– one of the fiction books written by Michael K. Hurder © [2025]
Read along as I create fiction. You might recognize at least one character. In the realm of make-believe, I’ve explored various themes and characters. This one is dearer to me than all the rest of my writing.
It most resembles my fantasy life just as I envision it.
As this story’s fiction unfolds, it reveals the struggles and triumphs of its characters, inviting readers to reflect on their own lives. A great way to self-analyze using fiction as the screen. We find ourselves wondering how our life differs from the fiction. How is it the same compared to the fiction? Only in the dreamworld can we create any life we want…and live it vicariously.
The thing about fiction is that we may not always like it. This is okay with fiction. None of it is mandatory reading. That’s what makes fiction so much fun, to read and to write.
Begin
…an old man’s adventure with three wild siblings.
[Chapter 1] — hunted
The three lay quietly near the stiffening body of their mother. It had been hours since the big cat found their den while the mother was hunting. The cat ravaged two siblings before the mother returned and confronted their attacker. She fought the mountain lion to a draw. The lion was satisfied to make off with one of the cubs hanging lifeless from its maw. The mother wolf’s injuries were grave, though. She managed to drag the other dead cub away from the den, then return to her live pups, lay down, and shortly die of her wounds. The remaining cubs were afraid, thirsty, hungry, and now alone.
The den was near a brook, and the spring runoff kept up the flow of fresh water. The larger of the three cubs timidly made his way to the water’s edge and fitfully drank. His siblings followed. The cat’s spoor was still in the air, so they quickly returned to the den when they’d drunk their fill. They didn’t understand why their mother was still but instinctively knew they were in trouble and cowered close together. The urge to howl was strong. The need to remain unnoticed was more vital. They huddled closer and waited.
Shorty was a strange man. He had a family in the Bay Area but lived alone in a mini-RV. After years of fighting his PTSD unsuccessfully, he gave up on trying to make a career in the everyday world. His family understood his issues, but no one else did, and it cost them dearly; in jobs, homes, cars, unpaid bills, and serenity. It was a mess, and he couldn’t find a way out.
Five years earlier, he’d given up pursuing financial security after another firing for telling his boss he was stupid. Shorty was about to cash it in. He’d quit drinking and drugging a hundred times only to return to one or the other after walking himself into another catastrophe. This time was no different. Tossing back his third shot of the cheapest whiskey the bar sold, a tap on the shoulder brought him to immediate fight mode. One thing Shorty did well was fight. He would fight anyone for any reason; touch him from behind, and you’d find out in a hurry.
Shorty was ready to rock in what a warrior would call “cocked and locked” mode, both fists balled into hammers. Then a familiar voice cut him off in mid-spin,
“Is that you, Shorty? Well, I’ll be damned. It is you, you little fireball. I see you’re still a wooden matchstick lying next to the fire. Safe your weapons, troop. How the hell are you, man?”
“Perry? Jesus, I nearly decked you. Son of a bitch! What are you doing slumming it? You’re a big mucky-muck with Western Geographic. They don’t pay enough for you to drink at a proper men’s club?”
“Funny guy. I’m researching a new talent. Despite my success, most photographers couldn’t make a living off their art, even if their last name was Adams. This dump is where the guy wanted to meet, but he’s a no-show. I was leaving when I saw your mug in the mirror. Damn, it’s good to see you. How have you been?”
Shorty seemed stuck for an answer. His facial expression passed from joy seeing an old friend to anger and despair. Perry knew that look well. He’d seen it enough while sharing a hootch on Bien Hoa. Shorty was a hothead, especially in the face of an incompetent leader, of which there were plenty in 1972 Vietnam. The role of America at that point in the war was one of support more than war fighting. Most of the warfighters were going home in droves. Those left to carry on had twice the workload with half the resources and too many newbies in every role.
They had been best buds since K9 school in Fort Benning, Georgia. They were Scout/Patrol dog handlers. They had to cover lots of territory on and off Bien Hoa Base Camp in support of the ever-dwindling 1st Cavalry Division, which had to cover all of War Zone D. They were both excellent at their jobs and never complained about their duty. But – put Shorty in the hands of a newby LT, and the shit was sure to hit the fan. They survived and came home. Perry adjusted well to civilian life. The horror of his experiences there stayed with Shorty for the rest of his life.
“Aw, hell, Perry. I screwed up again. I lost another job. I don’t know what I will tell Donna when I get home. I can’t disappoint her again. I can’t. Shit!”
