“Yes. I know exactly what I’m saying. That the war was lost a long time ago and our
governments have given over power to the invaders.”

Wells ran a shaking hand through his hair. “But if that’s so, then why are our people still
going off to war?”

Jules glared at Wells as if he had gone mad. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“What is obvious is that you’re driving me mad with your insinuations!”

Wells looked like he was ready to explode with impatience. He began what would later become his famous right eye wink, that whenever he became stressed or impatient, that infamous eye would begin to twitch violently. Beware anyone who dared to push him when that happened.

Jules slowed his thoughts down a moment. He didn’t want to distress his friend so much. “I believe the war is over. That the invaders have taken over our governments and we are now cattle for their slaughter.”

Wells now looked like the most wretched soul on the planet. He practically collapsed to the bed this time, his face drawn and weary. Jules took pity on him and helped him lie down. He drew bed covers over his best friend and smiled. “All is not lost, dear friend. Far from it.”

His eyes tightened with a vehemence that truly frightened Wells to the depths of his soul.

“The war has only just begun!”

CHAPTER FIVE: THE DIVISION OF LABOR

Wells awoke the next morning to find his friend, Jules, still in his bedroom. Asleep on a comfortable chair that faced the door. He wandered at that a moment,  until he saw the way the door was sealed. A chest of his clothing had been drawn across it to prevent its opening.

“Jules whatever in the world are you thinking? Wells muttered to himself.He got up, stretched and was amazed at how vital and strong he felt this day. He was past the shock and horror of his mother’s death and the strange possibilities Jules had spoken of. They had receded into the better part of his brain to be balanced with common sense and determination. As with Jules, Wells was the sort of person who didn’t allow life to roll over him. Both boys were alike in that spirit, which was perhaps why they loved each other so much without truly understanding the nature of their love.

In a lessor enlightened world this might be construed as a physical love, but both young men were far from physically attracted to each other, no, rather they were one soul inhabiting two bodies. They had more likes than dislikes about each other, and this rare quality made it easy for both their communication and their determination as we will see.

Aunt Persephone, the overweight, old Greek portion of his father’s side of the family, stepped aside. She had been blocking Jules view of Wells. He stepped carefully around her and half bowed in a mocking sort of way to Wells.

“You look splendid!” Wells said to Jules, stunned at the health and vigor his body shone with.

Jules smirked. “I’ve been eating a lot of apples.”

Everyone laughed, though they didn’t get the joke. Finally, the Priest, who was a very kind man, as well as a religious one, scooted everyone else out of the room so the two lads could have some privacy.

Jules sat down on the edge of Wells’ bed. “You look a bit darker than usual.”

Wells got cocky. “Oh, and I’’m usually dark then?”

“Usually.” Jules laughed.

Wells took  it with a grain of salt and got out of bed. He stretched, then his stomach growled loudly again. “I really am starving. How long have I been asleep?”

“Four days.” Jules said with a hint of solemnity.

“Oh my God!”Wells uttered, sitting back down hard on his bed. So hard it squeaked and groaned in protest.

Jules stood up and began pacing. “Wells, I feel that the world is falling apart around us and no one is taking it seriously. People march off to fight in the war machine, but none are returning. This doesn’t make sense.”

Wells thought about it a moment. “You’re right. Father left, and not a word. The military
department always let us know where he was. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jules stopped and stared at Wells. “Perhaps there is no War of the Worlds.”

“Whatever do you mean, Jules?

“Maybe there is no war, because it has already been won.”

Wells blanched. “My God! Do you know what you’re saying?”

He had apologized profusely to his mother, horrofired that he had harmed her so, and insisted that he make it up to her by composing a poem for her. He did so immediately and called it “The Master of the World.”

To this day he doesn’t know why he chose that title, but instead of it referencing some nebulous scoundrel intent on overlording all of creation, it was about a simple baker who fell in love with a beautiful seamstress and built a capsule to fly to the moon so that he could fetch a Moon Flower to heal her melancholy heart.

His mother had been so touched by the poem, that she had broken into tears. Fearing he had upset her further Wells made as if to leave the dining table, but she had stopped him and gathered him into her arms and tenderly held him. She said nothing, but just held him the longest of times.

The next morning when he awoke it was to the sound of weeping. Lady Jennifer, his mother’s sister, had arrived late last night while he slept to attend to his mother, who had been complaining of pains in her heart. That morning she had passed away with a smile on her face and a copy of Wells’ poem clutched in her right hand.

He stood there at her bedside, hot tears streaming down his face and uttered, “Now, you are Mistress of a Greater World, dear mother.”

He knelt before her bed and prayed for the Good Lord to welcome her into his kingdom and keep her safe from all harm. At that moment he imagined a great white light opening up and he saw his mother look back at him from within the light. Beside her was his father, much younger, like when Wells had been a child. His mother had the blossom of youth as well. They held each other’s hands. They both smiled at Wells and waved good-bye, their lips saying they loved him, as they turned and walked into the light, soon to be swallowed up and lost.

Later, he was told he had blacked out from his grief, as he had awakned in his bed, with worried relatives all about him, fearing the worst. Even the local Priest stood there over him, reading from a very heavy, black and gold bible with huge flowery script hanging from its sides like a curtain of lace around a bridal bower.
Wells sat up and his stomach growled like a lion. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.” Wells announced.

