Tuesday’s Tale, 7/25/2017.


Well, no one guessed. That’s fine because I have another installment regardless. I’m not sure this one will clear anything up yet, however. Another five minutes on the clock, and away we go!

“Sir, you need to evacuate. It’s a plan Zeta situation.”

At first, he was calm. “Evacuate what, the city?”

“No sir,” Smith answered. “You need to evacuate the country. And you also need to inform Canada to start their Zeta protocol as well.”

“It’s… that? Not just a dirty bomb threat?”

“Yes Mr. President, I’m afraid so.”

“Not a drill or a sick joke?”

“No, Mr. President,” Smith replied. “I’ve been over the data sent to me twice now. I can forward it….”

“But time is wasting. Alright, forward the data and then focus on the western seaboard. I’ll notify our allies and get all the balls rolling.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“If this turns out to be a false alarm, you’re going to be drilling ice cores in Alaska.”

“If this is a false alarm, Mr. President, I’ll be happy to.” The phone went dead and Smith eased it back on the cradle before pulling out his cell and starting to speed dial his list.

There would be death, regardless of what he did, but seconds mattered.

And there we have it! Anyone have an idea of what’s going on now? Let me know if you do, and see you next week!


Tuesday’s Tale, 7/18/2017.


Anyone care to guess where this is going?

At any rate, five minutes on the clock and away we go –

“How certain are you?” Mr. Smith asked as soon as Jenkins had left.

“Better than eighty percent,” Jones replied, clenching his hands.

“Evacuation plans?”

“Not for anything this big. We have some idea, but….”

“Do what you can. Start setting it all in motion, on my authority, and I’ll sign off on whatever you need.”

It won’t be enough, Jones thought; it won’t be nearly enough.

“What are you doing? Quit wasting time! get out of here and start calling. I’ll do the same from my end.”

“And the president?” Jones asked over his shoulder as he lunged for the door.

“I’ll let him know. You do what you can, you’re covered.”

“Yes, sir,” Jones said. The door closed and Mr. Smith fell into his chair.

“We’ll all do what we can,” he told the empty room.

And that’s where I have to stop… because have you ever had your dog come to you, whining, needing to go out RIGHT NOW? Because that just happened, and so I lost two minutes. Sorry, but there are no restarts on this train, we roll down the tracks with what we have. See you next week, and if you have a guess on where this is going, feel free to let me know.

Tuesday’s Tale, 7/11/2017.


Alright, I’ve been missing some time. I’ve no excuse for it, and I apologize. But I’m back now and ready to go. So, five minutes on the clock and a new tale to tell:

He abandoned all pretense of control and dignity, hurrying down the hall at the best run his aged legs could offer him.

He drew stares of course, but they were pointless now; meaningless. He paid them as little mind as he did the secretary who was even now rising from her seat with a half-hearted “Mr. Jones, you can’t go in there, he’s in a meeting! Mr. Jones!”

He was indeed in a meeting, with a young man who still had the glow of idealism on his cheeks. For a murderous moment, Mr. Jones envied that young man.

He shut the door as the two fell silent; then closed the distance remaining to the old man who had risen straight-backed from his large chair, and bent to whisper in one gray swaddled ear.

Mr. Jones took some satisfaction in the way his words drained the blood from the other man’s face.

Mr. Smith, however, was made of stern stuff. “Jenkins, leave us.”

And there you have it: five minutes and a paragraph. I’ll be along next week to add to it.