Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  He raised his leg to step aboard the empty car when his abdominals quivered, pulled toward his spine, and made a noise like a sponge quickly absorbing water. The stowaway cautiously looked around and dashed for nearby woods in his peripheral vision. Great! How am I gone find somethin' ta eat quickly nuff ta catch tha train?! He shook his head, lowered his eyes, and closed them. Suddenly, his mind flickered like a film projector with the image of trees surrounding a raccoon, scurrying up a bark, fifty yards away. Leaves, dirt, and branches took flight throughout his newly forged trail as he dodged trees with skill rivaling a decorated, military pilot while avoiding numerous plants as though they were enemy fire and missiles.

  He saw the wind bristling its black-and-grey fur with the creature's black eyes staring at him as though he faced it. Two, callused hands were nearly invisible as they unraveled the swaddling package, being familiar with most of the contents. He held back tears and staunched bleeding hands upon continuing to loosen the old, worn blanket surrounding the objects. He slowly eased his callused fingers into the dark covering to feel something with many bumps he did not recognize.

  Trouble slowly pulled the mysterious object out until he had could see what he held. A barrage of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo flashes blinded him before he saw an ivory handle with many shimmering jewels. His eyes reflected all of their hues as he viewed the embedded weapon's stones. This is a jeweled scabbard containin' a sword wit' uh jeweled handle! I knew uh sword was in here, but I didn't know it looked like dis!!! The adolescent grasped the handle and prepared to pull the weapon from its housing when a southern accent with a fierce tone echoed throughout his mind and startled him into silence, “Get your hands off of my sword, boy!”

  Trouble quickly leapt backwards, dropped the sword, and turned around like a dog chasing its tail. His eyes and mouth widened until they could stretch no more upon noticing no other people near him. His fingers quivered before he darted throughout the surrounding trees to see who could have said anything. The young vagrant decided to bypass the meal and return to the train before it left. He wrapped the sword inside of the blanket and disappeared with the risen dust.

  Trouble inhaled deeply, glanced around the car, boarded the massive vehicle, and removed another object from the blanket. The cold, black steel of his father's rifle made his hands tingle upon grazing the barrel with his fingers. He stroked the rifle's handle before his awareness slipped away with his closing eyes. The adolescent fell over snoring before his head struck the floor.

  Trouble's eyes bulged upon feeling an icy breeze along his neck despite the warm temperatures. A brown hue, draped over the boy like a blanket, replacing the sunlight. A glance at the ceiling showed a black, filmy presence, floating above him like a bad omen. He stretched his leg ahead of him to run before the film fell upon him again, suffocated him, and bound his body like a straightjacket. Fiery tunnels swallowed the frightened Louisianan before his eyes shot open with hot sweat and cool air permeating the back of his neck.

  He inhaled deeply, loosened his muscles, and smiled upon seeing the sunlight before a dark film filled the corner of his eye. The teenager turned his head in its direction to see nothing resembling the image he thought he saw only seconds ago. He grabbed the front of his shirt and wrung sweat out of it with his inhalation rapidly slowing. The floor's vibrations let him know the train was still moving. Trouble completely opened and gazed at the blanket's contents.

  He grazed his fingertips along the rifle's handle before moving them toward the jeweled sword, again. His hand was less than five inches away from the object before the same raspy voice filled the car, again.

  “Get your hands off of my sword, boy!” Trouble glanced around the car, again. I know it couldn't be no one outside 'cause the train movin'! I know I's bad, but I ain't crazy!! He knew it was not the dark film because his body was usually immobile with its presence. The determined warrior started to reach for the sword, again, and the voice said the same thing. He glimpsed around the room before returning his attention to the sword. What could poss’bly happen and what is whoever sayin’ dis gone do ta me even if they do exist?

  Trouble quickly grabbed the sword’s handle and beat his chest, repeatedly. He cupped his hand around his ear to listen for the voice, again. He grunted upon hearing silence.

  “Yeah! I don’t know who you thank you's triflin' wit’, but you obviously don’t have da gumption to show yo’self!” boasted Trouble. He pulled the sword out of the scabbard and swung it as though he were fighting enemies. The teenager spun around and laughed. I can't believe I gave up my dinner fo' uh figment o' my 'magination! Soreness overwhelmed his body as he strained to lift the blade before letting his arm fall beside him. The sword fell to the splintered floor as he fell to the ground with closed eyes.

