Every Thursday here at http://www.iamliberty.wordpress.com stay tuned for another exciting chapter in Tom Locke’s story. Its not dystopian but, have mercy, its one man’s survival

  • A last ditch effort of bits and shards

The next clang was that of Tom’s shackles falling to the cabin floor. Freedom! Though he knew nothing of his location but this tiny cabin, his three captures and those terrible shackles Tom was overwhelmed with hope. He felt the grated skin around his wrists from the weight and edge of the metal.

“Tom,” he approached Najair and offered his hand, “Thanks.”

“Please. Help me find something to bludgeon them with. If they return we must be ready.”

Tom searched around the dark cabin that contained very little. There were a couple of wooden chairs that could be broken up into weapons. Maybe even sharpened up if they could use the rough edges of the shackles. In the corner by the only door stood a tall wooden cabinet. Inside he found spider webs and an old pen. That pen felt like a machete in his hands.

He felt around on top of the cabinet, which was only a few feet tall. His hand ran through a thick layer of dust and then came in contact with something very familiar. The cool leather of his wallet and underneath that was a key ring of his own. The best thing was not that he had his driver’s license but that his micro mace was in his hands again. He could purify water and start a fire much easier with his EDC items attached to his key ring”.

“Najair, any luck over there?”

The tired man appeared from the darkness with what looked like an old fireplace tool. It was worn but it was metal and heavy enough to do the job. The job, however was not something Tom was looking forward to. Still, it was much more appealing than to die today or tomorrow, on camera.

“We are still on the mountain. Lets not be foolish and believe we can muscle our way down these hills. This is where they train Tom. Beyond this door you will see just what that means. In and out of consciousness I have learned much about this particular cell. Also that it is not the only one so well entrenched, funded and protected.”

“What do you mean protected? I survived a plane crash what seems like hours ago. My body is thrashed. Are we going to have to jump barbed wire fences or cement walls.”

“Your thinking of the wrong type of protection, Tom. These are not the archaic protections of stone and steel from centuries passed. I am talking about protections afforded by the political structure. The local government and even police have been paid to stay far away from here. My captures have told me ‘scream all you want. The police don’t come up here. If they do they’ll lose their job. ‘ This is much bigger than  you or I .”

“I’m ready.”

He moved for the door as Najair behind him wrapped a smaller length of chain he found around his knuckles. Their escape would have to be swift. He worried that the mountain towns below would be part of the coverup. His had went for the doorknob but stopped just shy as he heard approaching voices. These were not studded with accent. These were distinct and Northeastern in accent.

A Run Through Tired Woods

Posted: October 22, 2014 in poetry

Cool air kills another humid Virginia summer

My running shoes find new life

Though I run occasionally

through the sweltering heat

There is nothing to compare to a forest



She calls me from the harsh asphalt my feet pound to reach her soft her paths

Paths littered with her fiery tears


She is burdened and her leaves fall

In preparation for sleep

‘Another lonely cold winter,’ she explains

‘Bikers lose their helmets and runners their shoes’


Everyday is another closer

Each bringing indiscernible change

A change of shade

Or a shade of change?

She is exhausted

providing so much since spring


I gave my apologies for

A generation so narcotized

I explained to her

‘They believe that in their intoxication

They are peeking into heaven’s windows

The truth is they are trapped in some purgatorial existence

Neither granted access to the most high

Nor lent ability to appreciate a single basal leaf

in the throes of autumn’


I went on

‘and don’t concern yourself with months or years

For there has been but one to age so beautifully as you

My dearest Michelle

The wife he carved out for me

As I bid her farewell

Another golden tear fell

But I left her with this assurance


‘Though your company may dwindle

In the months to come and

Your bare limbs will no longer

Hold their brilliance

It will be my feet

That pound these paths

Whether through your fiery distress

When we may share our burdens of the future

Or amongst the terrible winds of winter

When through puffs of breath I will watch you sleep


Take this quick quiz to determine which Our World: Recovered Journals survivor you are. There are so many routes we can take if that day ever comes. If the world sees a full on collapse and the systems we rely on are gone without a trace. What we say today could vastly differ from the person we become. This is just a fun quiz to find out where you stand!

Are you prepared for anything?
Will you a little bit of a criminal?
Or will you struggle to piece back humanity?

Which Our World Survivor Are You?


