UZZIAH'S REVENGE: a snipit of my book

GIVE ME SOME IDEAS ON HOW TO INCORPORATE CHESS INTO THIS BOOK

It was 5:00 o’clock on March 16^th, when I was chomping down on a smelly burrito. My team and I had scored a free refrigerator for the clubhouse and were celebrating at Foggyburger; the P.W.H.F.’s favorite hamburger place. I have no idea why they serve burritos though. That doesn’t matter now. The point is that while we were there, a holocaust was taking place that very second.

Shane Felis, the Christian creative writer, writes an exhilarating story about friendship, loss, and revenge.

CHAPTER 1: Destruction

“How’s that burrito digesting?” My team member and friend Chris asked me. His thin blond/brown hair ruffled in the air from the ventilation shaft directly above our booth.

“Horrible. A third of it is on the floor.” I replied half laughing half regretting ordering that burrito.

He laughed. “You wouldn’t believe the terrible smoothies they served the other day. Gabriel and I went for a drink, and we thought that their 2 for 1 deal was sublime. So we knocked down a few Kiwi-Chocolate and Broccoli-Mangos. Boy did we suffer.”

My forehead wrinkled. “Sheesh! Why are we here, then, and not at Harold’s Kitchen?” I paused and glanced to the right of our booth. Across the checkered tile floor a server strode with a large dish. On it, was a scorched ham sandwich with a side of overcooked broccoli. A slight crack was heard overhead, and the poorly-engineered chandelier fell on the table with a clatter. Shards of the broken plastic stung us in the face.

Then Hadley, on the other side of the booth, popped his face over and cut in, “There’s rumors,” he mischievously appeared to have been eaves-dropping. “Ol’ Willy had a problem with the manager. He said the guy was annoying him to death. Some say the manager challenged and beat him in thumb-wrestling. I personally have a liking for the notion that this manager spilt ketchup on Will’s suit. It is a lot more dramatic that way.”

Chris glared as he pulled a shard out of his eye socket. “Hadley, you are weird.”

I raised my eyebrows and then turned away. “Not as queer as you, Columbus.” I muttered.

“You know what, Shane?”

“What?”

“I forgot.”

“Whatever.”

I got up and deserted those gossipers. Along the aisle I sauntered to check out the gumball machine. “Hmmm...bubble gum.” I thought. I dug around in my right leg pocket. Nothing. Then I checked the left one. Nothing. Then I checked the back left pocket. Nothing. Then in my last pocket something hard and in the shape of a coin was there. “YES! I HAVE FOUND A...nickel. Real nice.” I went passed the gumball machine and headed over to the nearest booth. Joshua was chatting away with Jake and S.J. about politics. There was no way I was going to get into another debate with Joshua. As I remembered the whipping I endured I stumbled into Roger through the hallway and apologized.

“Sorry, man.”

“It’s fine.”

“How’s it going?”

“Good.”

He walked away. Out of everyone in the P.W.H.F., Roger was the one who never had a good time. I shrugged it off. I waltzed over to the diner counter to have a word with the cook. The grubby old man was scrubbing filthy dishes. I was about to reprimand him when Sally interrupted me.

“I wouldn’t complain if I were you.”

My eyes narrowed. “And why, should I even dare to ask?

She held a stony warning stare. “Because.”

“Why?”

“You will be sorry.”

Sally was the only girl on the force, and was nice but a little hard to understand at times.

I sighed. “Can you explain that, please?”

“Well, all I am saying is that when I scolded the cook for his so called ‘Pea Soup’ he told me terrible things like mutated aliens and extraterrestrial beings.”

My eyes widened. “Ok.”

“You don’t believe a word I’m saying, do you?”

“No.”

“Fine. Suffer the consequences, Shane.”

“I will.”

I finally got to talk to the cook. Sally probably was a little too harsh on the poor chef.

“Did you know that your burrito tastes like boogers?”

He countered my insult with a question.

“Have you heard of the Truyfhhfm?”

“No.”

“Oooooo.”

“What?”

“The Truyfhhfm were aliens who became extinct after the Civil War of Pluto. The Whwhkjfhklj wiped them out. A terrible thing those Whwhkjfhklj did. Terrible. Most of the Eayell died. But not all of them. There are a few down here. Those Whwhkjfhklj are going to pay for what they did!”

Then he started sobbing.

I scratched the back of my head and then gave up. “This restaurant is so odd I think I’ll leave!” I yelled.

His expression changed. “No! They are tears of joy not of sadness!” he said.

I was disgusted. So I sauntered over to Joshua, S.J. and Jake. They were not (As I supposed) discussing politics. Instead, Jake was telling them stories of when he was a toddler.

“And when I landed, the Kryptonite got sucked up from him. It was luck that brought me that diamond-ray, though. You wouldn’t believe how mad he got when I jumped into my fighter jet. My butler was-hey Fighta Shane! What’s going on my man?!”

I smiled. “What’s up, Earth Quake Jake.”

He grinned. “Oh just telling them the stories of when I was in my glory days, you know.”

I nodded. “I know.”

Joshua’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed. His arms crossed held a position of judgement. “I don’t believe any of it. Just a pack of lies.” He commented. “You couldn’t have done all that as a toddler.”

Jake raised his eyebrows and tilted his head backwards. I noticed his fingers rapped the table with amusement. “If you don’t believe me, ask S.J. what he thinks. He’s a toddler himself.” He jerked his head to S.J.

