Tag Archives: Contemporary

Canvas Blues – LXXVI: Yesteryears

18 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXVI: Yesteryears

Robbie wasn’t at his house, his mother giving an apologetic moue while glancing at Casey’s Mustang with a hint of disapproval. Might have been disapproval for the roaring it’d done going up the hill or might have been the fact it looked cheap in comparison to the metallic expensives sitting in the garages of this opulent zone of Castlebrock.

“He went up to Dylan’s house,” she said.

“Dylan Westerman?” asked Casey, his jaw stiffening.

“Yes. I’m not sure if they’re still there though.”

Casey spun away before Mrs. Frey could finish and was hopping down the concrete steps and crossing through the grass and mulch and gardenias while Brendon rushed a “Thank you.”

Inside the Mustang, Brendon picked the Le Mans painting back up to hold in his lap. The back seat sat laden with grocery bags bursting at the seams with Casey’s clothes. His book bag, so full it bloated, lay haphazardly on top of the mountain. But Brendon’s painting had been in the front passenger seat in a place of honor, the Le Mans not weighed down by reality, by hatred of a father to be left behind.

They pulled into Dylan’s canted driveway, the hedges trimmed to boxes, the mulch a gleaming red, the three-car garage door sitting open with both Dylan’s Audi and Robbie’s BMW in the far spots while the bay right in front of them stood starkly empty but for a few gym machines and mats.

“Robbie!” Casey shouted even before he closed the car door, before the slam rattled the Mustang, made it vibrate the painting as Brendon balanced it on the seat. “Robbie fucking Frey!”

“The whole neighborhood will hear you,” warned Brendon, trotting behind, his stomach doing flips.

“Let them,” Casey all but snarled and in that moment Brendon was just happy it wasn’t directed toward him. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXV: Yesteryears

11 Wednesday Aug 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXV: Yesteryears

Saturday came with a sprinkle, leaving yellow pollen outlines to mark parked cars even long after they’d driven off. Brendon’s father decided to replace the mailbox—“Been pooling water for months ever since those stupid kids batted a three hundred down the street”—and his mother had gone off shopping with Aunt Laurel, leaving Brendon alone during that auspicious morning.

Had he been able to go back, just not answered the door, remained crossed-legged on his bed sketching out a thirty-by-thirty-inch spaceship on cheap poster board…

But he hadn’t known, had he?

Casey scowled when Brendon opened the door. “What’s this I hear about you writing comics with Robbie?”

“I—”

“Is that where you are all these nights? Not actually doing homework?”

“We only meet up like once or twice a week. I didn’t think you’d care. Aren’t the two of you friends again?”

“Friends?” Casey scoffed and tossed his hair out of his eyes distractedly. “He’s no friend of mine.”

Brendon sagged against the door frame. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened. Unless you mean my boyfriend is chilling at a stuck-up douche’s house when I call.” Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXIII: Yesteryears

28 Wednesday Jul 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXIII: Yesteryears

Funny thing about floating about in the middle, no one ever thinks of you like that. It’s either one side or the other. The if-you’re-not-with-me-you’re-against-me mentality. Active imaginations thinking gossip, gossip, gossip, about the person not around. Over-sensitivity, youthfulness, anxieties all working to destroy what rationalism some might have possessed otherwise.

Brendon tried, he truly did, desperate to continue clinging to the two friends he’d raced down Grant’s Lorry Road with in the summer, the two friends he’d met in an old car cemetery time after time to play hide and seek among the rusted fenders and rotted rubber and butterfly gatherings.

Sure Casey got the bulk of his time, the most of his focus, his teenaged mind lost to hormones and new sensations. Robbie got his own time though, the two of them sitting at Robbie’s expansive dining room table, sketches and outlines spread across two thirds of the space. They worked on two comics concurrently.

The first one was to be a serialized fantasy about a spiderling who controlled the minds of a typical dungeon-crawling party. Each comic somewhat separate with occasional short arcs deep within specific dungeons or inside particular taverns, but generally individual in nature ala Sunday morning funnies.

The second one took far more of Brendon’s artistic chops, for the humorous alterations in character and setting just would not do, the space stations and exoplanets and marauders needing to have a realistic flare within their design. Robbie set the stage, his countless notes on plot arcs and character traits exposing a sweet naivety in their creation, but filled with so much passion, so much love, that the flaws disappeared.

They’d completed almost fifty individual panes of the fantasy comic—It’s All Under Control—and a measly, but gorgeous, fourteen panes of the grimdark sci-fi—Stars Avast—when Casey found out. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXII: Yesteryears

21 Wednesday Jul 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXII: Yesteryears

Junior year boasted one of those moments that would forever be commemorated in a 5k walk/run title, but it started innocently enough with a local news reporter who fancied himself a hot shot journalist. The man—Tony Kepuchar—did a spotlight piece on cop favoritism. Election year and all that, with the sheriff being incumbent and his friends and family like an ant network spread about the county. Kepuchar did his research, no one could fault him for that, and yet, one little line and the word “allegation” was enough to set off a chain of events that would forever haunt Brendon’s neighborhood.

“Taylor Lee Barry, grandson to County Sheriff Joseph Barry, is one such example, having been implicated in illegal street races, but never charged, with an allegation against him of heroin dealing that has, interestingly, not been investigated.”

Casey’s father threw that paper across the living room, smacking a row of DVDs to the ground in a haphazard cascade of porn and 90s flicks. Then he went on a rampage, the alcohol singing in his veins. He found Casey in the garage, fiddling with replacing the Mustang’s water pump, and proceeded to beat him with the first thing that came to hand—the rubber serpentine belt Casey had removed and not yet returned.

“No good druggie! I knew that man was bad news!”

