by: Kristy Duke

Stepping out of his car, Shawn Graham ignores the chilly wind that brushes up against his tense body as he silently glances around the empty driveway to send questions rapidly growing within him. Questions that sends his worry descending heavily within him to send paralyzing panic and fear heavily within him to force him to lean upon his beloved car. Forcing himself to breathe in deeply, he glances up at the dark clouds that shifts slowly in the gray sky as he attempts to calm his emotions that his harsh thoughts have brought upon him. ‘Where is everyone? What are they doing?’ are the questions that rapidly run through him to send paranoia within him as he envisions the worse. Sighing heavily he attempts to shove the thoughts aside and he slowly begins to walk up the weak steps up to the small porch while he attempts to come up with possible answers to his questions. They could have gone anywhere and doing anything. They could have went into town to run errands or to talk to Cooter. Or perhaps  they went to visit someone who had called them out. The answers were endless, yet Shawn can’t help but to fear the worse. That his secret has been revealed and they are out planning on how to confront him.

Shaking his head in attempt to shake out his thoughts, he slowly opens the unlocked door to slowly step into the shadow darkened kitchen and allows his eyes to adjust before closing the door behind him. Taking a step closer his eyes slowly fall upon a piece of paper that lies on the table and Shawn reluctantly walks over to it to find his name wrote in capital letters on a piece of blank notebook paper. Turning it over he finds it to be in Luke’s familiar handwriting to slowly begin to read the few lines wrote out to him.

Shawn – Daisy had gotten called into work early today while the rest of us went to Kristy’s for our weekly lunch with her family as we had told you about yesterday. I take it since you ran off in such a hurry this morning that you weren’t interested in coming or had forgot. Anyway, that is where we are at if you return and no one is home. Make yourself at home…our home is your home. We’ll be back later this afternoon sometime. Cooter had the idea that we should go out to them old caves as we use to hang out at and build a fire and we can make our own supper as we use to before going back to the Boar’s Nest like we did last night. It’s your call. Think about what you want to do.

Luke

Shawn re-reads the letter in attempt to decipher if he had wrote the truth or had wrote it in attempt to hide his true reasons behind being gone before crumpling it up and throwing it away in the garbage can. A moment later of thinking of the letter, relief floods over him as he slowly begins to remember Luke talking yesterday on their way home from the Boar’s Nest of their weekly lunch they have at Kristy’s every Sunday. The letter had been wrote in truth, leaving Shawn off of the hook and in the clear of the time being. Sighing heavily he slowly begins to think of only minutes ago when he had been convinced of his true identity and reasoning of being in Hazzard to have been discovered by Luke and the rest of the Dukes and the fear it had brought upon him. Staring into the shadows, he begins to wonder what he will do once Luke finds out the truth and is able to see past his lies. Landon made it clear of what he was to do if anyone in Hazzard were to find out who he has became; kill them, leave no witnesses, and then the gang would clean up and leave town as it had in Atlanta. But could he bring himself to kill Luke? Cooter? Jesse or Daisy? How could he even think of killing them if they found out? But he’d have to do something if that were to happen? Deep down he knew he couldn’t kill them after all they’ve done for him now and in the past.  If Bo or anyone else were to find out about him or his gang, he’d have little trouble with pulling the trigger; the only reason he’d have trouble with Bo would be in knowledge of how hard Luke would be hit with his death. Bo had always been the one to get in the way of him and Luke, the one to slow Luke down. Always was a source of annoyance to him. It’d be a relief to him to be able to put the bullet in his heart and see the pain in his eyes; if it weren’t of Luke’s deep devotion to his cousin.

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by: Kristy Duke

Staring through the thick darkness that heavily looms within my small bedroom I am slowly shoved into being awake as my thoughts abruptly turn to last night’s events. Thoughts of last night’s robbery at The Boar’s Nest to cornering them in their own car to send a sense of fear and dread to wash over my numb body. Fear and dread of what I may have gotten myself into by doing what I had, last night, watching them so confidently walking through the tables and then demanding the cash that they had came for, it had sent my thoughts recoiling back to my past with my old gang. It left me yearning for my old life back, for the rush of the adrenaline and excitement that each hit brought as well as the sense of belonging that had came with being in the gang. Something that I’ll never feel as long as I am in Hazzard. It had seemed like a good idea last night while remembering and missing my past, though now as thoughts of all that could go wrong with what I did and ask for, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea.

