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William King

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About William King

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    https://williamkingweb.wordpress.com/

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    Male
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    Nouvelle-Aquitaine

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  1. William King

    Desert of the Real - a short story

    I came across this short story Desert of the Real on the story lover site and I was deeply moved by it, a story from the soul, an allegory of the search for salvation, acceptance, companionship, sacrifice. It's all in there, in one short story.
  2. William King

    Z is for Zombie by Geron Kees

    I haven't read this story yet, but I am guided on what to read by the posted comments: so, I won't be put off by the title (although I was, before @Ivor Slipper commented); I agree with @Merkin that Geron is a force to be reckoned with (so, another great tale from him); but @Jason Rimbaud I don't know what to make of a half comment, you'd recommend it, but a couple of things bothered you? (What, would it be a spoiler to mention them? Is that why you didn't?). Generally, I do find peoples comments and recommendations very useful in choosing what to read.
  3. William King

    Britishisms gaining a foothold in the U.S.

    I'm not too sure how many people will get that allusion... we're in danger of everything going tits-up!
  4. William King

    Britishisms gaining a foothold in the U.S.

    I have always read it as odd that our American friends use the word "tidbit," rather than its equivalent "titbit," which being British I am much more familiar with. By chance, I happened across this rather interesting, even humorous, explanation: It is not, of course, that the British do not use the word tit for ‘breast’; it’s more that they use it for some other things that North Americans don’t really use it for and so it doesn’t have as naked an association. https://sesquiotic.com/2014/05/04/titbit-tidbit/
  5. William King

    US Expenditure

    LOL... but I bet if we go back far enough you used to be one of those funny looking college students that didn't work much!
  6. William King

    UN Survey

    That's just too funny... 😂
  7. William King

    Summer Job by Altimexis

    I found it was like an epilogue to the Valentine's Day short story February Surprise, interesting to find out what happened, but nothing more, except it gave a great insight into life in the US as an American Asian.
  8. William King

    Gabriel's Island, by Marin Giustinian

    @Merkin I just wanted to add (a little off topic) that I read this story because you recommended it. I enjoyed it and passed on the recommendation, and it spread like ripples, so others enjoyed it also. I think it's great to pop in links to stories you've liked with a brief indication as to why and what the story is about. I've discovered lots of good stories this way. So thanks for the recommendation.
  9. William King

    Gabriel's Island, by Marin Giustinian

    Looking into stuff about soul mates and souls I came across the inevitable scientific rebuttal of their existence. You would be looking for one person in half a billion and given you would become acquainted with around 50,000 people in your lifetime, unless you got very lucky you would only find true love (your soul mate) in one lifetime out of 10,000. Nice statistics but the basic assumption is that the process is random. It is not. Love is all around you. Around two thirds of Americans believe we have a soul, science says we are stuck in Cartesian dualism, we see our physical bodies separate from the "spiritual stuff of souls" which don't exist, and all memories, feelings, and sense of personal identity coming from an immaterial soul are actually just "a vast assembly of nerve cells and their associated molecules," (Francis Crick, biologist who co-discovered DNA). Both are right. We are stuck in dualism. The immaterial soul is greater than those individual memories and sense of personal identity, but feelings persist. Memories fade, personal identity is a construction. It's feelings that connect us to the universe and through which we may reveal the world and discover a soul mate. Feelings carry with them a vague sense of person, memories can linger, feelings reside in the soul, are often inexplicable, and last beyond a lifetime!
  10. William King

    New author error?

    When adding the link to Discord chat you get a cameo of the website. Presumably, what the site owner has set up. For instance, in the case of gay authors, you get a large GA logo, but as you can see (above) with AwesomeDude for this story you get, Gabriel's Island, A story by Cynus. I'm not either techie enough or familiar enough with these forums to tell you where it is set up like that. It's probably hidden somewhere where you never even thought about it, because usually links back to sites are just, well a link. I guess things are getting more sophisticated (or is that complicated)!
  11. William King

    New author error?

    The short story http://awesomedude.com/marin-giustinian/gabriels-island/gabriels-island.htm Gabriel's Island by Marin Giustinian is some how linked to Cynus and there is no author home page or listing on the authors column?
  12. William King

    Gabriel's Island, by Marin Giustinian

    A short story that evokes the experience of life, the search, a journey, in some non-comprenhensible way, a sort of compulsion to find your home and perhaps your soul mate. The story is as beautiful as the landscape in which it is set.
  13. William King