  Trouble's ears throbbed and his eyes flew open with the shaking ground to a series of rhythmic strikes. He saw several, brown, mud-caked boots walking toward him. The smell of gunpowder and burning flesh filled his nostrils. His hand became wet as he placed it on the ground, but the fluid's thickness let him know it was not water. He lifted it to see thick, crimson film falling from it. His bowels shook, abdominals contracted, and fluid rose to the back of his throat before the ground shook as canons filled the air with flares, smoke, and thunderous sounds.

  Soldiers wearing dark-blue uniforms ran past him before their abdomens exploded with blood and flares before their torn, mangled bodies told the story of their pending demises. The volleys nearly grazed his skin and nose before realizing he nearly became headless by firing canons. A soldier in a blue uniform knocked over another soldier in a gray uniform, pounced upon him before he could stand to his feet, and repeatedly stabbed him through the chest with a bayonet as though he were churning butter. The soldier walked away from the bloody mess, stared briefly at Trouble with the bayonet poised in his direction before walking away with his weapon gripped. The teenager gasped and began walking away before a grievous noise attracted his attention. He stared down to see crimson fluid flowing from the dying man's mouth.

  He strained his neck to glance at Trouble and declared, “I may not get ta see it, but ya will be put back in yo’ place.” The head fell on the ground, gasped, and closed his eyes, permanently. More uniformed men fell, bled, and gasped their last breaths. What was once a pasture of green grass now had the appearance of the Red Sea. The hiding adolescent felt mild itching throughout his face and shoulders before swatting at flies going to the corpses.

  The smell of smoke entered his nostrils as he stopped swinging at the flies. He ducked behind a bush with the leaves scratching his face before he continued watching the chaos. A sharp, stinging, and powerful blow with an open palm struck his cheek, startled him, and pushed back a few feet. He rolled into rocks and soil before a large, thick, trunk tree stopped his motion. The adolescent’s eyes perused the area, as he slowly rose to his feet.

  A six-foot-eight, tar-skinned man with a husky build adorned in a navy-blue uniform with shiny, golden buttons, long scar on his face, having a thick, well-groomed beard, and a lit, sweet-smelling cigar stared down at the observer.

  “I thought I told you to keep your hands off of my sword, boy!” screamed the large, belligerent man.

  “You tha voice that I been hearin’ each time I grasp tha sword?” asked Trouble.

  “I am more than a voice, boy, and you need to respect your elders!” asserted the large, muscular man, sternly.

  “Who’re you an’ what am I doin’ here?” asked Trouble.

  “You do not have the right or the authority to ask any questions, boy! Now! do as I say, or feel the consequences,” affirmed the large man.

  Trouble smiled as he remembered the strength and speed he had been given by the angel.

  He rose from the ground with a slight smile upon his face, clenched his fists, and calmly said, “Gimme the consequences!” The man propelled Trouble into the air with his clenched fist and knocked him backward several feet in one swift motion.
The combatant glanced at his hands with wide eyes as he rolled to the side. The juvenile felt his face to see dark, red fluid on his fingertips and saw the red stain on his overalls. The angry teenager's eyes bulged with his mouth agape, but he rushed in for a rebound, anyway. The large, husky man stepped to the side and tripped his assailant.

  Trouble's eyes glowered as dust pelted his face from the fall. The adolescent jumped upon his feet, charged his adversary, and tried to land a blow on the man’s crotch, but the man easily caught his fist and lifted him into the air by it. The large man effortlessly tossed the adolescent aside like a sack of potatoes. The teenager’s glowing, crimson eyes had tears streaming from them. The man rushed to where the bewildered adolescent landed. The adolescent attempted to cover his face, but the man forcibly removed the stubborn, young man’s hands from it. He placed a white cloth under the recently humbled adolescent’s nose.

  “Tilt your head backwards and hold that cloth under it!” commanded the large man.

