Tuesday, July 30, 2013
24 Hour Fitness
22.75x41 inch sandblasted sign. Artwork provided by I D Associates in Dothan, Alabama. Production done by me at C and S Signs, Cowarts, Alabama.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
Monday, July 1, 2013
Rip's Adventure, The Next Saga
Daylight came into view slowly, getting brighter and brighter. All the soldiers were laying around the campfires warming and drinking what passed for coffee. Rip, Tom, Orson and Jack were at one fire together, reliving the wild night. Every once in a while one of them would smile and another would chuckle. Rip was unusually still. His excitement had waned , but there was still a gleam in his eyes.
"Didn't you have a good night?" asked Tom.
"More than you know. When we can talk openly, I have some exciting news."
"Come on let's hear it." chimed in Orson, who thought it was about the woman Rip was with last night.
"No, this is much to important for anyone to overhear."
They realized that Rip was not going to talk until he was ready. They also know that everyone would scatter soon to find relief from the sun. As they went about their morning routine, the anticipation grew. Soon they had to move and it was not apparent that they moved farther away than normal. Rip motioned them in close as if he could keep them away.
"Last night Sheila gave me a message."
"What's this?" asked Jack, "These women don't have names."
"Well this one does and what she wrote down is a shocker. There is a group on the other side that has been watching us. They know that we have not been fighting the last few battles."
"Just as the ones that we saw" Tom said with a question.
"Yeah, and they want to know what we know." replied Rip.
"How?" asked Orson.
"We'll have to find something to write on and leave it on the field."
While they talked, Jack had taken some left over grits from breakfast and dropped them on the dirt. He mixed them up with the sandy soil and shaped them into a small brick. It was almost the color of the dirt and could be confused with a rock. Jack turned the lump over to the flat side and carefully scribed, "I am Jack" into the soft mixture. It hardened up in a few moments. Jack slid the little brick into the middle of the conversation. Rip looked down and the smile on his face was contagious.
"Write on there a time to meet and I will take it over there tonight." said Tom.
"You are too big and clumsy." said Jack. With my eight legs I can move so slowly that they will never see or hear me coming."
As the heat of the day turned to night the excitement could be cut with a knife. When the last of the campfires burned out and a stillness settled over the camp, Jack picked up the brick. He started over the earthworks and after a few feet, the three lost sight of him. He was so light that they could not hear him either.
Rip was pacing up and down muttering to himself. Tom was popping his fingers. Orson finally had enough and reached out to Rip and stopped him. He walked over to Tom and grabbed his hands.
"Thanks Orson, my hands were beginning to hurt."
"How far did he have to go?" Rip wondered out loud.
They sat upright with a jolt. The screams were close and loud. They ran to the sounds of pain. Lord, what a sickening sight. Corporal Shirah had Jack pinned to the ground. Jack's head was bleeding from where Shirah had clubbed him from behind. Then the real horror came into sight. Jack's legs were scattered around. Blood was pouring from Jack's body. His legs had been pulled out at the sockets and the skin was torn and bleeding. Just as Tom reached Shirah, he pulled the fourth leg out. The sucking pop of the bone being pulled from the socket had Tom's skin blazing bright red. He caught Shirah by the throat and began to squeeze the life out of him. Shirah's legs were dangling off the ground and his kicking was slowing. Rip and Orson were standing by dumbfounded.
"Tom, let him go, it's not yet his time." The voice was not loud, but the authority of it could not be mistaken. Tom relaxed his grip and and looked around to the sound of the voice. What he saw caused him to fall to his knees. Walking towards him was an awe inspiring sight. Long golden hair, light skin, tall and with wings stretched to the heavens. His long black coat just inches off the ground. His right arm was stretched toward Tom, with the palm turned out. His left arm clutched a book to his chest. Tom could see him clearly, even though a bright light was shining behind him.
"Didn't you have a good night?" asked Tom.
"More than you know. When we can talk openly, I have some exciting news."
"Come on let's hear it." chimed in Orson, who thought it was about the woman Rip was with last night.
"No, this is much to important for anyone to overhear."
They realized that Rip was not going to talk until he was ready. They also know that everyone would scatter soon to find relief from the sun. As they went about their morning routine, the anticipation grew. Soon they had to move and it was not apparent that they moved farther away than normal. Rip motioned them in close as if he could keep them away.
"Last night Sheila gave me a message."
"What's this?" asked Jack, "These women don't have names."
"Well this one does and what she wrote down is a shocker. There is a group on the other side that has been watching us. They know that we have not been fighting the last few battles."
"Just as the ones that we saw" Tom said with a question.
"Yeah, and they want to know what we know." replied Rip.
"How?" asked Orson.
"We'll have to find something to write on and leave it on the field."
While they talked, Jack had taken some left over grits from breakfast and dropped them on the dirt. He mixed them up with the sandy soil and shaped them into a small brick. It was almost the color of the dirt and could be confused with a rock. Jack turned the lump over to the flat side and carefully scribed, "I am Jack" into the soft mixture. It hardened up in a few moments. Jack slid the little brick into the middle of the conversation. Rip looked down and the smile on his face was contagious.
"Write on there a time to meet and I will take it over there tonight." said Tom.
"You are too big and clumsy." said Jack. With my eight legs I can move so slowly that they will never see or hear me coming."
As the heat of the day turned to night the excitement could be cut with a knife. When the last of the campfires burned out and a stillness settled over the camp, Jack picked up the brick. He started over the earthworks and after a few feet, the three lost sight of him. He was so light that they could not hear him either.
Rip was pacing up and down muttering to himself. Tom was popping his fingers. Orson finally had enough and reached out to Rip and stopped him. He walked over to Tom and grabbed his hands.
"Thanks Orson, my hands were beginning to hurt."
"How far did he have to go?" Rip wondered out loud.
They sat upright with a jolt. The screams were close and loud. They ran to the sounds of pain. Lord, what a sickening sight. Corporal Shirah had Jack pinned to the ground. Jack's head was bleeding from where Shirah had clubbed him from behind. Then the real horror came into sight. Jack's legs were scattered around. Blood was pouring from Jack's body. His legs had been pulled out at the sockets and the skin was torn and bleeding. Just as Tom reached Shirah, he pulled the fourth leg out. The sucking pop of the bone being pulled from the socket had Tom's skin blazing bright red. He caught Shirah by the throat and began to squeeze the life out of him. Shirah's legs were dangling off the ground and his kicking was slowing. Rip and Orson were standing by dumbfounded.
"Tom, let him go, it's not yet his time." The voice was not loud, but the authority of it could not be mistaken. Tom relaxed his grip and and looked around to the sound of the voice. What he saw caused him to fall to his knees. Walking towards him was an awe inspiring sight. Long golden hair, light skin, tall and with wings stretched to the heavens. His long black coat just inches off the ground. His right arm was stretched toward Tom, with the palm turned out. His left arm clutched a book to his chest. Tom could see him clearly, even though a bright light was shining behind him.
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