            Are you ready? There is something about to happen to our genre. Prepper fiction is changing its opening up. Now that self publishing, with proper planning, has become a way for authors to truly express their ideas and make money along the way I believe things are going to change. When I say change I mean for the better.

This is not an article to poke at the traditional novel. I write them and enjoy reading them. Still, what better a genre to use to rethink how a story could be told. Why just paragraphs and numbered chapters. Why not graphic novels or new book layouts all together? This is both the question and the challenge I set before prepper authors all over the country.

Is there a genre more suited for this? Sci fi, dystopia, suspense, horror, and a touch of mystery if you wrap these up into one you might be able to some up this sub genre we have created. I am ready for its next steps.

On Thursday October 16th my new book Our World: Recovered Journals will be available at http://www.iamliberty.wordpress.com. This is a shot in the aforementioned direction. This book is a fictitious case study compiled by a man name J. Singfire. It is a culmination of four journals, hand written, documenting a period in America known as the Dark Decades. (2019-2041) J. Singfire is the man challenging you to read through these journals and put together what happened to America in this time period.

The four writers have very distinct styles and are each in unique circumstances. Let me warn you though these writings were made to be authentic and the frustrations of survival create raw emotion and cursing within the entries. If you are not into that sort of thing I would suggest you shy away from this title.


Sharon Kimball is an IT professional living in Phoenix who comes face to face with a human trafficking ring.

Kurtis O’Leary, a father who lost so much in the early days of this time period and is struggling to keep Connor, his son, alive.

Gilbert Hernandez is a criminal, plain and simple. Bare knuckle fighting for food keeps him from mugging and hurting people.

Terrance Howard is the prepper. Deep inside a bunker with his family Terrance reflects on the days leading up to this terrifying time, that is, until a group of marauders gets a whiff of his location.


I sure hope you take advantage of this new title. Our World: Recovered Journals will take into the minds of these four individuals while piecing together what could have disrupted America to the point where desperation was the only thing left. Still, the challenge by Mr. Singfire is for you to read these journal entries and come to your own conclusions about the Dark Decades.


Book Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZqaNCXu28Abbbbbbbbbbbb


Enjoy this rare Thursday podcast from last week. If you didn’t hear it I think you will very much enjoy it. Thanks to the I AM Liberty faithful for making this podcast something more than me blabbering on. Also new book out in 8 Days!!!!

Title: Our World: Recovered Journals

Price: Hardback-8.99 Kindle-Cheaper

Page Count: 245

Synopsis: Written in the form of a case study the book is collection of Journals studied by a man name J. Singfire. His anthropological study is on a period of time in America known as the Dark Decades (2019-2041) in which the country all but disintegrated. There are four Journals belonging to a diverse group that lived through the early days of the aforementioned period.

Sharon Kimball is an IT professional living in Phoenix who comes face to face with a human trafficking ring. Kurtis O’Leary, a father who lost so much in the early days of this time period and is struggling to keep Connor, his son, alive. Gilbert Hernandez is a criminal, plain and simple. Fighting for food and money keeps him from mugging and hurting people. Terrance Howard is the prepper. Deep inside a bunker with his family Terrance reflects on the days leading up to this terrifying time, that is, until a group of marauders gets a whiff of his location.

Every Thursday here at http://www.iamliberty.wordpress.com stay tuned for another exciting chapter in Tom Locke’s story. Its not dystopian but, have mercy, its one man’s survival

  •  A little star’s light in the darkness and desperation

Moments from what could be the most violent and agonizing death Tom Locke writhed under the weight of a man. A Muslim man who had fallen off the enlightened path of this religion and had been twisted by extremism. Now, he was not only under the weight of such a maniac but under his blade as well. The idea of death, here, alone, on a mountain top didn’t sit well with him and of course he fought with all his might to move his neck off the blade. When the pain flashed across his mind and he felt the prick of the knife as the tip entered his neck he went crazy.

The hidden faced men backed away. The two standing behind the man wielding the knife began to laugh at Tom’s fear. The man who had done all the talking so far sheathed his knife in a holster in his belt loop.

“It’s not time for you infidel. Calm down. You have much too much life in you. You need a day to starve. Take some of that fight out of you. I am sure your wounded from the crash. You think you are an American hero don’t you? You think you can beat the bad guys. DON’T YOU!!!”

Tom winced as he felt the warm blood streaming down his neck. He couldn’t establish how deep the wound was because his hands were shackled.