  “If I have to repeat myself, I am going to hit you, again!” Any other time, I would have seen that blow coming, dodged it, and had enough time for a counterattack. How come I did not see it coming, and why'd I get my butt kicked so eas'ly!

  The man noticed the teenager's solemn mood.

  “Try to pick up that canon,” ordered the man, calmly. Trouble slowly stood upon his feet and walked in the direction the man was pointing. He slowly placed his hands under the cumbersome weapon and began to lift upward. Muscles stretched to their limit without any indication of stirring a molecule on the object. He exhaled much harder as he gaped at the weapon. The Louisiana native charged the weapon like a linebacker only to nearly throw his shoulder out of socket. He screamed as he fell to the ground. Trouble rose to his feet and walked away slowly until he stood several feet away from the heavy object.

  “Stop!” shouted the large man. Trouble charged toward the weapon until a tremendous force grabbed his arm and sent him flying backward.

  “Boy! I am not shouting stop because I want to die of thirst and have my throat crack and bleed! When I say stop, I am going to beat you until you are a bloody lump under my boot if anything is moving other than your heart and your lungs! You have been given special abilities that I really don’t think you deserve, but you were shown mercy; however, your abilities have been neutralized until I see fit to have them restored,” informed the man.

  “How'd ya do that?” asked Trouble.

  “I was sent to train you, and I have been given power to neutralize your abilities as I see fit,” answered the large man.

  “I remember bein’ in a train, and the next thang I know, I’m in da middle of uh nowhere wit’ casualties and a large ogre beatin' me down and my powers ‘re unavailable,” recalled Trouble.

  “Boy! You are liable to get beaten again if you don’t show this ogre some respect!” replied the large man.

  “So how shoulda refer to ya?” inquired Trouble.

  “Manners may seem very unusual for you, but you could do something extraordinary by asking me my name,” suggested the large man.

  “What’s yo’ name, sir?” asked the humbled teenager.

  “My name is Hezekiah, but you would do well to keep referring to me as sir,” suggested the large man.

  “Yes, Mr. Sir,” asserted Trouble, facetiously.

  “Don’t get cute, or I’ll show you something uglier than a horse’s backside with something coming out of it!” threatened Hezekiah.

  “So, what da firs' thang you would like fo' me ta do?” inquired the recently submissive juvenile.

  Hezekiah squinted at the teenager and raised his hand in a violently suggestive manner. Trouble quickly shouted “Sir!”

  “That is better,” commented Hezekiah. “Go to your quarters, and try to get some sleep; you are going to need it.” Hezekiah chuckled as he walked slowly past the dead grass and the dying soldiers. As they were walking through the field, Trouble noticed the grass and the bodies began to fade until they were completely gone.

  “Why everythang changin’ fo’ no ‘parent reason, sir?” questioned the new trainee.

  “There is a reason for everything, but that does not mean that we are entitled to know it, and there are times when it is not good to know everything,” replied Hezekiah.

  Hezekiah slowly walked to a large, southern mansion with a fifteen-foot, iron fence surrounding the building. Trouble quietly followed him to the large, wooden gate. Lush, green bushes with bright, colorful flowers sprung from the ground within seconds as they walked through the field. The guest stared everywhere with wide eyes and an open mouth before noticing an orchard of oranges on the right side of the mansion and an orchard of a similar size with on the left side of the stately residence. His eyes continued to bulge with his stomach rumbling as he viewed what he perceived as the most beautiful, edible environment he had ever laid eyes on. He reached for the handle to open the gate before a scruffy voice interrupted him:

  “Where do you think you are going, boy?!!”

  “I was goin’ ‘side of da ga-” uttered Trouble.

  “I said you are going to your quarters!” shouted Hezekiah as he pointed to his right. Trouble’s eyes followed the direction of Hezekiah’s finger. A small, rectangular-shaped structure of loose, wooden boards sloping upon one another stood like popsicle sticks, barely holding each other, together. The curious vagrant glanced at the structure with an ugly grimace.

  “Are ya tellin’ me that I gotta stay in uh outhouse long as I’m trainin’ wit’ ya fo’ howeva long, sir!” screamed Trouble.

  “Watch your tone, boy!” warned the large man.

