| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted October 13, 2015 | Chapters: |
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Introduction
A chapter in the book Drinking Problem -- The Book
Wild Blue Yonder
by Brett Matthew West
Seattle.
1977.
TEN-YEAR-OLD JONATHAN DAVID DUNGSTON SCURRIED UP THE STAIRS TO HIS BEDROOM. He barely felt the quarter inch thick, pale blue, pile carpeting tickle his sensitive bare feet as he made his ascent. Unceremoniously, he slammed the door shut behind him. This was his private sanctuary. The place he retreated when he needed to be alone.
School that day had been boring. And, now his parents, who had arrived home not ten minutes earlier, were bickering. It was more than he could stand. Not only that, but, this time they were having a real good, knock-down, drag-out, no holds barred, heated discussion.
Most of their squabbles seemed to be over finances. According to his mom and dad, there was never enough of them to go around. Jonathan failed to understand this concept because they both held important jobs.
His mother, Velma Louise Dungston, a petite woman with golden blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulder, was a Registered Nurse. She was also the head of the hospital's Pediatric Department, where she had worked ever since he was born.
Jonathan's father, Professor Robert Earl Dungston, was a Marine Biologist at the local university, as well as the Chair of the Foundation for the Ethical Treatment of Sea Horses. He was also the manager of Jonathan's Little League baseball team, the Dragons, where Jonathan played shortstop and second base.
Busying himself with his model airplane collection he had laid out in a squadron on top of a table, in the far corner of his room, Jonathan allowed his vivid imagination to once again soar off into the wild blue yonder.
Jonathan had built, and meticulously hand painted, these planes himself. He was an excellent craftsman. Many tireless hours the boy labored in their construction. He had even painstakingly glued the tiniest plastic pieces on each plane in just the right places.
Most days Jonathan wiled away enjoyable afternoon, and evening, hours pretending he was flying combat missions in his airplanes.
On those occasions when his parents argued, like they were doing now, he wished he was piloting one of his airplanes anywhere, except Seattle, Washington. The state where his family resided.
Jonathan's marvelous airplane escapades had transported him on many exciting adventures to far distant lands. He could be found hunkering down over the wide Pacific Ocean, where he would bomb enemy warships. He could also be observed flying high over the Rocky Mountains in nearby Vancouver, British Columbia.
Once he had even flown a secret government mission north to Alaska to bring back a payload of gold bouillon. That achievement made him a world famous hero.
Yes, his airplanes, in all their shining glory, were Jonathan's escape.
Undeniably, the boy knew his doting parents adored him. Just like everybody else did. He played the blonde-headed, boy-next-door, image perfectly. He only wished they would not banter so much.
He also wished the bottle his father kept stashed away in the kitchen cabinet would magically disappear somehow. Because, it was when that bottle appeared all the biggest disputes between his parents erupted.
And, Jonathan understood touching that bottle would result in his having a very sore bottom shortly thereafter. His daddy had promised him so. Jonathan always had plenty of those to go around any way. He didn't need any more for willful disobedience over a bottle. So, as much as he despised that bottle, he left it alone.
Good thing Kyle Jenner, his very best friend in the whole wide world, lived two doors down the street from him on Kimberton Avenue. If the shouting and hollering between his parents got too bad he could always go hang out with Kyle. Which he frequently did. The last three years they had become inseparable companions.
@October 13, 2015 by Brett Matthew West
All Rights Reserved
No portion of this story, or its storyline, may be reproduced in any form without the prior written consent of the copyright holder
.
Seattle.
1977.
TEN-YEAR-OLD JONATHAN DAVID DUNGSTON SCURRIED UP THE STAIRS TO HIS BEDROOM. He barely felt the quarter inch thick, pale blue, pile carpeting tickle his sensitive bare feet as he made his ascent. Unceremoniously, he slammed the door shut behind him. This was his private sanctuary. The place he retreated when he needed to be alone.
School that day had been boring. And, now his parents, who had arrived home not ten minutes earlier, were bickering. It was more than he could stand. Not only that, but, this time they were having a real good, knock-down, drag-out, no holds barred, heated discussion.
Most of their squabbles seemed to be over finances. According to his mom and dad, there was never enough of them to go around. Jonathan failed to understand this concept because they both held important jobs.
His mother, Velma Louise Dungston, a petite woman with golden blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulder, was a Registered Nurse. She was also the head of the hospital's Pediatric Department, where she had worked ever since he was born.
Jonathan's father, Professor Robert Earl Dungston, was a Marine Biologist at the local university, as well as the Chair of the Foundation for the Ethical Treatment of Sea Horses. He was also the manager of Jonathan's Little League baseball team, the Dragons, where Jonathan played shortstop and second base.
Busying himself with his model airplane collection he had laid out in a squadron on top of a table, in the far corner of his room, Jonathan allowed his vivid imagination to once again soar off into the wild blue yonder.
Jonathan had built, and meticulously hand painted, these planes himself. He was an excellent craftsman. Many tireless hours the boy labored in their construction. He had even painstakingly glued the tiniest plastic pieces on each plane in just the right places.
Most days Jonathan wiled away enjoyable afternoon, and evening, hours pretending he was flying combat missions in his airplanes.
On those occasions when his parents argued, like they were doing now, he wished he was piloting one of his airplanes anywhere, except Seattle, Washington. The state where his family resided.
Jonathan's marvelous airplane escapades had transported him on many exciting adventures to far distant lands. He could be found hunkering down over the wide Pacific Ocean, where he would bomb enemy warships. He could also be observed flying high over the Rocky Mountains in nearby Vancouver, British Columbia.