Immediately, everyone in the room fell into utter silence for a moment, and then burst into peals of laughter.

“Then I shall feed you cake!”  Jules cried out from the back.

Siesta time

Hey! I'm trying to add some feeds for you. If this doesn't work for you, please let me know as it's just an experiment at this time.

Thanks.

John

Yep. That time again.

Back with more Jules and Wells on Monday.

Enjoy the new Nugget I added as well as the free novel.

Take care and have a peaceful weekend.

John

So Jules worked and the others watched, willing him to be happy, while actually wishing they themselves could feel that abundance of goodness in their own hearts again as well.

As Jules rolled the larger bread on the board before him, he added the darker rye flour which his father loved. Without thinking the loaf began to take the shape of a German Zepplein, those dreaded war machines of the past. And again, without thinking, he began altering the shape, adding little modules here and there, propellors here and there, thrusters that mimicked the experimental rockets of the Americans.

When he was finished he stood there silently, stunned. His sisters, alarmed by both is expression and the fact that he had stopped moving for almost ten minutes, rose to overlook his shoulders.

What they saw portended a future Jules had been mulling subconsciously for quite some time now. His words uttered, shook their very souls. “Master of the World.”

“But Jules, there is no Master of the Worlds.” Chenelle reminded him.

Jules placed his father’s bread on a wooden flat and shoved it into the oven. He shut the door and looked at his beloved sister. “Maybe there should be.”

The girls made a horrified sound and looked at him as if he had just lost his mind, but in Jules heart there was no room for that kind of horror. Something else was growing there.

And so over the next several weeks Jules and Wells continued to meet, but Jules became more solemn and reserved, while Wells, on the other hand, became more outspoken and alarmist. “We must do something, Jules. We can’t just let this war go on and on.”
Jules turned to his friend and searched his soul a moment with his eyes. “What if it  involved giving up everything you had thought was right and wrong about the world, about your life, about…everything?”

At that moment Wells was frozen, stunned into silence. The vehemence of Jules’ words caused his very heart to shake and quiver in fear Something in Jules’ eyes frightened him to his very core.

He put a hand on his friend’s arm. “Pray tell me you won’t do anything foolish.”

Jules gave his friend a stern look. “The time for prayers is over. The time for foolish is over. “

Jules and Wells, both the ripe old age of sixteen, returned to their respective homes, but both felt alone and empty, even if their mothers, brothers and sisters were there. For an important element had been removed from their lives…a father. What a vacuum to fill. For a father, a good father, is like a good hand, and only missed for what it truly fits once it is missing.

At that moment both Jules and Wells felt an emptiness that surpassed anything they’d ever experienced. While Wells was used to his father traveling and being gone for long periods of time, he had never been faced with his father being in actual danger, and now his father, just like Jules was at the front of the War. For in this war even the Ministers and Statesmen of countries were not forfeit from serving their duty to their respective nations. When a body was needed, a body must be provided, and to the vast war machine that was gobbling up soldiers like a child sucking up sugar, then even the famous and political are not safe for long.

Jules entered his home, his thoughts on three vastly different things. He was hatching, even unknown to himself, the framework for a way to deal with his grief, that would not be emotional, but practical. Actually deal with the cause of the problem.

Wells, in his stately mansion, felt the emptiness of it even more than usual. Even the Butlers were gone, called to duty. Only the Maids remained, and his father had said that some countries like America and Israel were enacting laws to allow women into the Forces. Momentous decisions that could over time affect the healthy balance of all societies. Till this point in time it had been unthinkable for women to be risked in such unclean violence, but because of the vast numbers of losses in the field, that reaction was being re-evaluated and considered lacking.

Jules went into the home’s small kitchen and began whipping up some light bread for his family, with the intent of making a larger bread to send off to his father for his meals, as the men would be bivouacked near the Fisherman’s Wharf and he could bring it to him there.His father had whispered that to him while he held him in that morning before marching off.

As Jules worked his sisters came in to watch, but said nothing. All were feeling his loss and sorry as well, and were afraid to speak that such an act might precipitate another tidal wave of anguish upon their souls, that of Jules and their beloved mother. His family was a very closely knit one, and almost could read each other’s minds, they were so one minded.

Jules Verne was the French father of Science Fiction. He and H.G. Wells changed the course of history with their astounding tales of invaders from space, men in the moon, revengeful captains under the sea, mysterious islands and time machines that criss crossed time and space. I honor them for their contribution to my own memories as well as my writing styles.

Back to War of the Worlds -----

Jules shook his head. “Not me. Hard enough getting along with all my sisters. Imagine trying to do that with hundreds of sisters….”

Wells laughed in amusement several seconds, then nodded his head and sat down again. “Right as always. I only have one and that’s already one far too many.”

Jules and Wells laughed at their own private in joke, then subsided into silence again. Both young teens settled down again, Jules on the stone and Wells beside him on the ground.

“I’d like that, you know.” Jules said finally, breaking the silence.

“Why?”

“Could you imagine the look on Missus Iman’s face if I showed up for her fifth grade math class and I was aleady there.”

They both broke into a riot of laughter. So loud that several older gentlemen walking past, stopped to see what they might be doing to create such joviality. In those days and times even a smidgen of brightness was not something to be turned down. Finally, after Wells and Jules became conscious of the two older men, they shrugged their shoulders and began trudging to the fisherman’s market down the road.