S.J. was a small little boy with sharp eyes and a short blond hair style. 

“Well, S.J.?”

One of his eyebrows raised half an inch. He sat up, which still wasn’t enough to reach the salt shaker. “Considering the significant roles I have played in my past years, it isn’t hard to comprehend the superb tasks this fine gentleman has accomplished. I find it quite relatable.” He answered with suave.

I was stunned. I closed my jaw, realizing that it had been open while he was talking. “Whoa. How old are you anyway?” I asked.

“Five.”

“Superb.”

Joshua shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’m not persuaded. You chaps have not a sliver of evidence to your claims. Hey, Will! Where’s José?!” he asked abruptly.

Will raised his head from a menu a few booths away. “I left him at the clubhouse for guard watch.” he replied solemnly.

My brow furrowed. “That’s not fair! He should get to celebrate with us!” I exclaimed.

“Yeah!” Chris pitched in, spilling a drink as he got up.

Will rolled his eyes. ”We need someone guarding the clubhouse! The P.W.H.P. is on the move and we can’t risk losing another clubhouse.”

“Well then let’s check on him.” I answered.

Will gave in. “Fine, Shane. You and um… Chris and… Roger will go Check on him.

Little did Will know that the trio he chose to go on that mission decided the fates of many lives.

Roger looked reluctant. “Oh alright, but make it quick.” He said.

“Can we take the van?” I asked, hoping we would get air conditioning.

“Nope. You chaps wanted to check on Jose, so you go check on him on your own. Besides, we might need the van.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Roger complained.

“Fine. Let’s go, fellas.” Chris huffed.

So Chris, Roger and I trudged down to the clubhouse in the heat of day.

“Uhh! I’m never eating cheese puffs again!” Chris soberly recanted. Roger and I looked at each other and then shook our heads. It was a long painstakingly journey to the clubhouse, especially when you’re on foot.

Roger’s eyes widened. “Hey, look!” He whispered, pointing at a hobo on an electric scooter.

Chris’ eyes narrowed. “Oh, we could use that scooter.” He whispered back.

The hobo seemed to ignore us.

I had a worried expression. “I don’t know guys, he might be……” But they were already off running and yelling at the bewildered hobo that dropped the scooter and ran off. “Nice one!” I sarcastically scolded them.

Roger smiled. “Who cares?!” He snickered.

“Hop on, Loo-Loo.” Chris ridiculed me.

I shook my head. “Whatever.” I reluctantly said. So I hopped on the back of the electric scooter behind Roger and Chris. Boy did we zoom. Until Chris saw a squirrel and ran into a pole that was randomly in the middle of the dirt road.

“Rats!” Roger screamed at Chris.

“Serves you right, Columbus.” I muttered under my breath.

“I heard that!” Chris screeched.

I recalled the time Chris crashed the club golf cart into a dumpster truck. He was a terrible driver. But then again, I wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that I dented a famous football player’s ride on that valet job we did a few months back.

Roger’s eyes lit up. His smile was thin and suspicious. “Wow! That smells like a barbecue.” He remarked out of the blue as we marched up to the clubhouse.

“I hate barbecues. One time I had a pet kangaroo that ate my burger.” Chris said

I raised my eyebrows. “What did you eat then?” I asked.

He didn’t even hesitate. “The kangaroo.”

“I’m disgusted.”

“You should be.”

“I know.”

“No, I know.”

“Ya, you do know.”

“Ya? Well I should have told you that I know that I know that I don’t know.”

“You are confusing.”

“I know that.”

I wiped my forehead. “We’re almost there.” I said. Then I realized the horrible truth as we slowly came up the hill. “Get Back!!!” I whispered harshly. We peeked over the side of the hill and saw something that I still remember to this day. A fire. A fire so fierce that my eyes watered from eighty meters away. The clubhouse was completely ruined, burnt chairs, clothes, and all our other belongings. The clubhouse itself seemed to be a pillar of disintegration. Everything we worked for, gone. What was worse is that there were members of the P.W.H.P. EVERYWHERE! We were so shocked that we didn’t move for a half a minute. Then someone spotted us and screamed some sort of warning to others around.

Chris was the first to come to his senses. “Run!!!” He bellowed.

Boy did we run. We made a track and field champion look like a slug half asleep that just got up from bed. But that didn’t stop the P.W.H.P., they had minivans. They were catching up very fast when I spotted the hobo with a motorcycle. I could have kissed that hobo if we weren’t being chased by our arch nemesis. We ran up to that poor hobo who lost his other vehicle and the moment he saw Chris and Roger-he scrammed out of there. As we hopped on our new getaway motorcycle Chris complained about me getting to drive it.

“Ah! Why do you get to drive the new hip of the hop motorcycle?!”

I looked at him disbelievingly. “Do you think this is the time to fight about something like that?!” I asked him as we rounded a corner. “Besides, you were the one who ruined the scooter!” I exclaimed with my anger rising.

“That was your fault!”

“Wait...oh yes; I did trip your foot...”

“You are the problem!”

“Be quiet!”

Then we stopped.

“I think we lost them.” Roger muttered.

Chris lowered his head and stuck his bottom lip out. “Poor José.” He said out loud. I knew that we were all thinking of our good friend that risked his life for the P.W.H.F.’s clubhouse. But then I thought about our predicament. We needed help, fast. 

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