Sighing heavily, I fight back the questions that abruptly flood within me as I stiffly get out of bed to blindly find the light switch and the bright light chases the thick darkness away. Grabbing an old pair of jeans and a shirt for today Kristy and her kids’ voice silently reaches my room to bring guilt within me. Guilt for what I had asked for last night and the consequences that may follow if they do agree upon my joining them for what it would do to her though as I hear LB’s voice echo up the stairs, my guilt seems to lessen. Lessen in knowledge that if something were to happen while with the gun men from last night, that he would at least be here for her and for the kids.

Leaving my room to sneak into the bathroom, I slowly continue to get ready for the day while listening into the laughing and talking that seems to float up the narrow stares in a whisper. Looking into the large oval mirror that hangs over the bathroom sink I am almost startled to find a small smile cross my face, a smile from the mixture from the kids’ innocent laughter from downstairs and from the thought of belonging to another gang. Taking a deep breath, I quickly force the smile away while I comb my hair and my attention slowly falls onto the thick scar that runs down my neck, the thick scar that continues to remind me of the consequences of belonging to a gang may bring. Taking a deep breath, I quickly throw the comb down into the drawer to open the bathroom door to slowly follow the hall to the stairs to make my way to the kitchen.

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by: Margaret

Federal Agent Fox Mulder was not only asleep, but in a deep sleep, when he felt
someone nudge his shoulder. Though the shove was hard enough to get his attention, it still wasn’t sufficient to wake him totally up. Without opening his eyes, he scowled and
groaned at the impolite motion. He groped for the hand that tried to jiggle him around,
and when he found it, he threw it into the air while he turned on his side and pulled the
sheets over his head.
Luke Duke took a step back and raised an eyebrow. He looked to his younger cousin
Bo, who was standing near the end of the bed and trying hard to muffle his laughter.
“You didn’t tell me he slept like the dead,” the older one commented.
Bo shrugged, still giggling. “You never asked.”
Luke stared at their houseguest and shook his head. This guy was almost as hard a
sleeper as Bo. And that was saying something. He saw Fox’s covered form curl into a
ball, obviously really, really comfortable. He hated to wake the guy, but then again, if he
didn’t, Uncle Jesse would. And he could be a bit harder on unrepentant late sleepers. So
he reached over and gave the man another hard jiggle.
“WHAAAAAAAAAAAT?” the agent childishly moaned from under his bedsheets.
His face was buried in his pillow, and the single word was barely intelligible.
Bo grinned, dark blue eyes suddenly dancing devilishly. He mischievously grabbed the
bottom of the sheet, and with a quick snap of his wrist ripped the cotton cloth clean off
the mattress. Fox’s head popped out into the open, straight brown hair mussed terribly,
and he quickly covered his eyes, cringing.
“What are you two doing?” he whined.
“Come on, Fox. It’s time to get up,” Luke instructed with almost paternal authority.
Mulder turned on his stomach and looked out the window. “The sun’s not even up
yet!”
“It will be soon,” Bo taunted. “Uncle Jesse wants to take you shopping at Mr.
Rhuebottom’s store today, and we need to be there when he opens the door.”
Mulder slowly sat up. He rubbed his heavy eyelids and cocked his head. “Why?” he
asked squinting at the still-grinning blond.
“Why what?” Bo replied.
“Why do we have to be there when he opens the doors? I mean, the guy’s open until
five, right?”
Luke scratched his chin and thoughtfully nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Then, what’s the rush?” Mulder pressed.
Bo and Luke stared at him, then at each other, then back at him and shrugged.
“Because,” they said in unison.
“You masochistic sadists!” Fox playfully groaned. He lunged for the sheet bunched in
Bo’s hand, ripped it free, and threw it over his head as he crashed headlong back into his
pillow. The Duke boys’ reactions were equally as quick and violent. Luke grabbed his
shoulders while Bo grabbed his legs, and together, the two farmers hauled the man out of
bed while Fox screamed like a woman. All three, howver, were laughing hysterically, the
sound of the simple joy and fun of not having anything major to worry about in the world
filling the room and floating out the open window across the farmyard. A horse flicked
an ear in the pasture, and a rooster crowed.
Yep, life was good. Life was mighty good.