The market was still open, but run by the wives now and their children who were not in school. Life goes on. And so does the need to eat, drink and sleep.

What Jules and Wells didn’t know at the time was that the war was going to siphon off more than just parents soon. They themselves, like all unfortunate  young men, face the chance that they will also become cannon fodder in the ambitions and ravages of war. While they would have considered it their duty to serve, both would feel that they were descending into evil. And of the two, only Wells would despise himself for the act, for Jules, a far thinker from his earliest days, would not even consider serving his or any other country. He did not follow hollow promises and empty flags, or moments of glory. Death was not his mentor, nor his inspiration, but life. And he would do anything possible to insure that life was the force he saluted and not its direct opposite, the vacuum of obliteration.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, a man of great writing talents and the Creator of Sherlock Holmes. We've seen him extensiely in the movies of late in the Robert Downey led Sherlock Holmes flicks. Check out my Baker Street Adventures,  I've got some cool surprises regarding him, Sherlock, Houdini and a few other surprise characters.

Now back to War of the Worlds --- The Forever Friends

“That is why I must do something. Don’t you see, Wells, this is a farce, a tragedy and a catastrophe all wrapped up in one? How can these invaders from another world think they can come to our planet and do whatever it is they wish. Not even the Germans are that stupid.”

Wells chuckled. “And they do act pretty stupid sometimes.”
   
“Yes.” Jules replied, chewing on the thought a moment. “Like the time they invaded Portugal and it turns out they had landed smack dab in the middle of their own Austria and blown half it up before they realized their mistake.”

“Like I said.” Wells agreed.

The two teens nodded their heads in a silent chorus of agreement, then eyed the empty boats again.

“Do you think it will reach shore?” Jules asked.

Wells gave Jules a very somber and dark glance. “Do bears…”

“Yes. I guest they do.” Jules said with a sigh. “Where?”

“Bristol.”

“They landed there a fortnight ago.” Wells said with a hing of melancholy in his voice.

“How many died?”

“Too many.” Wells replied. “Can we talk about something else?”

Jules nodded his head and sat down on a rough stone. He plucked a weed and stuck it between his teeth. Wells sat on his other side on the bare ground. He looked at his hands, as if they were the most intriguing things he’d ever seen and possibly contained clues to all the secrets and mysteries of Creation.

“I’ve stared a new story.” Wells almost exploded with a hiss and a sigh.

Jules got excited, despite the sadness he was feeling. “Really? What about?”

Wells suddenly got an excited look on his face. “Jules, what if we coud change any decision we ever made. Go back and rewrite history, go forward and change our future?”

“Whoa. That would be huge.”

“Much more than that.” Wells replied. “It would be earth shaking. Or more appropriately. Time altering.”

Jules eyes went wide as small moons. “Time Travel!”

“Exactly.” Wells said brightly. “The ability to move back and forth through time at will.”

Jules bounced to his feet and paced frantically a moment. “Why with a tool like that we could eliminate tyrants before they had a chance to murder tens of thousands of innocents.”

“Yes. Not only that. But we could accelerate the grown of technology. We could have steam engines in the year two thousand and travel like birds in the air by two thousand one hundred.”

“Flying machines!” Jules wondered outloud. “They would prevent war from ever happening. If you could bomb from the skies, no one would ever dare fire a cannon again for fear of that.”

Wells got up. He was growing agitated as well as excited now. “It would put us in a position to stop all wars. Jules, don’t you see, you could become the Master of the World if you wanted to.”

I'm sure many of you have already read the original story, or seen the movie versions. As we continue with this one, you'll see that this war is of a different nature, one that we all must face sooner or later.

Best.

John

Now back to War of the Worlds



He blew them kisses, and then whistling a merry little song about a shepherd who had lost his sheep, he walked away into the morning sun, soon joining the other en doing the same thing.

Marie and her children stood on the sidewalk waving, as did many other children and mothers up and down the street. Even some Grandparents were there, watching with a solemn look to their faces.

The War of the Worlds had come to France. There were no huge parades of soldiers cheered on by screaming kids and parents. This was a war like no other.

Jules had been so upset that he ran after his father, screaming for him to come back. As if a tidal wave had suddenly swept in from sea, other children began running after their parents, screaming just like Jules. In a matter of seconds the somber scene became a tearful one, a painful one as fathers stopped to hold their children and reassure them, while knowing they had no clue whether they would survive this war or not.

Jules was held by his father a long time and their tears mingled. Soon his three sisters had joined him to hold the father even longer.

This might have gone on forever, but for the intervention of an armored vehicle that honked its horn and blared over a loudspeaker. “All civilians please return to your homes. You will be kept notified of the progress of the war. All civilians return to your homes. You will be kept notified of the progress of the war!”

That was the last thing Jules remembered from that morning, the long lines of weeping family, the frightened fathers, and the evil armored vehicle that intended to take them from their lives forever. Jules thought evil, because how else can you describe the ravages of war, but evil? At that moment he vowed to do whatever he could to end all wars forever!

But the most powerful wishes of the most powerful people sometimes are never answered. It takes great work and effort to make some dreams a reality and an even greater effort to make powerful dreams come true. But Jules swore on that day that he would learn and accomplish whatever God set before him to reach that goal. And later on when he met Wells for their usual stroll beside the Seine, they talked about their youthful goals. At that time Jules swore before God and the best friend of his life that he would end all wars forever!

