There is nothing quite like a good story

Dennison Story Tellers

The only thing better than reading a good story is writing a good story



Lydia waved to her family as she rode off wearing her sun dress and holding her faithful guardian at her side.  Mrs. Bennet waved back, a tear fell helplessly to the ground.  Elizabeth stood at the window in the old rambling house in front of the pie cabinet; waiting for the moment that her sister would leave her forever, never to return.


Dust arose as the carriage tore across the water stricken ground; her white dress fluttered violently.  The shameless wind blew the dirt through the open carriage windows creating a galaxy of confusion.  A falcon could spy a dust cloud sailing across the land; he may think that it having two heads which looked a bit like those of stallions, and only a diminishing tail, that it was from another land; far, far away.  Or maybe it was only the hot air of the Heterfordshire evening that confused such a bird.  But the farmer’s boy, Collins, could make out a royal carriage making its way across the land with great speed, past the tall deadly cliffs, as fast as a rock falling from the place some call heaven.,  The driver of the carriage challenges any animal to obstruct their path as it has no chance of escaping the fierce wheels and the eight mighty hooves of the gallant stallions.

“*Mi Corazón, the evening sun sheds truthful light on us; for there is promise that we will live a fruitful life which brings us peace and happiness.” speaks Lydia.


Lydia and her husband, both having great monetary wealth, are well known in Heterfordshire.  Lydia, 16, is the heiress of her family’s fortune.  Her husband, 22, is the heir of the Chéz diamond which shows at the National Museum of the Arts in France.


Suddenly, the driver yanks the reins and the mighty wheels come to a slow stop.  The stallions breathe violently with increasing fear.  The air clears of dirt.  Mísoúr Jaqué, the carriage driver now lay on the ground beating his last beats.  The horses move nervously.  The locked carriage doors are ripped open, destroying the elegant décor and wood.  Eight armed *bandidos on horses appear in the last rays of light.  At gun point, Lydia and her guardian; just married, are taken hostage.


Three nights later, they arrive to Stachóm, one of the many French shipping ports operated by Diablo.  A mean and ruthless man who grew up in the allies of Iran, he takes the respect of all his workers.  The inexperienced and poor have little work here in Stachóm, so when the money gets tight and the options are slim, working for Diablo is an easy choice.


She and her husband’s life are now at the moral end.  A ship armed with cannons on all three decks await them as they're hauled in a cage, used for animals, by grimy men up to the black deck; once cut and laid by refugees of a prison camp.  “Hold ‘em in a powder hold!” orders the captain.  The cage is opened; Lydia is torn from her husband’s mighty grasp and taken to a powder hold.  Her companion is tied to the mast.  Darkness covers Lydia in the hold as iron bars complete the lock.  They all await the worst.  “Hello” squeaks a voice.  “Who may you be?” replies Lydia, with greatest concern.  “I am the prisoner of last” he replies.  “I was caught here because I thought I might take a slice of bread for my family.  This is the end you know, the end of anyone’s happiness.  We are all destined to work with little food, maybe the plan.  Diablo is ruthless, the worst man of all!  We can prohibit ourselves and the crew a cruel life, as we are in the powder hold and a great powder hold it is!”


“I shall speak the truth,” Says Lydia.  “Sadly, I know not of what to do; therefore, I will take to trusting you.  I have heard little of this man you speak of, thus our trust is in you for the better of me, my husband and the crew.”


The horizon was red as blood that night, the setting sun could make such a romantic theme, but many barrels of gun powder and a spark, set the waters around the ship the same color as the sky.



The End



* Mi Corazón is the Spanish word for my heart.

* Bandidos is the Spanish word for bandits





English Eleven

Monday, April 20, 2009