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)
jack of diamonds
i Chernetsov wiped the tears from his eyes and sat back, looking out at the dirt and soot of the city and its distant harbour. He could see the tops of the several ships’ masts looking like thin spindles, with both sprit and spars, and rolled canvas sails, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of the current. They were soon lost in the morning light coming in through the window, along with steady black clouds of soot rising up from the funnelled cargo ships that would soon be plying the Atlantic. He was willing to look anywhere else, he realized, except at the bloody stump that had once been Anatoly’s foot. It was too much for him to take in at the moment, and he was glad there was no one with him to witness his tears. If you’d have asked him ten years ago if he’d ever imagined himself possibly sitting at the foot of his son’s bed weeping, he would’ve said no.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
iv “Where are we going? Not that I care. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s just that I had to get out of there,” Nigel said, squinting against the bright morning light; he was holding a hand up and shading his eyes after the soft lights of the station.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
iii It was the sensible thing to do, Nigel realized, because in the end it saved them a trip out to Marlborough Manor—not that he wouldn’t have minded a trip out to the countryside. But from what they were able to sort out, it seemed that Chernetsov’s son was undergoing surgery in London. It had something to do with the accident he’d had—Nigel remembered hearing something about the man being sent to the hospital before the ball they’d attended last week. He couldn’t remember all the details, but felt certain it would come to him eventually.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
ii Charlie greeted Nigel with a slow smile, and then shifting in his chair uneasily, grimaced, and offered up an apologetic shrug. Nigel didn’t know if Charlie was embarrassed to see him, grateful, or just plain uncomfortable because his haemorrhoid was acting up again—I guess that’s still, he thought with a touch of a smile. One could never tell with Charlie. He sometimes grimaced, and sometimes squinted, and there were times Nigel would see him looking at his seat cushion, as if he were checking for stains.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
THE WORLD BEFORE
I was a born the youngest of six kids at the end of the Fabulous Fifties. It was the tail-end of a decade that brought us Elvis Presley, Buddy Holley, and Little Richard; it also brought us Eisenhower, Sputnik, and the Cold War. It was the decade that saw our fathers return home from the war, damaged both by what they’d seen, and by what they’d done. I was a Baby-boomer without even knowing what the word meant. My parents were born in what they’re now calling The Greatest Generation—an obviously nostalgic look at the past—and were themselves children of The Lost Generation. I didn’t know what any of that was, or meant, and I’m pretty sure my brothers and sister didn’t, either.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
CHAPTER 21
BOOK TWO UNDER THE WITCH’S MOON PART FOUR CHAPTER 21 i Nigel was always one to enjoy a sunrise. He often found himself drawn to the brilliant colours with all their converging shades and hues, and sometimes felt 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 towering billows endlessly rolling and strolling across the sky. He liked to sit, enjoying the morning with a warm cup of tea and buttery toast, habitually dunking the toast into his tea and sucking on it until it dissolved in his mouth, all the while watching the birds as they soared—The Lark Ascending, he thought—enjoying the irony of the title.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
CHAPTER 20
iii Harry Solomon sauntered into the dull lights of the warehouse under the misconception that he’d be finally meeting with the man they called Prince Igor. He wasn’t prepared to meet three men, one of whom was his one time rival, Reggie O’Dowd. Short, stocky, and with a vicious scar running from his right temple to his jawline, Harry was dressed in his usual plaid waistcoat and slacks, plain cotton undershirt, along with hobnailed boots. There was a gold watch and heavy chain hanging from the third button of his waistcoat, looping to the small left hand fob pocket. Reggie marvelled at how the cold chill of the night didn’t seem to bother Harry. He was still wearing the same bowler hat he’d had from before the War; it had seen better days. He completed his look with a large, sweeping, handlebar moustache that was meticulously waxed into a straight line—like the coaxed single whisker of a deadly cat.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
chapter 20
ii Michael Dunnican crawled through the warehouse’s narrow window having made his way across the roof without being seen. There’d been a guard of sorts standing alone under the scattered shadows of a distant light, but really, the man wasn’t paying any attention to what was creeping up behind him, so a quick knife in the neck ended it for him. He’d made certain to cover the man’s mouth so he couldn’t cry out, but the knife had been quick—merciful--an in and out thrust next to the windpipe which pretty well guaranteed a severed something-or-other. He'd forgotten what it was called, never having paid attention in class when they taught him which was the best way to kill a man. He’d simply smiled and nodded his head—all the while thinking how he’d like to have stabbed the instructor in the neck just to see if he’d understood the problem.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
CHAPTER 20: (part 1) WHEN YOU’RE DEALING WITH A KNAVE… i “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, and was soon lost in the shadows.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
jack of diamonds
ii Claire heard Artie entering the farm house shortly after four in the morning. There’d been a splash of headlights through the window and the sound of a car door slamming; she could hear him stumbling in through the kitchen door, dropping something on the table—sounding like something she might hear at the edge of a dream, she told herself—as she rolled over, looking at her alarm clock across the room.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
CHAPTER 19 (pt 1)
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 became heavier as she carried them, but it was never any 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 woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction
JACK OF DIAMONDS
iii Sonia woke up to the cold and damp of an overcast morning still wearing her costume from the night before. It was a moment before she realized she’d fallen asleep on top of Nigel. She lifted her head, looking at him with a critical eye before she rolled off the bed—she’d somehow slipped between Nigel and the wall—doing everything she could not to wake him as she climbed off the bed.
By ben woestenburg3 years ago in Fiction