ABOUT THE LEAVING FIELDS
When his wife left him, Sam Martin decided that New York was too crowded and full of bad memories, so he decided to move out west. He bought a huge but inexpensive farm, near a small town called Gateway in Wyoming. Gateway was not on any map, so he knew that he would find the solitude that he desperately needed. Upon his arrival, he noted that the small town was stuck in the 1930’s, not to mention a few other quirks that mystified him. Coming from a farming background, he relished the opportunity to sow his own fields and live an uncomplicated farm life for the rest of his days. A strange black rock jutted out from the middle of the field. It had writing upon it, so he thought that it might be a strange monument to a past farmer of these fields. One night, while admiring the splendor of what he’d accomplished the previous day, he noticed people hovering around the black rock. They stood upon it and then vanished within it. He ran to the rock, but no one was there. Many other oddities occurred to Sam—the town didn’t have a cemetery; there were no modern appliances, modern cars or electricity. Sam navigates these mysteries to find the answers he needs and to determine, whether or not, he owned the Gateway to heaven or hell.
AN EXCERPT
“Oh, he’s a nice guy all right, but he’s different from you and me. Everyone in town is different from you and me, including Loryn.” “What are you talking about, Rusty?” “Something is preventing me from telling you what I know. I’m afraid that I won’t be around much longer. They found out that, my memory is intact, and that they haven’t fully assimilated me into their society. These fields are evil. People leave here, and where they go, I haven’t a clue.” “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Rusty, do you know a George Johnson?” Shocked at the question, Rusty tried to make a hasty retreat. “I have to go, Sam. No more questions. They are telling me to leave.” “Leave? Who’s telling you to leave?” He grabbed Rusty’s coat and yelled at him, demanding that he tell him who told him to leave. “Tell me, dammit!” Sam felt a stinging pain in his hands as he grabbed Rusty’s coat and the pain persisted well after he let go. “Are you doing this, Rusty?” he probed as he grabbed his hands. Rusty straightened his coat. “Nope, not me. You ask too many questions, and I offered too much information. If I don’t see you again, good-bye.” |
ABOUT GARY D. HENRY
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