A Draft…

We all rant about something sometimes. Well something different happened this time to me. My muse took over and my rant is a story in draft right now and I thought I’d show you a little of it. Please let me know what you think…Please also remember it is a DRAFT


This is what I imagine Jeremiah and his son Ethan would look like in this story. I must admit Ethan is so cute.

Jeremiah’s Landing by Claire Plaisted

copyright 2018

Jeremiah landed on the roof of the silver car as it shot forward. Not able to get a grip he rolled down the side grabbing the black door handle as it screamed away down the road, his body tumbling and legs breaking as he finally let go only to roll across the highway in front of a truck going the other way. The trucks breaks screeched, Jeremiah ducked, adrenalin blocking the pain in his broken leg and ankle as the underneath of the truck caught his clothing dragging him in the opposite direction, his face and hands scraping on the road bruising his skin and making it bled.

The truck eventually screeched to a stop, the driver rushing out of its cab running alongside the trailer looking for him.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered calling the cops and an ambulance. “Keep still man, we’ll soon have you out of there.”

Jeremiah slowly turned his head, his bleeding cheeks and nose a scratched-up mess, his eyes blinking. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Hurts a hell of a lot more than in the movies.” And lost consciousness.

Jeremiah woke to the sounds of beeping, trying to lift his eyelids, he quickly shut them again as the blinding white light made him wince.

“He’s awake.”

Jeremiah tried not to roll his eyes under their lids. “Turn the god damn lights down,” he muttered.

“He spoke.”

“Great hearing you’ve got love,” he moaned, trying to sit up, blinking his eyes open and wincing. “Turn the light off.”

“Light,” the woman said again. “Don’t sit up, you’re hurt.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he pushed down with his hands as the bed rose behind him to support his back. “Thanks. Where the hell am I and what… Oh yeah,” he grinned.

“You’ve scraped your skin, broken your left leg and right ankle and your face is a mess.” Said a female at the end of his bed.

“You the doctor?”


“I’m alive, which is what counts.”

“Damn lucky if you ask me,” she snapped. “The poor truck driver nearly had a bloody heart attack with your shenanigans.”

“Gotta a job to do,” he shrugged.

“Try not to get yourself killed.”

“Nice to know someone cares.”

“Your boss is here.”

“Aww shit.”

The doctor left, letting Jeremiah’s boss into the private room.

“What the hell were you thinking Jeremiah?” she slammed the door shut behind her. “You could’ve got yourself killed.”

“Doing my job. I nearly had the bugger,” he grinned.

“Except you’re now out of action for six weeks.” she snarled. “I’m putting you behind a desk once you’re back at work. Meanwhile behave.”

“Boss…” he yelled as she left his room. “God damn it.”

Her head popped around the door again. “By the way you are off work for the next week so get some rest. I’ve put Valen on the job.” And left again.

“Shit. Bloody useless…”

A young nurse entered, checked his vitals, smiled and left. It was too quiet for him. He wanted out. Tossing the sheets back he groaned, sitting on the edge of the bed to find both legs in plaster making him topple to the floor with a thud and yell. Footsteps came racing, his door banged open a nurse hurrying in scolding him.

“You idiot. What do you think you’re playing at?” Hitting the bell beside his bed another nurse looked in, sighed and went to get two porters to help lift him. “Plaster means broken bones.”

“Yeah. I want out of here.”

“Tough. You’re staying until the doctor says you can leave.”

“I have stuff to do,” he snapped.

“It’ll have to wait,” the porters entered, gently lifting him back onto the bed, both smirking.

“Do as the nurse tells you mate,” one of them chuckled. “She’s a right battle-axe at times.” And earned himself a slap.

“Get me a phone then.”

“I ain’t your secretary Mr Wilden.”

Another bell rang and the room emptied out.



The silver car roared into a warehouse at the local docks, breaks screaming as it came to a halt the engine turned off. The man got out of the car, slamming the door and lit a cigarette. He started to step forward, looking up as a fist hit him in the mouth sending him backwards. He hit the car door and slid down the side onto the cold concrete floor.

Shaking his head, spitting two teeth out and wiping the blood from his nose, he glared at the man before him.

“What the hell was that for?”

“For? You moron you weren’t supposed to bring any attention to yourself. Yet you nearly killed a…”

“I’ve no idea where the hell he came from.”

“Above you. It was all caught on camera. Looked like one hell of a stunt