They sealed the promise with spit as all good friends do. They both spit on the back of a snail, then took the poor struggling creature and ate it.

The solemnity of their vows kept reminded them throughout the rest of the day and into the night, as both had tender digestive systems, and the snails did not go out happily into the night of their digestive tracts.

“What are you going to do?” Wells asked Jules after he adjusted to the faint nausea in his stomach.

Jules stopped beside the usual curve of the Seine where the bicycle racks were gathered, and fishermen headed down to their boats. But today there were many, many boats and no fishermen. Even the fishermen had gone to war.

“We will starve without fish.” Wells pointed out.

Even though I'm not posting new story tonight, I have posted another famous author in Nuggets for your enjoyment and let's not forget the Jules Verne Public Domain book in my Public Domain Book section.

Back with more War of the Worlds on Monday.

Have a safe and peaceful weekend.

John

Jules stopped and turned back. “Wells.” He called after his friend.

Wells stopped to look back.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Wells nodded his head, then continued for his home.

And so it is that both boys have now laid a course of action which shall determine their futures, as well as the direction of this story as we continue to unfold it for our dear readers.

Chapter Three: The Coming of Age and Choices

The years seemed to melt away like butter on a hot surface, but time was not so friendly to some. Even as the war between worlds continued out to sea, with casualties no longer just involving the Brits, the French, and even the Germans became pulled into the catastrophe.

Jules at the ripe old age of sixteen, who had not forgotten all that Wells had foretold to him, woke up one morning to the sound of his mother crying. He had leaped from bed to find his sisters gathered around her, as his father came out of his bedroom, dressed in a military uniform.

At that horrible moment Jules felt as if his entire universe had gone dark and dreary. All the light of his life threatened to be overwhelmed by a much darker force than he cared to think about. He ran up to his father and threw his arms around him. “Don’t die father!”

His mother began crying even louder, and then his sisters. Jules Senior smacked the flat of his right hand on the kitchen counter,  making a loud smacking sound. Everyone, startled by the force of the blow, stopped to look at him.

His face was lit up with a very warm and loving smile. “I regret to inform you that I have absolutely no intentions whatsoever to die, either today, this morning, or tomorrow, or the day after that!”

Jules looked up, but he wasn’t convinced. He could tell his father’s lies by now, and his eyes were blank and dull. Jules said nothing. His sisters were quiet and he didn’t want to alarm them further by announcing what he could see.

Jules Senior gave Jules a big hug, then spread his arms and hugged the sisters. Last, he put his arms around Marie and held her close. “I’ll be back by the weekend. See to it that the kids remain in school. Their education is very important, Mon Cherie.”

Marie nodded, then tipped her face for his usual good morning kiss. Instead he kissed her on the forehead, and walked her to the door with him, holding her close Jules and his sisters watched as the two exited their home and descended to the path outside.

Jules ran to the door, followed by the others, where they gasped. Men, just like their father, were exiting homes up and down the street. All were dressed in military uniforms. Jules Senior, sensing their fear and horror, turned one last time to look at them. “Remember, I love you always. Always will. And always have.”

“For him and my family. I fear he doesn’t expect many to survive this upcoming conflict.”

As if to underscore the dread both young boys felt at that moment, the air seemed to tremble as if a great disturbance had struck it.  Birds launched from trees and buildings all about them. Dogs began barking up and down the street. They both froze in their tracks, waiting for more.

It seemed as if the whole world were holding its breath at that moment. The noise didn’t repeat. Wells took a deep breath. He’d been fearing the worst. On his glance Jules grabbed his new friend’s arm.

Jules stopped him. “Is there no hope?”

Wells grinned. “Come on, Jules, there is always that.”

Jules grinned back. And what about that story about Martians?

Wells frowned. “I think I’ll hold off on that one until this other war is over.”

Jules got serious a moment. “Does your father know where they came from?”

Wells shook his head. “Only thing he knows is that they landed in the Channel.”

“They?”

Wells frowned again. “There was more than one of them. He described them as screaming demons that flung fire behind them as they tore open the heavens.”

“Your father saw one land?”

Wells nodded his head. “More than one I’m afraid. Jules, they seem to be indestructible. They travel at speeds our air force can not possibly hope to match.”

Jules growled. “We will not give up so easily. We have God on our side.”

Wells laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

Wells looked into Jules eyes. “Jules, that is exactly what the Admiral told my father before the bombers took off.”

Jules got a worried look on his face, causing his sandy brown hair to pull down into his eyes and his locks to squash flat against his ears. “That’s not good.”

Wells  shook his head. “No. But the RAF isn’t through with them yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know those Nazi scientists that defected to France and Britain?”

“Yes.”

“Well they’ve been working on a big weapon.”

“How big?”

Wells gets closer and whispers. “Remember that story I read you about the bomb that could wipe out a city?”

“It was very nice.” Jules said.

“This one is bigger still.”

“Oh!” Jules uttered, his imagination leaping to images of a whole planet consumed in a gigantic fireball of destruction.

“Not that big, silly.” Wells said, prodding Jules in the side, when he realized his friend was going off tangent with the thought.

“But close.”

