his future by documenting everything. That came as something of a surprise, considering what he knew about his friend. He left a Will leaving everything to Claire outright. It was for her to do with as she felt inclined—and those were the actual words he’d used—while the lawyer she hired out of Chumley Grove suggested she sell the property immediately. He told her that as a woman, it would be too much for her to take on, and Claire told him she’d have to think about it. He made the mistake of telling her she had two days to make up her mind; she told him he’d be lucky if he had two days before she fired him.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
CHAPTER 26 Sonia parked on a well-worn patch of mud that served as O’Dowd’s driveway—well, what used to be his driveway, she thought—feeling slightly guilty having thought it. There was a quick dip and a hole, followed by two weary splashes of mud before the Bentley’s tires rode over a grassy hummock blackened with oil. The grass was uncut and spotty at best. Turning into the driveway, she hoped she wouldn’t get stuck before she had a chance to straighten the steering wheel. Maybe if I had wider tires, but that’s too much money, she reminded herself. Money was always an issue with her. The War Widow they called her. She knew what her father would say; he’d say it’s nothing more than an extravagance, and buy them for her.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
Chernetsov wiped the tears from his eyes and sat back down in his chair. He was looking at where the dirt and soot rubbed against the sides of the buildings, all the way down to the distant river--like a line slowly descending and melting into the distance. The skies were clear, and he didn't know if that was good or bad. He could see the tops of several ships masts, looking like thin spindles because of the distance. With sprit and spars and rolled canvas sails tight, he followed the rise and fall of ships hulls along with the steady rhythm of the current. Everything was soon lost as the morning light came in through the window. He could see steady black clouds of soot rising up from steel hulled, twin funnelled cargo ships who'd soon enough be raising anchor and plying their trade along the Atlantic lanes.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
BOOK TWO UNDER THE WITCH’S MOON CHAPTER 24 Nigel had always been one to enjoy the sunrise. He sometimes thought it was the one thing he took with him from his childhood. He'd often find himself drawn to the brilliant colours staining the sky, with all their combining shades and hues, sometimes feeling as if Nature’s palette were commanding him to paint her—just drop what you’re doing and paint me—draped as she was in a veil of mist. He enjoyed looking at the clouds as much as any child looking for dragons, or horses might, seeing shapes and columns in the billowing billows, endlessly towering towers, all rolling and strolling across the sky. He liked to sit and enjoy the morning with a warm cup of tea and buttery toast, habitually dipping the toast into his tea and sucking on it until it dissolved in his mouth.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
“Why are there no fuckin’ lights out this way?” Reggie asked, the single beam of the torch he was carrying barely able to light a path through the warehouse. There was a threatening darkness eating at the edge of the light. “Is it too much to think they might get electricity out here sometime this century?” He shot the beam upward, trying to see into the rafters. The light was too weak to penetrate the distance, and was soon lost in the shadows.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
It was a three mile walk back to the farm. Claire left shortly after four in the afternoon, hoping to keep up with the last of the day’s light. I should’ve taken the horse and wagon, that’s what I should’ve done, she told herself, switching hands as the handles of the cloth bag she was carrying cut the circulation off, turning her fingers blue. The knives grew heavier as she carried them, but it was no bother as far as she was concerned. I’d rather be weighed down with the knives, than a dust rag, she told herself. Life for women in this day and age didn’t leave one with a lot of options, she knew, and being a cook in one of the big Manor houses was the best a woman could hope for.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
Nigel woke up with a chill running through his body, reminding him of the cold in Paris during the War. He'd been no more a boy then; he knew that now. Still, it’d been cold that first winter, but that had been nothing to compare to what he felt now. He was so cold his bones ached.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
CHAPTER 21 “Tell me one more time why the fuck we’re doing this in Plymouth?” Reggie asked, looking at Sabini. They were in the small office he had over a sweets shop in Soho. The sunlight broke in through slatted blinds like a thief, making long horizontal stripes on the dark green rug. There were several bookcases filled with nick-nacks of all sorts; porcelean figurines, and crystal goblets, boxing trophies from his youth. The walls were dark panel, hung with paintings of horses and boxers.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
“I suppose this is why there were the only two costumes left?” Nigel said, stepping into the foyer and looking around. He had to admit it was very impressive. Everything around him dripped opulence. Yesterday was his first time in one of these palaces—there was no other word he could think to use—and he smiled to himself. It was reminiscent of the luxurious hotel lobbies in Paris where the Generals headquartered. The Generals always occupied the largest of the suites, perhaps thinking rank had its privileges? With money comes opulence, he thought. But tonight, instead of soldiers, officers and politicians with their mistresses, here there were costumed guests from the surrounding manor houses.
By ben woestenburg2 years ago in Fiction