The Next thing I want to show you, is a bit personal… I want to show you guys an excerpt from a story I’m writing. Something I hope to finish, and share with many people soon…

The Raid
	The raid happened three months ago, it started as any other day, morning checks, making sure there were no infestations. Mouse's mother, Lily would check him for lice, fleas, ticks, or any other bites that could prove harmful. In the meantime his father, Michael would check their weapon to make sure it still worked. He would fire a silent round out of a box he'd found. It was a bulletless round with no gunpowder, not finished. It was great for making sure the gun was still in tact, thieves were everywhere, even in camp. The gun was fine, it worked flawlessly.
	
        Mouse liked the morning check, it was comforting, but not today, something felt wrong, but he couldn't imagine what. The gun worked, he had no bites, nor did Mom or Dad. They had their food, water and fire. It seemed everything was in order.

	It was the break of dawn when it happened, the camp was still tired, off guard. The first shot screamed by Mouse, knocking him off balance. He fell to the ground, hard. Scared and confused, the boy shuffled back to his tent, closely followed by Michael.

	"Shhh, quiet as a mouse my boy." his father's eyes filled with fear and concern for the child. "I may not have another chance to do this," He said quietly, reaching behind Mouse to a crate about the size of his chest. Mouse looked to  Michael's hand, was he grabbing the gun? No, No it was something else. "Happy Birthday." Mouse felt his father drop a bag in his lap.

        "Thank you Papa!" Mouse exclaimed.

        "Shhh, quiet as a mouse remember?" But it was too late.

	A hand reached into the tent and grabbed Michael by the heel, and dragging him quickly outward. Mouse, focused on the sad, fearful expression of his father, began to feel something new. A heat, unlike any he'd felt before.

	Mouse, the young man was generally calm, but he was changing, before his very own eyes, he was changing. Mouse looked down to the bag, a side bag made of canvas. The bag was dirty, and a little tattered, but it was the beautiful to him. There was a weight in the bag, something more. Mouse reached in and pulled out a notebook. It was brand new! Mouse had never seen anything like it. The pages crisp and clean. But there was more, a pencil, nothing special just about half a pencil, and a whole eraser. Michael had taught him to write a long time ago. And now, with this gift, he'd write every day.

	Mouse heard his father yelling. "Don't you dare hurt him!" and then a gun shot, followed by a loud thud as Michael's blood stained hand fell through the curtain like opening in the front of the tent. Mouse, crying, opened the book and wrote. He made sure the words were written correctly, Then tore out the page and placed it on Michael's hand.


   	The heat in Mouse's chest turned to anger, anger to rage, rage to fire! And he'd lost it all.

I know it may not make sense yet but when you know the rest of the story it will… and I hope you’ll read more of it.

I hope this has made up for my slacking off, drop me a line with any comments or concerns.

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask in the comment section below, or by email at technical.confessions@gmail.com, on Facebook as Technical Confessions, or on twitter @techconfessions.

Well guys, that’s today’s Technical Confessions. As always, if you like what you read here, please subscribe and ALWAYS comment!

See Ya Next Time!

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