  “No, you can always stay outside with the mosquitoes and the bugs! You are not going inside of that mansion, either way,” laughed Hezekiah. I stayed in places made uh wood, but I aint eva sleep wit’ manure. He slowly walked to the unwelcoming booth, and he turned around to see Hezekiah smiling at him. The adolescent returned his attention to his temporary residence.

  I don't like dis, but I guess it's betta th'n goin' back ta Hell fo' sneakin' inside uh mansion! Ya know? It is uh warm night. I c’n just sleep on top of da thang! The determined youth attempted to climb on its side, his feet kept sliding off with repeated attempts. Trouble dashed up the side of the wall and grasped the boarded roof. He strained and grunted as he slowly pulled himself up, but the effort was much greater than he initially thought.

  The adolescent grunted with his feet slipping down the boards until his foot was upon the roof. The determined individual stood upon the roof with his hands on his hips until a splinter pierced his foot. He immediately released his grip on the roof and screamed in pain as he fell.

  “Maybe you should try going inside instead of being topside,” suggested a raspy voice. Trouble turned around to see a rather amused Hezekiah laughing at him.

  “Boy, are you stubborn!” He just calmly turned away from the large man and placed two, quick steps on the structure’s sides. Trouble stood upon the roof and glanced at Hezekiah with a smirk upon his face. He stretched out upon his back and relaxed. The roof suddenly collapsed, and the victor fell into the center of the scattered structure.

  Hezekiah ran to the scattered boards and scrambled through the rubble. He quickly tossed some planks, covering the hole, peered into it, and held his nose. A pair of angry eyes stared up at him through brown sludge. Hezekiah slowly walked backward, wrapped his arms around his sides, fell over, and buckled out laughter like a crazed hyena. The displeased, young man climbed out of the hole. Hezekiah looked at the filthy teenager, held his nose, and quickly gave the adolescent instructions:

  “Listen boy, you need to go the river, which is about two miles in the east. You need to bathe in the water and let the current rush past you, but do not go too far in the center; otherwise, you may get washed downstream.”

  “You’d like dat wouldn’t ya?” retorted the smelly adolescent.

  “No, it would happen too fast for me to really enjoy it. Besides, you would be d
ead before I could really humiliate you!” responded Hezekiah. “You better make good use of the light and hurry up because it will be dark soon.”

  Trouble rushed to the river with a powerful stench trailing behind him like a pack of hungry wolves. He ran through the pine trees and soil in his race against nightfall. The smell was so strong; tears streamed down his face. His eyes sparkled with the reflected greenery of passing foliage. Ordinarily, forest creatures ran away at the presence of a human; however, the creatures ran away before he got anywhere near them because of his recently acquired odor. A few deer rushed off before he got within thirty feet of them.

  A few bears sprinted away upon smelling his scent. He saw a raccoon sitting upon a branch and thought about killing and eating it until he looked at his hands and remembered what would get on the food if he did not wash them. The raccoon scurried up the tree after satisfying its curiosity. The purest scent grazed his nostrils. His feet grazed green blades of grass with each step pressing into the ground as he ascended up a hill.

  The malodorous individual peered over the hill. Currents slapping the shore and rocks could be heard as he came closer. He slowly walked until he saw amber light reflecting off of the river’s green ripples. He gingerly placed each step closer to the water’s edge. The sensation of a thousand tongues surrounded his toe upon submerging it. The boy carefully lowered his leg until he felt two hands upon his back shoving him. He choked and instinctively rose to the surface to get air. Trouble opened his eyes to see Hezekiah near the edge of the bank, laughing at his expense, again.

  "Boy! You are not a Southern Belle or Bathsheba bathing in the river!"

  He turned his back to his tormentor, closed his eyes, held his breath, and submerged himself beneath the surface of the water. Trouble stayed in the river for what seemed like an hour while repeatedly moving his head above and below the water. Warmth inundated his body as the invigorating current pressed against him. A dark-purple hue filled the sky with trailing light of the setting sun. He rose out of the water to see an amber light from a torch illuminating a well-dressed, uniformed man with a dark-blue suit, displaying badges and Medals of Honor, on horseback. The Louisiana native knew who it was without even asking.