Those last two words caused both to fall into a silent reverie filled with many thoughts
such young boys should never have to carry. And so it was that their day, which began with
bright expectations, ended with notes of dread and fear. They shook hands before going their separate ways.

Chapter Two: The War Machines


I was a fool thought Jules to himself as he walked home that evening by the Siene. Even the beautiful pieces of art that the local maestros were working on by the lapping waters failed to capture his attention. Even the pair of giggling girls that passed by him on the way, who were obviously striving to get his attention failed. He didn’t even see them make ugly faces at the seeming snub he gave them.

Jules had a lot on his mind. And girls took rear position to the thoughts of the catastrophe the world faced.

‘War of the Worlds,” Wells had called it. But the Channel? Why not the Seine? That would have put them closer to the continent. Why England? But if it was the Channel, then that meant France was next. And if Wells and his father were here, that didn’t bode well for England, Ruler of the Seas and the Air.

His thoughts rushed back and forth, much like battalions of soldiers in a struggle for the high ground. Even as the overly abundant population of Priests swept through the cities more and more of late.

The Priests seemed to be growing in numbers these days Jules thought to himself, almost as if they were preparing for some kind of Holy War Then it struck him. Like lightning casting aside the darkness, his mind became lucid. They knew!

Jules said nothing of what he heard that day to his parents, instead he went to bed early on the pretext of an upset stomach and a touch of fever and got up early to rush over to the Ambassador’s House, where he and Wells had agreed to meet the day before.

Wells, even at that age, was a darker sort of kid. He always seemed to be on the verge of catching fire. His eyes were always smouldering with knowledge no one else dared to touch, or could possibly know.

He and Jules spent that day at Nantes by the Loire, watching the merchant ships come and go with their tall masts and billowing steam stacks. Wells told Jules about his desire to be a writer when he grew up and Jules did the same. Both boys at that time knew they were fated to be with each other. Both loved tales of the fantastic, as well as adventures that caused the mind to question what was really right and not in the universe.

Wells kept falling out of the loop of conversation and would become pensive, as if something were burdening him. Finally, as the watched the sun begin to set, Wells unburdened himself on Jules. “The bombers failed.” He uttered in a burst of anger and confusion.

Jules was so shocked by the statement that he almost tripped and fell as they climbed the
steps to the street above. “How can that be possible?” He asked. “Everyone knows that the
RAF is the most powerful weapon on the planet. Even the dreaded Germans fear them. Hitler
calls your air force the Tueffel Vogen…Demon Birds. It’s what has kept Hitler at bay all these years.”

Wells shrugged his shoulders. “All I know is that the War approaches us more quickly than I
dared think possible. I’m frightened, Jules, my father used to be confidant we would win
against these demons from another world, but now he sulks in his offices, and I’ve seen him
using a map to plot escape routes.”

“Escape routes?”

Jules gave him an astounded look. “Not possible.”

Wells sighed, as if a great weight were upon his shoulders. “Even so. My mother had thought the same, but when she went with my father to examine the destruction being wrought, she no longer disagreed.”

Jules gave Wells another look. “But our papers say nothing!”

Wells shook his head. “Politicians. I pray I never grow up and become one, for they are the stink of the world. The world goes on its merry way, thinking tomorrow there will still be marriages and honeymoons, graduations, and ceremony, but no. It’s not going to happen. For tomorrow there will be a war of the worlds. It’s already started.”

“But where?” Jules asked. Perplexed by his new friend’s words.

“The English Channel.” Wells said. “My father is close to the Admiral of the Navy. Britain has lost half its fleet in the last twenty-four hours.”

Jules jumped up. “I must warn my parents”

Wells leapt to his feet and grabbed Jules by his arm. “You can say nothing. You must say nothing. The world depends on your silence!” He warned.

Wells moved closer. “Even at this very moment my father is at the Royal Air Force Base gathering our bombers for a strike.”

Jules relaxed. “Ah. Then we are safe for certain.”

Wells shook his head. “The enemy has weapons that spit a fire from their throats and melt metal like heat does butter. Humans vanish in puffs of smoke.”

Jules was horrified. “That’s like stories I’ve read!”

Wells nodded. “And I’ve written.”

“You wrote stories about aliens invading our planet? That’s really great!” Jules complemented Wells.

“No, it’s not. I’m afraid I was being used by them to soften our defenses.”

“What do you mean?” Jules asked, his eyes wide with fear.

“That they know what we think and can read our minds. They put thoughts into mine so I would write about them in a way that no one would believe could ever possibly happen. To get us off our guard.”

“But it was all fantasy on your part.”

“No. It is real. All of it.”

Coming tomorrow: Chapter Two: The War Machines

Still looking to add a sub service. Hopefully, will have something by end of this next weekend.

Best.

John

Well, it's Monday again and I've got some more fun for you to read. So why waste time. On to:

War of the Worlds!



Wells had tried to explain to his mother that it was just a fairy tale, but she had said that humans needed tales that were more uplifting, and his would make them sad. That had set Wells to working on his next story, “The Invisible Man,” where a crime fighter used his abilities to vanish to track down Jack the Ripper. His father had actually liked that one and sent it off to the local paper, The England Royal Journal. It had been published and for a time young Wells had become a household name to match that of Verne.

Even young Jules had made a stir with his story about a vehicle that could burrow beneath the earth, which he had called the “Nautilus,” and called the story “The Adventures of Captain Nemo.”

