All the proud

What I've got of this book so far. A struggling musician named Fox Buckboot tries to get to the top.

 

 

 

                The brilliant night ski revealed the tops of acres of corn stalks. At least 28,000 stems stood placid. There were stillness and silence to this particular evening. All the late night souls left hours ago.  The animalslie in their domes fast asleep, along with the residents of EsandKay Place. The superticious fellows called it the witch’s hour. Fox Buckbee thought of himself as one of these fellows. Oh, what dark things llurked this time of night. Horrid people, animals, spirits, or the unknown-who knows what could have revealed itself through the feilds.He was, at best, a lucky man not getting into confrontations with the monsters. But luck was not on his side this evening.  

        Among the still fields, a steady swaying struck the far corner. Closer, a young man with a hood over his eyes trudged through the stalks, tearing off corn roughly and into his bag. Fox’s guitar case slung on his back. Corn took its place wherever it could fit. The man rampaged through the crop with little direction. A warm october moon glimmmerd light on his path. A slow drizzle sprinkled from above. Sooner than he hoped, it will turn into a storm. Other than corn, Fox carried an acoustic guitar. His guitar made him complete. It made him confident and more willing to live. Life, in his opinion, was only worth living through sound- the most beautiful of the five senses. 

        He wanted more than anything to make it big. Hit the top of the charts. The struggling musician made amends to his dreams a month earlier and carried on with his life. It wasn't hard to pass on after he began the ‘the most wanted’ way of life. His criminal activity to keep himself alive took a toll on his ambitions.

        Before Fox knew it, the music was gone. His goal- vanished. Just like that, with a blink of an eye, he was done. Instead of picking through auditions, he picked through trash. The transition was startling to the dreamer. He believed his life was over. At that very moment, the feeling hit him hard; the feeling of panic.

        The squeal of an old screen door vibrated the fields. A thud slammed to the ground at the man’s feet. His case lay with dozens of bulges from the leather caused by the massive amount of corn.  Fox zipped the bag as best he could, slung the strap on his shoulder, and sprinted to no precise area.   

        A cold sting whipped his ears. His senses were fallow, and he could all but slightly feel his body against the leaves. Footsteps roughly stomped on the squeaky porch behind him. An incoherent scream croaked over him. This made Fox run faster than he thought possible. The croak was angry and aggressive-someone he had no intentions of conversing with. 

        It came from an old man; a man approaching the age of seventy-five. He was known by a few people around the area as Mr. Taggart. His actual name is a mystery. There is no explantation for his nickname, yet farmers still tell tales of its origins. 

        Despite the cruel and mind-bending stories told by the townsfolk, the artist felt Mr. Taggart had a heart and would never do such things. A local Tobacco farmer swears he found Mr. T digging up bones and dancing around a mound in a tribal way. Although his odd behavior is disturbing to most, some, such as Fox, felt it was for a good, solid, sane reason. 

        ‘No one can be so cruel without a shred of evidence’, Mr. Taggart’s neighbor announced to the press, ‘It’s probably a rain dance for his crop. The drought has affected every one of us. All farmers have their own ways of caring for their growth. There is nothing abnormal about the poor old man next to me.’ The man bound and dove through the brush every which way. The road still miles away, he strained to hear the sound of cars. 

        “You hear that Gladis?” 

        He fell on his chest and locked his hands behind his head. 

        “Did I hear what?” A woman asked. 

        “That movin’ in the corn. You hear that shufflin’ over                         there?” 

        Fox had his head in the soil and his mouth full of mud. A loud beating heart ripped through his shirt and pounded the ground. Two arms reached above him, clawing the dirt, he crawled slowly on his knees. He felt a cold breeze by his ears. It was late-dead of the night. A frightning and unnatural chill carried over EsandKay. What dangers that skulk at such an hour. Thrilling! He searched the back pockets of his jeans and took out a cross. He put it to his mouth and mumbled a few words. “Keep me safe” was all that was audible. Fox continued to trudge through the stalks on his knees.

        “There it is again! Gladis, did you see it? Over in the corner. Did you see it?” Mr. Taggart exclaimed. 

        “No. You’re paranoid. Come inside before you make a scene.” His wife insisted with an urgency. 

        “I deserve to make a scene. Someone’s lurking in my crop. You know nothing about harvesting woman.” Mr. Taggart hissed.

        “I know more than you think. I should be an expert at farming after your endless lectures at diner, which by the way, you haven’t attended to in weeks.”

