harryhero

Harry Hero is a collaborative family writing project. He began as typing practice for author #6 in the mid-seventies. Authors M, 1, 4, 5, 7, spontaneously and sarcastically contributed until Harry took on a life and momentum of his own. He was reborn as a Christmas project in the early nineties and again as a web project in the new millennium. Once more Harry has risen from near tragic and certain literary deaths to live again as blog practice. Bulwer-Lytton judges take note.

About Me

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It seems I have suffered and survived a few insults and injuries to my cranium, thus my memory does not lend itself to one seamless life I could call my own. Instead, my life seems to be one dim episode after another documented by a random and rather odd conglomeration of assorted biographers who, for some bizarre reason, seem compelled to document my trials as if I were a remarkable hero. Heroism can take many forms. Perhaps it is finding fresh strawberries in November for the Manhattan socialite's crepes as she breaks her fast. Perhaps it is found in a multitude of skills, lucky breaks and death defying feats. It may be true that piloting my faithful rig, Betsy, through the Canadian Rockies is not for the weak of spirit, mind or body; I claim no special talents other than devoted love and endless hope. Love of a good truck, a good cup coffee and a good adventure. Hope of self-actualization and...Sophie? If you desire a chronological –not necessarily logical- plotline begin reading at the January 26 2006 post - The Not So Constant Gardener - and follow subsequent postings to present day.

Blog Archive

Friday, March 03, 2006

Harry remembers and forgets.

…It reminded him of suffocating in a coffin after a confusing and daring escape from a Spanish prison, accompanied by 29 angry ape-like men and his childhood friend Buck Brains.

Air…I need air…again…always… I need air. Harry struggled against the panic rising in his chest and the blackness descending over his eyes. He struggled against the duct-taped trench coat still holding him securely in the canoe. He struggled against his helmet wedged tightly between the rocks. He struggled against the bubbling white froth filled with tiny, beautiful glistening orbs of oxygen, so perfect, so logical, so - oh.








He understood everything now. A tiny smile appeared at the corners of Harry’s cold wet lips as the boulder suddenly shifted and his head popped to the surface. He coughed.

He coughed again. Reflexively, Harry plunged his paddle into the water and spun the boat around. Everyone was gone. He took a deep breath. And, with that deep breath all that Harry had known moments earlier, with omniscient certainty, vanished in the encroaching fog like a rainbow in the twilight. He had only a vague sensation of waking up in a Spanish graveyard, but that was yesterday and soon it would be tomorrow. Now it was today – this moment.

Focus. He heard Buck’s voice echoing through the decades. Breathe. Harry shook his head. Droplets of water spun out in a dance of light around him.

“Enough of this!” he declared, “Justice will rule and man’s torment will be assuaged!”



To be continued…
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