I was daydreaming and this is what I saw

Character Development: The Waitress

msloftis — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 11:00:34 +0000

Her wardrobe consisted of half a dozen blue waitress uniforms and not much of anything else. As a child, she had been a commodity; life was hell. Her teenage years spent on the run fighting to survive in a world that treats children as less than human. Her employment at the diner began when she was 18 years old. The previous owner and father of the young man behind the counter had been good to her. She cried the day he killed himself.

She was now 30 and a member of a secret society of child advocates that aid runners in evading capture from the retrievers. She hands the young girl and young man a piece of paper with a phone number as she ushers them out the backdoor of the diner.

Filed under: Marsha Loftis

Character Development: The Young Girl

msloftis — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 11:00:14 +0000

From what she remembers, her brown curls were from her drug- addicted mother. Her father unknown, he could have been one of a thousand men. Life as a commodity started at the age of four. If the state penitentiary had welcomed her mother a couple years sooner she might have had a chance at adoption and a good home.

It was time for the local commodity trade show. The elders of the church preferred enrolling younger girls into their vocational education program on the farm. Her days of picking vegetables and daily devotional were numbered. The elders had taken her picture and set her sale price. The caption on the bottom of the flyer stated she was a good reliable worker. She ran on impulse to stay with the young man. The law was clear, if you run away from a state sponsored vocational education program you become a criminal.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Character Development: The young man

msloftis — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 11:00:56 +0000

The young man’s tracking device ceased to function the day he turned 18. In a few months, the device implanted when he was a child would break down leaving a small scar, the only evidence of his forced servitude. Life as a commodity was over. The Vocational Education Program that bound him, as slave labor could no longer force him to work. He was a free man. His life his own, He could travel anywhere, go to college or seek employment. All traces of his life in hell erased from the books, sealed by the courts as governed by law.

The young man looked out the window; the rain was stopping. “We gotta go” he said nudging his girlfriend out of the booth. Her tracking device still functioned. She was a runner, a criminal.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Character Development: The VEP Administrator

msloftis — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 11:00:08 +0000

Vocational Education Program Administrator was his designated title. His dark blue jacket hung on the coat rack next to the door. The white shirtsleeves rolled half way up his forearms. He sat behind his desk with his face in his hands attempting to calm the migraine. The job was stressful and the main reason for his divorce. The stack of VEP applications on his desk were at an unmanageable level. His staff of four overwhelmed. There weren’t enough hours in the day or days in the week to complete all of the required inspections and paperwork. His most experienced and reliable inspector was on maternity leave. She would not return for at least 4 months and there was no replacement. The remaining inspectors slow, sloppy and teetered on the line of incompetence. His boss was breathing down his neck to increase productivity. Government funding for the program was dependent on the number of VEP applicants certified in a given year. His goal was 20 percent over last year. He looked at the stack of applications, he could fabricate the reports and save time, no one would know.

Filed under: Marsha Loftis

Character Development- The Truck Driver

msloftis — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 07:00:06 +0000

The truck was government- issue, purchased from an army surplus sale. The driver worked as a subcontractor for the Office of Financial Affairs delivering cargo to different Vocational Education Programs around the country. He wore an old tattered shirt and a leather jacket that had seen better days. He smelled of armpit, cigar smoke and fast food.

The driver laughed as he pulled himself into the cab of the truck. His cargo this trip consisted of two dozen frightened children on a one-way trip to hell. There was only three ways out of the VEP program: escape, die or parental buy-out.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Character Development: The Retriever

msloftis — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 13:05:09 +0000

He was in his mid-thirties but he looked older. 10 years spent as a retriever of runners had caused not one but two ulcers to develop in his stomach. He wore a black suit as required by the agency. A 9mm .40 cal semi-automatic pistol and a badge rested on his belt. The badge gave him the authority to capture runners. Dead or alive it didn’t matter. He had a quota and he was running behind this month.

The rain pounding on his windshield was making it difficult to see. He pulled into the Diner parking lot. The signal from the girl was weak but she was somewhere in the area. He slapped the side the tracking device a couple of times before giving it a big shake. The damn thing never worked right.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Character Development- The Diner

msloftis — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:05:26 +0000

He was tall and lean. His dark curly hair handed down from his mother; “God rest her soul”. With a heavy sigh, he wraps the food stained apron around his waist. He loathed this place; the counter, the stove, the constant smell of grease. The diner and its associated debt belonged to his dead coward of a father.