Once he had even flown a secret government mission north to Alaska to bring back a payload of gold bouillon. That achievement made him a world famous hero.
Yes, his airplanes, in all their shining glory, were Jonathan's escape.
Undeniably, the boy knew his doting parents adored him. Just like everybody else did. He played the blonde-headed, boy-next-door, image perfectly. He only wished they would not banter so much.
He also wished the bottle his father kept stashed away in the kitchen cabinet would magically disappear somehow. Because, it was when that bottle appeared all the biggest disputes between his parents erupted.
And, Jonathan understood touching that bottle would result in his having a very sore bottom shortly thereafter. His daddy had promised him so. Jonathan always had plenty of those to go around any way. He didn't need any more for willful disobedience over a bottle. So, as much as he despised that bottle, he left it alone.
Good thing Kyle Jenner, his very best friend in the whole wide world, lived two doors down the street from him on Kimberton Avenue. If the shouting and hollering between his parents got too bad he could always go hang out with Kyle. Which he frequently did. The last three years they had become inseparable companions.
@October 13, 2015 by Brett Matthew West
All Rights Reserved
No portion of this story, or its storyline, may be reproduced in any form without the prior written consent of the copyright holder
.
1977.
TEN-YEAR-OLD JONATHAN DAVID DUNGSTON SCURRIED UP THE STAIRS TO HIS BEDROOM. He barely felt the quarter inch thick, pale blue, pile carpeting tickle his sensitive bare feet as he made his ascent. Unceremoniously, he slammed the door shut behind him. This was his private sanctuary. The place he retreated when he needed to be alone.
School that day had been boring. And, now his parents, who had arrived home not ten minutes earlier, were bickering. It was more than he could stand. Not only that, but, this time they were having a real good, knock-down, drag-out, no holds barred, heated discussion.
Most of their squabbles seemed to be over finances. According to his mom and dad, there was never enough of them to go around. Jonathan failed to understand this concept because they both held important jobs.
His mother, Velma Louise Dungston, a petite woman with golden blonde hair that cascaded over her shoulder, was a Registered Nurse. She was also the head of the hospital's Pediatric Department, where she had worked ever since he was born.
Jonathan's father, Professor Robert Earl Dungston, was a Marine Biologist at the local university, as well as the Chair of the Foundation for the Ethical Treatment of Sea Horses. He was also the manager of Jonathan's Little League baseball team, the Dragons, where Jonathan played shortstop and second base.
Busying himself with his model airplane collection he had laid out in a squadron on top of a table, in the far corner of his room, Jonathan allowed his vivid imagination to once again soar off into the wild blue yonder.
Jonathan had built, and meticulously hand painted, these planes himself. He was an excellent craftsman. Many tireless hours the boy labored in their construction. He had even painstakingly glued the tiniest plastic pieces on each plane in just the right places.
Most days Jonathan wiled away enjoyable afternoon, and evening, hours pretending he was flying combat missions in his airplanes.
On those occasions when his parents argued, like they were doing now, he wished he was piloting one of his airplanes anywhere, except Seattle, Washington. The state where his family resided.
Jonathan's marvelous airplane escapades had transported him on many exciting adventures to far distant lands. He could be found hunkering down over the wide Pacific Ocean, where he would bomb enemy warships. He could also be observed flying high over the Rocky Mountains in nearby Vancouver, British Columbia.
Once he had even flown a secret government mission north to Alaska to bring back a payload of gold bouillon. That achievement made him a world famous hero.
Yes, his airplanes, in all their shining glory, were Jonathan's escape.
Undeniably, the boy knew his doting parents adored him. Just like everybody else did. He played the blonde-headed, boy-next-door, image perfectly. He only wished they would not banter so much.
He also wished the bottle his father kept stashed away in the kitchen cabinet would magically disappear somehow. Because, it was when that bottle appeared all the biggest disputes between his parents erupted.
And, Jonathan understood touching that bottle would result in his having a very sore bottom shortly thereafter. His daddy had promised him so. Jonathan always had plenty of those to go around any way. He didn't need any more for willful disobedience over a bottle. So, as much as he despised that bottle, he left it alone.
Good thing Kyle Jenner, his very best friend in the whole wide world, lived two doors down the street from him on Kimberton Avenue. If the shouting and hollering between his parents got too bad he could always go hang out with Kyle. Which he frequently did. The last three years they had become inseparable companions.
@October 13, 2015 by Brett Matthew West
All Rights Reserved
No portion of this story, or its storyline, may be reproduced in any form without the prior written consent of the copyright holder
.
 Recognized |
Since I posted the popularly reviewed Short Story I entitled Drinking Problem several FanStorians have asked me to expand on the tale.
Maybe even write a full length book about it.
I do not know if a book will result, but for those who have requested it, this chapter begins the expansion of my Short Story known as Drinking Problem
Bolding the first sentence purposely done for creative enhancement.
Thanks Lilibug6 for the use of your photograph entitled "American Fighter Planes". It goes so nicely with my little story.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Maybe even write a full length book about it.
I do not know if a book will result, but for those who have requested it, this chapter begins the expansion of my Short Story known as Drinking Problem
Bolding the first sentence purposely done for creative enhancement.
Thanks Lilibug6 for the use of your photograph entitled "American Fighter Planes". It goes so nicely with my little story.
Artwork by Lilibug6 at FanArtReview.com
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