Neck cutter bent down and moved so close to Tom that his breath broke on his ear. Although his last comment ended with a scream of anger his next was encased in a cool whisper.

“You won’t leave here. Enjoy this cabin, my voice and the sounds of nature at night. You will know nothing else. We are the heroes. Our day is coming.”

He turned and walked out the door. His two cronies followed him.

Tom let out a sigh of relief that sounded more like he was coming up for air out of a free dive. The world around him began to fuzz again around the edges of his of his vision. The concussion seemed to be whispering to him once more. Maybe the crash damaged his inner ear? Whatever it was the crash or the brush with near decapitation a rush of nausea came over him. The tiny bit of food he had in his system wound up on the ground in front of him.

“Are you gonna make it man? Hey, how deep did they cut you?”

It was the voice from the dark corner of the cabin. The man who had been silenced by the gun butt just moments ago.

“Im fine,” Tom replied, “just a little nauseous and scared.”

“Listen I dont know where your from or what your about but none of tha really matters. Something terrible is going to happen to our Country two nights from now. We have to get out of here and warn someone.”

Tom raised his shackled arms and stared at the floors where they were connected, “Yeah? Well I’ll start chewing now.”

In the dark corner the sound of heavy shackles hitting the floor started Tom. The clang of the links collapsing was eerie and so loud he though for sure it would bring the soldiers back in.

Then out of the darkness slid a small ring with two keys on it.

“I didnt take that rifle but to the head for nothing.”

A young man of Middle Eastern descent walked out of the shadows. He was thin and exhaustion pooled inside his eyes. There was an old bruise on his face and a fresh knot just above his right eye.

“Get yourself unlocked. We gotta hit them hard when they open that door next time and there is no telling how many of them there will be. My name is Najair. Yes I’m a Muslim but we can talk about that later. Unlock your shackles why I search for some weapons.

Every Thursday here at http://www.iamliberty.wordpress.com stay tuned for another exciting chapter in Tom Locke’s story. Its not dystopian but, have mercy, its one man’s survival

  •  a plan for film and fear

With great force impeding his ability to move, a cold steel blade on his neck and a mountain away from the rest of the world Tom Locke had no choice but to listen. Shackled to a cabin floor somewhere deep in the mountains of West Virginia he was held captive by with at least one other man. At this moment however he was being assaulted by his captures and the gory details of their plans for America were being unveiled.


“….the time for bombs and planes is over. We have grown into a network now. While you pitiful Americans danced around political correctness we were allowed to do, say and achieve whatever we had to. This attack will come from all corners of the country. We have cells everywhere. You made it this way by killing our women and children.”


“Is this radical Islam? What are you trying to achieve? Weak as we may be you know our military forces will snuff you out once you reveal yourselves,” Tom’s voice was hours and straining under the weight of his captor.


“There isn’t a compound in this country that can keep us out now. We wont strike military targets. Two nights from this one our forces will infiltrate residential areas in nearly every state in the nation. Under the cloak of night we will break into homes, torture, rape and ravage as much of the security you Americans believe you have. There won’t be a police force in existence that can handle the firepower, skills or sheer numbers that we will present. It will be as if we appeared out of nowhere. There aren’t walls high enough to keep us out.”


Tom said nothing. Could it all be a bluff? Moreover, the idea that one man’s luck could be so bad was bothering him even more. How did he wind up on this mountaintop? Alive. Tom also couldn’t help but here the frightening whispers in the back of his head. That inner conscience that spoke the obvious and most frightening part of all this, he would never make out of this thing.

The voice from the corner of the room called out as dark as the corner it came from, “You better hope I never see the light of day again you coward throwbacks. If I get out of these shackles I will beat you to death with them. Go back to your sandpit and terrorize the people there. GO BACK!! LEAVE US THE HELL OUT OF YOUR HOLY WAR!”

One of the men walked quickly into the dark corner. There was a thud and then silence. No doubt a silencing strike from the rifle butt.

“Your going to be a star! Not like this filth in the corner. You, my friend, have stumbled into fame.”

On of the men behind the leader produced a large smart phone with a tremendous light that scorched Tom’s eyes.

“You know, by now, what happens next don’t you. Allah has not shown you favor and for that I pity you.”

Tom started to writhe and fight.

“Wait. Wait! What is this going to prove! How will you gain in this!”

His heart began to race wildly again. This time he thought it was death knocking on the door of his soul. ‘What a way to go,’ he thought to himself.

The light moved in closer….