The office of Financial Affairs had no sympathy for late payments. Family debt had to paid on time or face the consequences. The wolves were already knocking at the door. He considered running away from it all but his younger brother was still tagged as a commodity. His location could be traced.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Character Development- Debt

msloftis — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 11:36:48 +0000

Family debt forced mothers and fathers to surrender their children to the state run Office of Financial affairs. As commodities of the state, children could be bought and sold until the age of 18. By law, the collectors could gather children to satisfy unpaid debt using any means necessary.

Her head ached, her eyes swollen from hours of crying. She pleaded her case and promised to sell a kidney but it was too late. She looked through the 8 foot high chain link fence as the guards loaded her son onto the truck. The boy was crying. He begged not to go. She yelled out his name and cried “I Love you”. Her voice drowned out by the other grieving parents.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Character Development: The travelers

msloftis — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 14:33:00 +0000

The diner was a temporary stopping place, a safe haven from the torrential downpour outside. The booth made of old wood was cold and drafty but offered a clear view of the road. Exhausted from their journey, her head of brown curls resting on his tired shoulders she whispers “I love you”.

The waitress brings the weary travelers two glasses of water and a day old cinnamon bun. The young man scratches his stubbly chin and nods in appreciation. He could offer no more. His pockets were empty.

The waitress sighs. There would be no tip from this table.

Filed under: Character Development, Creative Writing, Marsha Loftis

Dannick, The Awakening PT. 1

msloftis — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 11:36:07 +0000

(This is a rewrite)
My name is Ghent, according to the name tag over my left breast pocket. This name is not familiar to me but at the moment I must assume it is my own. I remember nothing prior to the time of my awakening; during my first conscious moments my mind attempted to search for answers. I was not afraid but lost in blankness; there were no images to retrieve, no clue to my predicament. Limited to a space no larger than a casket, movement was minimal; I used my hands to search for a button or a lever that would allow escape from my captivity. While blindly searching the walls, a light above my head began to flash and change in color from red, to yellow, to green. The hatch released allowing external air to rush in; the sudden change in air pressure caused my lungs to take a series of unexpected deep breaths. The inhalation of fresh air was invigorating. I reached out and pushed the hatch aside. My first images of freedom were a metal grey ceiling lined with pipes and recessed lighting. Curious about my surroundings coupled with the desire to flee my confinement I sat up. To my surprise, I was not alone.

A room of strangers, both male and female from various places of origin, we looked at each other uncertain what to say. When words were finally spoken the language unfamiliar but recognizable to all. My first attempts to speak in retrospect were comical. I started and stopped sentences several times in an attempt to fix the malfunction in my brain. The words in my head English but what springs forth from my mouth is not.

I look around, nothing is familiar. A placard on the wall suggests we are in a place called Dannick. None of us remember entering the pods; our minds blank in regards to past events. Attempts to brain storm for answers ineffective; our imaginations run wild with possibilities. We can only speculate as to how, when or why our destinies collided in this place.

Our matching jumpsuits suggest we are members of a group; possibly inmates or an elite band of warriors. I prefer to think we are the later or something comparable in respectability. I do not wish to be a criminal or an escaped test subject of a mad scientist.

Not knowing what to do, this place unfamiliar, collectively we decided to explore our surroundings. Our location has no windows. I suggest we are on a military vessel or in the deep dark depths of a research facility or possibly a fallout shelter; although a logical reason for being in either of those places is not readily apparent. I step toward the only door leading in or out of the room in hopes it is not secure. My exit is abruptly halted by an older man and four armed guards. The escorts looked as if they were ready to shoot anything or anyone that stepped out of line. I step back toward my own pod in hopes of not dying before I learned of who I am or where I came from.

The older man’s name is Captain Addison. “Welcome to the Dannick” he says with all the joy of a proud father. He called us recruits and congratulates us on finding our way to the Dannick. If we are recruits why are armed guards necessary. My mind is confused. I try to remember what I have forgotten, to make sense of my circumstance. Capt Addison makes it sound as if we are here by choice. He seems nice enough but I feel as if all it not what it seems. I am a recruit for this vessel but yet something deep within says I do not belong here.

Filed under: Creative Writing, Fiction, Journal, Marsha Loftis