While the science was weak, it was enough to impress quite a few scientific scholars, who sought out Jules to see what else he could come up with. Later he had found out from his father that he had sent them, because the Admiralty had wanted to try out new ideas to strengthen their armed forces, and his young mind was a brilliant one.

His father had been quite proud of him.

Finished, the two young teens, sat contently against the West leg of the Eiffel, enjoying the view before them. Several young madamoseilles with twirling parasols strolled by, and giggled coquettishly at them. Wells had stuck his tongue out and made a gagging sound, which made them giggle even more.

“You’re disgusting for a Brit.” Jules finally commented.

Wells nodded his head. He wasn’t one to talk a lot. Later on, Jules found out that Wells’ father had been a very prim and proper House of the Lords man, and would not sanction any kind of talk from his son except: hello, good-bye, thank you, and yes sir.

“How sad!” Jules had commented.

Wells shrugged his shoulders. “My father’s a busy man. He only has time for helloes, goodbyes, thank yous and yes.”

Jules gave him a shocked look. “My parents are never too busy.”

Wells nodded. “Undoubtedly. But your parents aren’t guarding the welfare of the planet.”

Jules had shut up. His eyes widened. “That much?”

“Indeed.” Wells had answered. “I will tell you something more if you promise not to spread a word of it.”

Jules leaned closer and Wells whispered. “War of the Worlds.”

Whew!

Okay! I was wrong. I don't have a subscription service yet. I had someone test it and it opened a page up on UNLV instead of my blog. How that happened is way beyond my knowledge. I was using Mail chimp. So am going to look to another service. Google's email subscription service is screwy now too since they discontinued upgrading it, so I will look elsewhere.

I apologize if anyone has subbed and gotten nothing so far.

If you know of any good services I could use to offer feeds to my site, or subs, please email me at:
realmsword@cox.net

First three people to send me suggestions I can use will get two of my new books. Just state what format you prefer so I can send something you can use.

Thanks.

John

Hi everyone!

I'm doing my usual weekend break, but I'm working on updating this blog to be more fun to visit and more useful as well.

By Monday I'll begin posting links to public domain novels that are stories I've found exciting and have helped me over time as a writer.

The first one is "War of the Worlds."

I'll be providing a link to the novel.

As time allows I'll make ebook versions of the stories so you can download the entire book effortlessly.

I've also added a bookstore for the stories I've written so far. I'll add to that as I complete my works.

For those of you who haven't checked Nuggets yet, it's a page devoted to writers I love and who have influenced me and the fields of fantasy, adventure and science fiction they excel in.

Coming soon are: Perehelion and Invaders of the Cowboy Skies. Both are strong adventure tales packed with science-fiction, mystery, suspense, humor and most of all lots of fun. Born of my experience with the Saturday morning serials such as Flash Gordon, Batman, Superman and Captain Video. My homage to the past.

Also, coming soon, I'll have a new blog devoted to children's stories for those of you who have little ones, or know someone who does. It'll be totally devoted to the younger ones, complete with my own illustrations and stories. My first story will be about the life of Mister Po, a cute character, who lives in a world most of us wish existed, but for him actually does.

Mister Po checking out the skies.

P.S. I'm getting ready to add an email sub service. If you would like to be on it, please send me your contact  information to: realmsword@cox.net. I'll put you on the list the moment it's up and running.

Also, please let me know if you would prefer to have the posts delivered once a day, or weekly.
Thanks!

So until Monday when I continue my take on War of the Worlds, have a great weekend.

Best.

John Pirillo

It was on one of those solitaire sojourns beneath the glistening gold tower of the Eiffel that he first met Wells. Jules had been eating a pastry his mother and he had made together. She had insisted he eat all of it, making sure that she added some sausage into it, as well as the creamy topping he liked so much made of honey.

“What’s that?” Wells had asked in his rather stiff, and proper English accent.

Jules had looked up, his mouth quite stuffed with pastry, with topping oozing around the corners of his lips and said profoundly. “Mmmph?”

Wells had broken into laughter. Jules had thought he was making fun of him and was ready to jump up and stuff the pastry between Wells’ ears, until Wells flopped down beside him, and offered a different sort of pastry made of whole ground wheat and topped with raspberries.

Jules eyes bugged out. “You have raspberries?” He asked, his pastry spitting out as he tried to talk and swallow at the same time.

Wells nodded his head, then did a remarkable thing. He split the pastry in two and offered Jules half. And that did it. Their friendship was sealed in gold. And never to be broken.

Jules accepted the offering, setting his own pastry aside to savor the raspberries, eating each one as if they were the last his lips would ever touch. When he had finished those, he nibbled at the pastry proper, relishing the deep brown sugar that was thickly addressed to its sides with his tongue, and then gulping it down before it could melt away.

In between their snacks the two boys covertly examined each other. Jules noted that Wells had a kind of dark look to him, besides the obvious hair color. It was like he was a storm waiting to happen. Later on, Jules would remember that first insight when Wells burst into one of his famous tempers. But Wells  was not an unjust person. His anger was not generally reserved for the innocent, but rather those things he couldn’t change, or those things he wanted to change, but hadn’t found a way to yet. He, just like Jules, loved writing. He had read all the eclective literature of his time from Asimov, Heinlein, Disney, Pixar and the late, but great Lucas and Spielberg, one of the finest writing teams on the planet that ever lived.