“It’s the prime of the season-”

        “It’s always the prime of the season.” Mrs. Taggart lashed. “When will you give up that land? We don’t need the profit and we’ve got plenty of food. Please, listen to me. This hobby has to go. It’s chewing up too much money.” 

        “It’s probably that boy.” Mr. Taggart growled, paying no attention to his wife. “It’s probably that leech stealing my crop.”

        “He’s just a child . Please don’t harm him.” 

        “A theif! Nothing less than a criminal! I don’t give a damn if he were an adult or an infant. I have a right to my crop!” Mr. Taggart ranted.

        “Please not tonight. I’m tired and have a terrible headache.” Mr. Taggart ignored his wife’s plea and marched into the stalks angrily. “You are a terrible man!” Mrs. Taggart cried stomping into the large home behind her. 

        Mr. Taggart whistled loudly, and from a large dog house came a hound half his size. “Come here Jarry.” He bent to one knee and gestured the hound loyaly to his side. Jarry’s collar clipped off and Mr. Taggart bent slightly to the hound’s ear. “Get him ol’ girl.” With a tug on her mane, she was hungrily off into the fields. 

         Fox scurried to his feet and darted carelessly. His hood flew off while he strained his neck to look behind him. Jarry wasn’t near, but Fox ran as if she were on his tail. His face was a picture perfect sketch of utter fear. his golden brown hair stuck to his weaty cheeks and his sneakers bore two large holes. Percperent and holes covered his clothes aswell. 

        Fox had a good lead on the hound. He knew from many earlier encounters what to do when running from a beast like Jarry. The old mutt would get tired eventually. The primitive, yet strategic move is to run your heart out and hope to the lord above that Jarry’s having a bad day. An agonizing fifteen minutes shuffled by and Fox saw the opening he had entered from just a few yards ahead.

        A relieving grin spread across his face. He dove frantically to the road. “No!” His grin turned into horror. A sharp painfull sting stabbed his right leg. behind Fox, a large hound tore at the back of his calf. “Ahh!” His screams of agony cradled the town. mr.taggart surely heard it. Jarry kept her grip on his skin. fox grabbed a stick beside him and began waking the dog with all his might, but the contact only made the mutt more aggressive. “Stop! Stop!” Were the only words he could amount to. One last scream erupted from the teary man before a loud whistle sounded from a distance.

        “Come here ol’ girl!” Mr. Taggart announced. jarry gingerly swept away from Fox’s leg and trotted to it’s owner. mr.Taggart appeared from the stalk. His face was ragged and old. His wrinkles were deep along with his omniscent eyes. Mr. Taggart stroked Jarry as he looked intentlly at Fox.

        “What are you doing goggling at me? Get out of here boy!” He demanded. Fox struggled to his feet and started to say something. “NO! No exuses. Get out of here before I let Jarry get another peice of you.” Fox nodded.

        “Yees sir. Please forgive me-” 

        “OUT!”

        Fox picked up his injured leg and limped to the barren street before him. He looked back and Mr.Teggart was gone with Jarry. Fox walked as best he could to the nearest bus stop. He winced at the pain in his leg and gave a long sigh. There were no busses arriving for another two and half hours.  

        The bus to Newshore came an hour early. Fox was thrilled and ,for just a split second, he was happy. It faded quickly when he saw not only that the bus was empty, but an elderly lady was the only one occuping a seat. She glarred at Fox as he passed her to sit in the back. Fox placed his guitar next to him and slid to the window to peer through the dirty glass.  He guessed this is one of the most well maintained busses around EsandKay. After the town’s money was swallowed by greety kontvicts, the small things, like transportation, were overlooked. Fox sat on a bright red leather that he didn’t bother to look at because it hurt his eyes. Ill made patches scattered the seats. ‘What a mess’ Fox thought. ‘what happened to this place?’ Indeed, that was what everyone questioned. They knew the answer, but sometimes it feels good to think they didn’t. Esand Kay use to be a beautiful quaint farming town with plenty of courteous people. Now its a dump farming graveyard with rude cranky old men. ‘No wonder everyone left. Who wants to live here?’

        “Arriving at Harvington.” A young woman screamed to the vacant passengers. The old woman stood caustiously and walked slowly to the door. she must have been close to ninety. Her bones craked as she smiled at Fox and stumbled off the bus. 