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by: Kristy Duke

Stiffly climbing out of The General’s open passenger window, Shawn slowly steadies himself before he silently eyes the well worn rectangle building that lies several feet away. Staring at the old building he is once again confronted by old memories he had thought he had  long ago buried away, it all comes fleeting back to him. Focusing on the memories of the times he had spent within the four walls of the small building that lies ahead of him, for the first time, he silently ponders what was it that he had hated about Hazzard so bad. The chores on his father’s farm had been hard and was a never ending part of the farm life he had been born into, yet now after years of life in the fast lane, he has realized that is a part of life. Whether in the city or on the farm. Or had it been the slow paced life that the small farming county had produced that made him crave the fast life of Atlanta?  Whatever had been the main factor towards his hatred towards Hazzard that he had been plagued with while growing up in the small town, it all seems meaningless and inaccurate as he stares at the town building. Now he almost finds himself missing life in Hazzard with the rising wish of returning to the life he had so badly hated years ago despite the tugging knowledge that his decision of leaving Hazzard for good years ago was the only decision for him. The slow life of Hazzard would eventually eat away at him as it had so many years ago, but for now, it seems relaxing and almost therapeutic.

Taking a deep breath, Shawn takes a silent step away from Luke’s orange racing car and his cold eyes falls from the building and onto the crowded parking lot that is mostly filled with old and rusty cars and trucks. All except for the black Harley Davidson that is parked near the entrance of the bar and restaurant and the black Lincoln parked partially hidden behind a thick patch of bushes besides the building and off onto the grassy area. Fear and confusion steadily streaks through Shawn’s tense body as his thoughts instantly shoves the past behind and grabs onto the future while he struggles to grab onto the plan that had been built between him and his Atlanta friends.  Intense panic grabs a tight hold upon him at recognizing the hidden car as questions steadily rush at him, questions of why they would so boldly change their plans without warning him and what it all means.

“Hey,” an old familiar voice speaks besides him to break the air of silence that had seemed to build around him and Shawn quickly turns his attention away from the hidden vehicle to the direction the voice had came from. For a short moment, shock and surprise fills him at seeing Luke standing besides him wearing a concerned look for Shawn. “You OK, Shawn?” Luke finally asks, his worry apparent in his voice for his long-time friend. Shawn’s surprise quickly subsides as he desperately attempts to shove back the panic and fear that boils within him in attempt to hide his emotion and interest in the hidden car.

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by: MacSas

Dear Red,

It’s been three months since you left Hazzard. Three months since you left me. Well, three months since I told you to leave. I know I didn’t say the words out loud, but I sure didn’t leave much room for imagination, did I? You didn’t have to leave. I know that sounds pathetic since I gave you no reason to stay, but I kind of feel like you gave up too quick. You promised me forever, was that just a dream? Or have we reached forever already?

Daisy sighed as she re read the letter. This was the fourth time she had tried to write to Martin. She missed him desperately, yet couldn’t pluck up the courage to call him. She had thought that writing things down would help. But, no matter how she worded it, she came out sounding whiny and spoilt. Like someone had taken her prized toy away. She sighed again. Maybe that’s what she was, whiny and pathetic. Why miss the man when you didn’t want what he wanted? Or did she…

“Hey”

Daisy turned at the soft sound of Luke’s voice. He stood just inside her door, arms folded, his stance casual. She smiled at him as he walked further into the room.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Luke said, sitting on the side of her bed. He pretended not to notice as she discreetly turned over the paper she had been writing on. He knew she was writing to Martin, or trying to, again.

“What do you mean?” she asked, fiddling with the pen on her desk.

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