There wasn’t a child alive who hadn’t read one of the team’s super stories about beings from other worlds and wars between distant galaxies.

In fact it was those two that had urge Wells to pursue his own story “War of the Worlds,” about the Atlanteans and Lemurians who had demolished each other and ruined most of the planet in their efforts to conquer the other.

He had described the Atlanteans as giants with a third eye in the middle of their forehead, and the Lemurians as winged creatures that resembled humans, but had foul temper and no love of life whatsoever, even going so far as to eat their own kind when annoyed with them.

That had set his mother in fits of terror after reading it. “People eating people.” Oh, Wells, that’s just horrible! No civilized being would ever do such a thing.”

I've been receiving some email asking about subscribing. Google Blogs are about to lose their subscription services from Google, so I am looking for a reliable service to do this so your subs won't be interrupted or break down.

In the meanwhile I will be posting every night Monday through Friday and taking the weekends off, with perhaps a surprise or two on occassion.

Thanks for your support.

Happy reading.

John

P.S.

Look towards the bottom right for the portion of War of the Worlds I posted tonight. I have posted twice tonight.

John

    Jules preened under her admiring glance. “But of course, or it would be no fun.”

    And so they had all dessed up in their outdoors clothing, as it was drizzily that day and made their way to the bakery shop up Andelay Street. There Montclief the Chef brought out a tray of sweets he always kept for that special time when his customers needed to be naughty.

    He plied the family with raspberry tarts, strawberry tarts, lemon squares, cherry froths and his specially made crèmes, which he nearly froze in his basement with ice left over from the Winter a few months ago.

    Jules, again, etched this memory into his brain, knowing someday it would become precious. It was not that he could see into the future, but he had overhead his parents sometimes at night, remembering their youth and the things of importance they had forgotten and wished they could remember, but were long gone.

    Jules had promised himself that he would always treasure his past as much as he valued his present, and later the future. He was a child of the moment, and a man of the present. A young man true. But a man, nevertheless. For in the France of that time young men of thirteen to fourteen were treated as adults, and often would step into the shoes of their fathers to take their paths in life.

    Anyway, getting back on topic, forgive me my delays in getting back to the delicate and sweet Marie. She was in the forefront of the naturalist movement, as group of  French leaders who believed that food was next to God, but had to be administered properly, or it would become the devil’s playground…causing such horrible things as Javier’s missing toes, or Grand Ma’s black growth on her scalp, or the horrible smelling things between one’s toes and fingernails.

“Cleanliness and nutrition are the next best thing to godliness, Junior, she would tell him in her sweet, lilting voice.” And he believed her, even as he believed Jules Senior when he boasted of chasing a dinosaur across the Antartic ice for its precious oils. After all, everyone knew that dinosaur oil was the most healthy drink one could consume for one’s health. Though sometimes when he went into the local pharmacy he was puzzled that he never saw any dinosaur oil advertised there. He had asked the pharmacist and been told only Old Timers could purchase it. He had said that with such a strange grin that Jules thought he was pulling his leg, and as he grew older he came to understand what dinosaur oil really was and laughed at his youthful naivety.

But despite all those incredible uplifting moments, Jules found himself lingering longer and longer in the park beneath the Eiffel Tower, savoring all the different personalities of people who strolled, ran, hopped, skipped, cleaned, patrolled, and did the countless thousand other things humanity did moment to moment, and day to day.

Jules was becoming a writer and his ability to observe was being honed, not only by his exquisite diet of fatherly and motherly advise, but by his own inclination to go beyond what was expected of his personal education. To go beyond what people said, to what people truly meant, and what their actions foretold with subtle movements, such as a glimpse, a nod, a dismissal.

Chenie shook a finger at her father. “Naughty. Naughty!”

  

    They shook their heads. “The Ministry of Defense!”

    Jules and Chenie jumped up and down for several minutes, yelling at the top of their lungs, while the family sat at the table quietly watching with amusement.  Finally, they sat down, picked up their fallen napkins and placed them properly back in their laps again.

    “Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Papa.” Chenelle said quietly.

    “Not me!” Jules burst out and let out another whoop of happiness.

    Needless to say Jules was relegated to clean up duty that night. And cleaning up after a family of six is no easy task, especially when it’s a six course meal like tonight was. Jules carefully cleaned each piece of silverware after letting them soak in boiling water for about thirty minutes, then placed them in their slide out drawer his father had made for his mother. He called it the “Utensils drawer.”

    Jules asked him if he had ever tried to sell the idea. Jules Senior’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead, indicating the thought had never struck him, then answered. “But if I sold the idea, then everyone else would have it and I would no longer have the pride of owning the only one.”
   
    “So it’s pride is more important than sharing?” Jules had asked innocently.

    Marie had stepped in then to save him. “Your father knows what’s best for his family, doesn’t he, mon Cherie.” She said, pinching his right cheek playfully. He turned around and gave her a swing around the kitchen as if dancing with her, while the children rushed in to watch. They began clapping their hands, and soon they were all dancing with each other.

    Jules would always remember those peaceful happy nights, because a day would come when they no longer existed.  But at that time, and in that moment, his heart was full of delight and warmth as only the member of a contented family could experience.