        “Next stop Newshore.” fox moved to the front and sat down. He fiddled with his fingers and thought of why he was going to such a place as Newshore. ‘What will I accomplish here? the lot of them are rich folk. They want nothing to do with my music. They want violins and horns; not an old acoustic.’ Fox sighed, ‘Maybe I’ll find a partner. That’s what I need, a good benefactor.’ He smiled  to himself in amusement. 

        “Arriving at Newshore. Last stop, Newshore, Last stop.” Fox thanked the woman and payed his seventy five cents. The feeling of accomplishment, though in reality he hadn’t accomplished anything, filled his lungs. this is how fox felt wherever he went. Evertime was an oppurtunity waiting to be taken. Of coarse all his other visits have failed, but once again this place made him discustingly happy from the small grocery store to the tall buildings that towered over the homes. Through the pain, his step was confident. He held his head up high and marched onward. Where excactly? Well, wherever his will took him. Endless store fronts ran across each side of the road. Open signs were just turning on and doors cracked open for business. The atmosphere here in Newshore was much more refreshing than the fallow acres of Esand Kay Place. Business men and woman with black suitcasses walked with determination and great sped around him. Suits and ties cluttered the massive sidewalks. Pressed against the walls, the beautiful sound of sax and guitar were being performmered by the talent stricken lowerclass. Jars sat at their feet everyday for people such as Fox to put big bucks into. Construction workers hollered at each other on a new building’s work cite. Fox lughed out loud at their incoherent screaming. A smile erupted on his face and his eyes peeled wide open. He knew passerbys would think of him oddly, but he didn’t care, for he didn’t notice. 

        “Taxi! Taxi!” A frantic voice came from behind. “Taxi!” The painfull screach spit in his ear. “Taxi!” The young man snapped his fingers frantically towards the cab, but it zoomed past without hesitation. “Damn it!” Fox tapped the man on the shoulder, who was around the same age as himself. “Yes?” The man asked aggitated.

        “Maybe you should call for a vacant taxi next time.” Fox pointed at the taxi that had passed. Typed on the top of the hood flashed the words, ‘Occupied’. “ Don’t worry I did the same thing my first time around here.” The man whipped around to Fox violently.

        “I live here. You think your all that don’t you? just cause you’ve been here a couple times. I swear the lot of you should get it together.” He nodded disapprovingly and turned his back to Fox with his arms crossed.

        “Sorry sir, I should have never assumed. I was just trying to help.” 

        “It’s fine just keep to yourself. Sometimes it’s better to not help.”

        “I know what you mean sir.” Fox went to turn around, but the man whipped back around cassually and thrusted his hand toward Fox. Fox gladly took it and gave an akward smile. 

        “I’m sorry for the outburst. It was out of line for someone like myself.” He said full of himself. “Reynolds Gregory.”

        “Fox Buckboot.”

        “Nice to meet you Fox. My fiance shares the same last name. Her name’s Lucy, do you happen to know her?” 

        “I don’t believe there are any Lucys in the family. Honestly, that’s the first buckboot I’ve ever heard of other than myself.” 

        “Really?” Reynolds was slightly confused and fox caught on. 

        “My family died in the EsandKay massacre when I was just a pup. I’ve never seen a soul with the same surname since.”

        “I’m so sorry. I’d be pleased to invite you to my home for diner. Lucy would be delighted to see you I’m sure.” Fox saw a huge opurtunity in front of him. His first shot at getting an apartement came only a few minutes off the bus. ‘It might work this time’ Fox thought. ‘For gods sake this might actually happen!’ This was one small step of the big picture. If he rejected this man’s offer he would be right back to square one. The only thing keeping him back was the stange man’s mood swings, but that didn’t cross Fox’s mind at that precise moment.

        “I would be delighted.”

        “Marvelous!” Reynolds whistled for a vaccant taxi and both of them leaped inside.    

“Two Thirds Oak and Chesnut.” 

“Sounds good.” The driver mumbled.

“Where do you live Mr.Buckboot?” Reynolds asked.

“EsandKay.”

“Oh so you still live there? Must be tough living in the waste of your nieghbors. It’s very deppresing, this massacre. I want despretlly to aid money, but they won’t accept. It’s a shame really.”

“Excuse me?” Fox erupted. “I believe you have no right to judge my home. And they don’t want your money because they don’t rely on fat cashed blokes like yourself.”Reynolds nodded and put his hand up in apology. Fox snorted and folded his arms. ‘This will be fun’. he peered out the window and absorbed what was left of his joy. 

Author's Note

This is what I'm giving out of my book. Tell me what you think. Straight from the noggin, so it's not completely edited, but readable.