    The Perfect Pitch

    Thank you Chris ☺
  14. William King

    The Perfect Pitch

    The Perfect Pitch by William King. Dark clouds scuttled across a grey sky that morning, like an ominous premonition of what was to come. No one spoke as they clambered down the side of the ship and into the landing craft, the only sound was the churning of the engine, the rest he blotted out. The boat rolled and bounced as it turned towards the beach. Private Williams’ stomach churned, not because of the sea, but with fear and apprehension. Even a glance at his buddy Jake could not dispel the knot in the pit of his belly. He followed the others down the ramp and splashed into the cold water that was up to their waist. Jake was beside him as they struggled towards the beach, his rifle held high over his head. It was as if someone had turned down the volume, everything seemed quiet, but the bullets zipping all around were real enough. The bodies floating in the water and lying on the sand in front of him were a vision from Hell. Matt Williams was never a great believer when the family listened to the preacher on Sundays, but for the first time in his life he prayed to almighty God to save him. He stumbled, crouching over, up the beach towards the dunes. There was nowhere else to go. The roar of gun fire, shouting, and screams, were everywhere. The zizz of a bullet whizzed past his face. He moved as if in a trance, adrenalin coursed through his veins. Just one goal – the dunes. He collapsed on the ground, curled up against the meagre protection from the little ridge. He wanted to make a hole and crawl into it. His clothes were soaked, from the sea and from his own urine. There was a thud beside him, Jake was there in the sand. His buddy looked over at a ghost whose face was drained white. A tiny smile formed on his lips as he reached out a hand. Matt couldn't feel anything but fear, he silently implored his mom to come and get him. When he realised that would never happen, he prayed if he was hit that he would die instantly. Jake's grip tried to calm his friend’s trembling body. He noticed the blood on his cheek, Matt was not even aware he'd been hit. “You guys alright?” Sergeant Drewer with eight others from their platoon had joined them. They were all hugging that little ridge for protection. Jake nodded to the Sergeant. Looking back down the beach it was littered with obstacles and bodies. He saw one landing craft take a direct hit. “We've got to follow the rangers up the cliffs, GET IT TOGETHER!” The Sergeant barked out the command. Jake and Matt turned to look up ahead. “Come on mate, we can make it.” There was no choice, Matt shifted himself off the sand following the others up the gully, which at least offered some protection. About halfway up they stopped. Looking back over the beach Matt got the impression the invasion had been abandoned, there were no more troops coming ashore. Further along the beach was a lot of smoke. Whatever was burning it was at least giving those poor sods some cover. “MOVE YOUR FUCKING ASSES WE'RE NOT HERE FOR A PICNIC!” One after the other they made the cliff top, scrambling over on their bellies into the tall grass. To their right the ominous concrete walls of a German pillbox protruded from the cliff. “Arnold, Williams, Slater, Davis, Berman get around the back. The rest of you with me. We're taking this mother fucker. NOW MOVE IT!” Matt and Jake crawled towards the gun emplacement, one behind the other, following Slater, Davis and Berman. Davis had been pitcher on his high school team and for some unknown reason he decided to break cover. Matt went to stand up and pull him back down, but Jake grabbed him. Davis pulled the pin and threw the grenade, it must have been sixty feet. The crack, crack, crack, of machine gun fire spat out. Who knows what makes a hero? Davis fell backwards, Matt's eyes followed the grenade. It hit the outside edge of the angled opening and must have dropped down just inside. The explosion was muffled by the thick concrete. It was the perfect pitch. Davis stared unblinking at the rolling clouds, a tiny stream of blood trickling from the side of his mouth. Jake crawled over, but there wasn't anything to do. He was dead, shot three times, in the chest and neck. They moved forward quickly now. Standing up and bent over, running around to the back of the pillbox. They came in behind Drewer and the rest. There were several shots. As the smoke cleared Matt looked away. Coming back out he moved over to the wall, stretched out his arm to support himself, and vomited. “Who the hell told Davis to throw a grenade?” Matt, Jake, Slater and Berman didn't answer. Sergeant Drewer sat down and took out a pack of cigarettes. He didn't want an answer, it was an insane thing to do, but probably saved their lives. “You look like shit.” Jake put an arm around Matt's shoulders. “Thanks.” He tried a tired sort of smile, but couldn't quite get his lips to move. “Least we made it.” “Yeah.” There were nine of them including Sergeant Drewer, which was less than half the platoon. “What now Sarg?” Arnie Slater was the little guy from New Jersey, the wise guy, he was always first with the questions. Berman was from Brooklyn, Ruben, he was Jewish. Matt and Jake were basically country bumpkins, least ways according to Arnie and Ruben. Poor old Brian Davis was a good kid from a small town, Milton, Delaware. He always told everyone it was the most beautiful town in America. Drewer gave Slater one of his crooked smiles and took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in rings. “One thing’s for sure. We ain’t nowhere near where we're supposed to be. It's a fucking mess.” “Where are we s'posed to be then Sarg?” “Fuck off Slater, and stop bugging me!” “Maybe we should find the lieutenant?” Briggs was a big guy, built like a tank, he was probably being serious with that suggestion, but it only served to wind up Drewer. “Look mountain man, you see these stripes?” He was poking at the three bands on his uniform. “Because they fucking mean I make the decisions here, GOT IT?” Everybody was quiet, we all knew how Drewer was, a lot of barking, but he looked after his squad. “The lieutenant copped it on the beach, I saw him get hit. Okay, let's get moving!” About four hundred yards across the dunes was a row of houses and probably a road. Looking around they seemed to be on their own here. “Over there.” Drewer indicated the houses. “Now be fucking careful. I don't want no more dead heroes.” The tall grass between them and those houses could hide anything. Four hundred yards suddenly seemed like a hell of a long way. But four hundred yards was no distance at all compared to the days, weeks, months, that lay ahead. The invasion hadn't been called off and they'd played their part, started that long road to freedom. Perhaps they were amongst the lucky ones? Over nine thousand Americans who landed with them never left. They lie in one hundred and seventy-two acres that over look those beaches. Endless white crosses or the Star of David. Neat rows forming lines on an impeccably manicured lawn, a powerful and humbling final resting place – lest we forget! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The End.
  15. William King

    Russian Roulette

    @Jason Rimbaud I really appreciate you commenting, I'm kind of humbled by what you said. Thank you.
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