    The next morning Marie had asked Jules Senior to watch the kids while she went to her Naturalist Meeting. She was the Chairman. He gave her a peck and with a smile shooed her on the way. He winked at the kids. “Since it’s summer and the cat is away, perhaps the mice will play?”
Jules and Chenie were heroes at the dinner table that night. When the father and mother looked at the cards, they were flabbergasted. “My God, you children know whom just bought  your work?”

Okay, Day two of War of the Worlds. Hope you're enjoying this. While you're reading this new short novel, I'm already working on the idea for a new story, which I will tease some ideas about as we get to the midpoint of this one.

Also, if you haven't already done so, take a look at the Nugget section of my blog. I'm posting pictures and information on well known and perhaps not as well known authors who have influenced me over the years, and whom I think you might enjoy reading.

Best.

John

NOW ONTO: WAR OF THE WORLDS

   “Jules, a man of Letters will go much further in the modern world, than a Chef. Perhaps someday there will come a time when a Chef will be seen by all the world and then his fame will occlude that of a writer, but that seems an impossibility at this time.” She said brightly.

    Jules immediately perked up, his head full of ideas, just like their oven was filled with cup cakes at that time. “Imagine this, Mom, a device that will hold a man’s face within it and project it around the world so everyone can see it.”

    His mother had given him a hug of delight. “You’re so creative, Jules. No matter what you choose to do, I know you will be a success, and no matter you choose I will love you no more and no less.” She said proudly, then leaned closer to whisper. “But don’t tell your dad that, he’ll use it against me.”

    At the time Jules didn’t know what she meant, but as the years peeled away from his youth and his adventures grew, he came to understand the meaning of many things which had eluded him in his youth.

    Jules fondness for his mother was only exceeded by his fondness for inventing. He and his sister, Chenie, as he called Chenelle, would go out back into the tool shed and weasel various components of old stoves, pipes, bolts, wire, and whatever they could find and make things. Their father and mother thought it unusual for them to take on such a hobby, as most siblings, especially male and female didn’t want to be together so much, but Jules and Chenie were like hand and glove.

    One day they proudly built a new kind of dog house. It was built so that wherever the dog was a door in it could open. They called it the automatic dog house. Jules and Chenie sat in front of their  house one weekend and tried to sell it. Their father and mother watched from the bedroom balcony with amusement, until one elderly gentleman stopped to take a look at the house. His face was all red and puffy from his exertions. He was quite overweight. He listened to the children explain what the device was for, then he took out a card and handed it to Chenie, and then one to Jules. Next, he gave them each ten francs. Whistling, he gathered up the doghouse under one arm and walked off.

Tonight begins a short novel that takes place in an alternate reality, where the Martians aren't really Martians, and H.G.Wells and Jules Verne are the heroes of an invasion that baffles the imagination and challenges the soul.

Join me in:

WAR OF THE WORLDS

Preface:

For a long time humanity appeared as if it would disappear off the face of the planet, the Martian War Machines destroyed anything and everything that moved. They were ruthless and cruel as no one could ever have imagined in their wildest dreams. Their experimentation on human beings went far beyond any tales of terror from the World Wars of old. No, they were a race of cold, calculating beings, whose intellect was so remote from the simplest of human feelings and emotions, that the word compassion, kindness, friendship, love and sympathy just didn’t exist.

Into that world H.G.Wells and Jules Verne forged a friendship that would last and endure many hardships.

And so as we near the end of an apocalyptic century, the story can finally be told about those horrible years when humanity came close to extinction and no amount of prayers to God seemed to change that. For man had chosen a dark path to follow and it was only natural that Dark Masters would be attracted from across the universe to seek and find him and to war against him, even as mankind warred against its own self, the ground it lived upon and the air it breathed.

And in the end it was indeed the work of God that saved humanity, but only once mankind had become humbled so greatly that he would finally listen to the one friend he had always had.

Volume One: The Forever Friends

Chapter One: The Authors

Jules was a mild mannered man, far from the more adventurous image his stories cast upon the world and its hungry readers of his fantastic adventures. Born in Paris, France, to poor parents, he was never one to seek attention, but somehow always got it anyway.

His parents, Franco and Marie Verne, were famous writers and artists. They had chosen early on in their marriage to split the duties of script and brush to create harmony and balance the needs of the family to the needs of making an earnest and rewarding living. Franco Pierre Emile Verne  was a large man with steep sideburns and a large bushy beard, which his mother would call the burning bush sometimes because he would catch it on fire from time to time when he lit his pipe to smoke.

Marie was the sensitive one and Jules got that side from her, but his father was a fisherman of tales, always throwing bigger and bigger stories back into the waters because of his seemingly endless backlog of adventures only he could imagine. Jules was born with a dash of Marie and a huge helping of his father Jules Senior.

Jules Senior always put his son to bed with a huge story, complete with multiple characters and places of exotic interest. Marie, on the other hand, would have Jules or Junior as she would call him, help her in the kitchen. There in her splendid world, he learned about the craft of spices, and how just the right amount of parsley, and sage could improve the taste of beef. And the holding back of salt would stop the food from making you so thirsty afterwards.

    His sisters, Marie, Chenelle, and Julie made fun of him because he was so set on becoming a master chef. He loved story telling, but it was evident from early on that food was a direction he would probably end up mastering a career in. His father loved the idea, but his mother encouraged him to write.