His raised voice and the use of an expletive caught the bartender’s and the patrons’ attention. When Shorty lowered his head and waved an apology, the bar returned to its usual subdued din.
“Don’t tell me,” Perry said. “Another asshole boss who doesn’t have a clue. Am I right?”
When Shorty didn’t answer and hung his head even lower, Perry knew he was right.
“Jesus Christ, Mike, what the hell?”
The guy had a history, Perry thought, and he wondered if Shorty had clobbered someone again and if the cops would show up any minute.
Shorty – Mike – knew Perry was upset with him. No one called him Mike but his wife unless they were mad or disappointed in him.
“Listen,” Perry said. “Why don’t you call it quits for the night and let me take you home? You know Donna won’t throw you out or even be mad at you. She never is. You married a goddamned saint, and I’ll never understand how you got so lucky. Maybe God set her in your path because He knew you needed her.”
“You’re right. Two more of these, and I’ll be taking on the whole bar.’ He put some bills on the bar, stood up, and headed for the door with Perry on his heels
“So, what are you going to do?” Perry asked.
Despite the comment about meeting new talent, he had an ulterior motive for being there. Since earlier that afternoon, Perry had been on a mission to bring the best photographer he knew, Shorty, onto the payroll as a stringer at least. Now that they were in his car, he thought, – I must be crazy even considering this, but it’s Shorty. He’s never let me down.
“Christ, man. I don’t know. With my rep, I’ll never get back into field service work, and that’s the only job where I don’t have to listen to assho…, erm, idiots all day.”
There was quiet while Perry considered his idea. Heavy breathing from his passenger caught his attention.
“You okay, man? Do you need me to pull over?”
“What? Oh, no! I’m trying to calm myself with deep breathing. It never works once I’ve had a few, but I must try anyway. I can’t face Donna mad.”
“Ah! I thought you were going to hurl. We can go back and take your car. No puking in the ‘cedes. Suck it up, troop.”
That brought a smile to Shorty’s lips – for a brief moment.
“Look. I have an idea. Remember how you loved to make images in Nam? You’d capture great shots of the people and the few animals we saw. And I still have the photos you took of Buddy and me. You got me to put my head in his mouth in one. God, that was funny.”
“Anyway, I was thinking. I still have to hire someone for this job since that guy didn’t show, and I don’t have anyone else to interview. Most of these kids are college pukes who are technical as hell but couldn’t frame an eagle in flight if it stopped and waved at them.”
Perry paused to allow Shorty’s half-cracked mind to process what he’d said. Do you think you might be interested?”
“What? Are you crazy? I don’t have my Minolta anymore, and I don’t know if I remember how to use it anyway. You’re nuts, Perry.”
“Well, it’s not a permanent job. Not yet. But I need someone to go with me on a shoot in the Sierras. I need an assistant. My son had the job until he decided he wanted to go back to school and get his master’s degree. The pay isn’t great, and never is, but it’s full-time, and it’s right up your alley. The only boss you’ll have is me.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack, yes.”
“Well, shit.”
That was the beginning of Shorty’s new career. He picked up the technical part in a week of working with Perry. He had fun doing it and loved being in the quiet of the deep Sierra. The job stuck, and Perry sent him on one assignment after another in the wilderness areas of eastern California. Shorty insisted on working alone. In time, the editors loved his work and constantly used it for their online presence and advertisements. He didn’t make it to the big time in the magazine, though. He insisted that Perry take credit for his work and keep his name out of the limelight.
Unfortunately, Shorty became more and more reclusive and grew to hate being near people. So much so that he barely came home but sent 75% of his pay home to Donna. He eventually saved enough money to put a down payment on a small RV.
Today, five years later, he goes home for the holidays. Western Geo sprung for a fancy, expensive satellite communications package for his work, so he zooms with Donna, his kids, and his grandkids whenever they’re not pissed off at him. He understands their pain, but his demons are quiet when he’s alone and in the woods. It’s the only time in 43 years that’s been the case. He doesn’t even take the head meds the VA shrinks prescribed for him. The only ones to be angry at in the mountains were the bears and coyotes who’d steal his lunch.
That brought Shorty to the right place at the right time to help some needy critters.
end chapter 1
[next – Chapter 2] Found
Bonus Fiction Feature:
If you read any of the fiction I create here to the end, you will be able to download a free copy when It’s complete. If I get a referral from you, I’ll throw in the fiction – Burtt.