Though the hits remained weak, they came fast and no amount of confused questions, and then later, insistences that Casey had never participated, would assuage his father’s self-righteous fury.

Casey showed up on Brendon’s doorstep on foot, bruises starting to show across his neck and shoulders, but he paid them no heed, instead ranting and raging as loud and crass as his father had the hour earlier before finally calling his mother and—partially in demand and partially begging—asked to move in with her and Becks.

“It’s not like we’re doing anything together. The Mustang’s been done and in my name, not his and I can drive the extra fifteen minutes to school in the morning, no biggie.”

Brendon listened with a palm against Casey’s back and cheek to Casey’s shoulder, gently though, afraid of hurting him further.

“I don’t care if it’s a closet, Mom. Could be a fucking couch for all I care.” Then a muttered, “Sorry.” Probably on account of the cussing. Continue reading →

Canvas Blues – LXXI: Present

14 Wednesday Jul 2021

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

LXXI: Present

Tell me about this Casey. As if Casey could be expressed in simple words.

Brendon poured them both another round of the old whiskey. Too much probably, but Evelyn Yert remained on the mind. Again, too much so. He swallowed, gaze darting about the room, catching on his sketches, wondered whether he should tear them all down, start fresh, blank walls, clean slate.

“Brendon?” Orion’s voice so soft, a gentle, coaxing sound from a man who could be so hard and unyielding.

“You have a high school love? Not a crush or a fling, but an actual love affair.”

Orion studied Brendon closely. “The kind where you find yourself crying in the shower and pretend it’s just the water?”

Brendon opened his hands in an approximation of a shrug. For him it hadn’t been the shower; it’d been his easel over at Llama Park, just out of sight of the lakeside hiking trail, where a little gurgling brook that fed into the lake happily ignored the angry paint smears and harsh words.

“It’s like you fall in love with a person one day and wake up the next to discover that that person never actually existed at all.”

Orion nodded slowly. “Heartbreak hits even the coldest of us.”

“Right. I’m not saying I’m somehow different.” Brendon stood abruptly, paced the small living room, knowing that Orion stared but unable to stop himself from moving, needing the action, the fingers not holding his glass twitching with the desire to hold a paintbrush. “Things just look different when you’re younger.”

“Emotions are heightened,” began Orion.

“No, not that. Well, yes, you’re right, but that’s not what I’m referring to.” It’s all about perspective. “You see people one way when seeing things through a child’s eyes.”

“And then you grow up to realize your parents’ flaws or grow away from friends.”

“He was…”

Orion remained quiet, unmoving in the armchair that backed against the far wall. Along the wall beyond his head there were sketches of crabs, of cattails, of many, many lined boat drawings because Brendon had been practicing ripples, ripples and more ripples. Continue reading →

Rise of the Snowmen: Chapter One Excerpt

27 Friday Nov 2020

Posted by in Excerpt, Fantasy, M/M

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RISE OF THE SNOWMEN

Enjoy this excerpt from my upcoming novel!

This is a sequel to Those Bloody Christmas Elves, which you can read about here. The excerpt below will give spoilers to Those Bloody Christmas Elves, however, it is not a requirement to read the first story in order to understand or enjoy Rise of the Snowmen :)

CHAPTER ONE

Where the angels creep and the snowmen feed…none survive.

Twas the season, once again, of blissful ignorance and peppermint. Of flashing rainbow lights and warm apple cider. Of spruce and spiders inside homes and sugary delights that ended most often with stomachaches. Not to mention too many presents, off-key carols, and trash. Oh, so much trash.

Too cynical by half.

Taylor frowned into his burnt coffee and shoved his other hand deeper into his jeans pocket. That’s what Greg had said at the start of the drawn-out holiday season, long before turkey had been carved or costumes put to good use. Too cynical by half.

As if the man couldn’t remember how he’d almost lost his little girl last year to an elvish kidnapping and thought the world seemed greener now that days had dulled the terror. As if she had never been in danger of being dragged off to the North Pole in the clutches of the cruelest lie parents told their children.

In fact, that was her laugh now, Mandy Westmill tugging her mother along in her wake as she filled a bag of reindeer food, spilling oatmeal and glitter across the gymnasium floor.

Even with her black hair braided over the crown of her head, Mandy held a hint of her father in her manner. That stubborn set of her jaw. Those dark eyebrows. The way her lips twisted slightly when she grinned. And, of course, that single dimple that popped inward and seemed stuck there in her contagious happiness.

Truly her father’s daughter in so many ways.

Taylor caught her winking at him from across the gymnasium, her finger to her lips in a hush sign and her shoulders hunched forward in a cute attempt at subterfuge. Taylor smiled at her from behind his coffee and returned the wink before casually turning in case Mandy’s mother, Katie, might send a glance his way.

She might not recognize him. After all, they’d only met the few times when Taylor had lingered at Greg’s house during a drop-off or pickup between the two, but Greg wanted to avoid a confrontation. Reason enough why Greg sat safely out in the parking lot of Reynald Elementary school while Taylor cased the place, searching for signs of elvish infiltration.

In years before, elves had nabbed kids right out of the parking lot or snatched them during solo bathroom breaks. Once, during a warmer December, they’d even joined a game of hide and seek out on the playground. Yet Taylor had been there each year, thwarting their efforts and rescuing children from elvish clutches, normally all without parental involvement, or even knowledge.

But last year the elves had struck early and strong, using laced sugar sprinkled on top of the cookies. Mandy hadn’t been the only child nabbed, but she’d been the one Taylor had noticed. And with Mandy had come her father and Greg Westmill wasn’t like any of the other parents Taylor had ever stumbled into dealing with. That man’s stubbornness, his absolute refusal to leave Taylor’s side, not even to go to the police, had spawned a whirlwind of emotions, some of which Taylor still wasn’t sure he understood. Continue reading →