It was tragic that the Presidential nominee’s son was killed in a car accident before the convention. Then the President’s sister passed away from food poisoning. An agent discovers a link between the two, and as the relatives of both men start dying, he tries to track a killer who seems determined to take out both families, while leaving the the two candidates and their security detail alone.

Been gone the last week while getting kids back to school and working on a movie script. The last script I wrote involved too many special effects, and is currently beyond my means. This one is two people walking through the beauty of San Francisco. Stayed tuned for news. RIght now I am backfilling, so expect a batch at once. Tony

Our witness to Chinese history tells his children nothing about his past he has buried it completely. His daughter has the opportunity to study in America, and she implores her father to go with her. She knows nothing of his time in the uprising, and knows nothing about it, since the government has buried it so deeply. In San Francisco Chinatown they come across a replica of the Spirit of Democracy statue, and the story comes out.

His imagination never stopped, and it haunted him. He built up stories, movies, songs, plays, operas in his mind, but never had the time to record them. They say that each story is like your own child. Everywhere he went he saw the ghosts of all those children unborn, the stories never told. A number would remind him of a character he meant to write. A sunset would remind him of a film he meant to shoot. He loved those pieces he’d created, but everywhere he was haunted by those dream unwritten. And he knew that even the paltry half-life they had would perish with him.

Two stories told simulataneously: Two boys, aged 9 are in a mass of children trying to get from one place to another. The first is during the age of the crusades, and he hopes to get to the Kingdom of God in Jerusalem to find his father. The Second hopes to get to the magical city of New York to find his Mother. Both must use all their skills to survive as they watch the children around them captured, killed, prostituted, or changed into monstrous people in order to survive.

He grew up with frequent drills about where to hide when the government came for them. As a six-year-old he listened sternly, waiting for the day, and made his own secret hiding places in the woods. He was playing hide-and-seek with the other children in the Family one afternoon when the heat lulled him to sleep under the hollow tree. He never heard the attack, the gunfire, the other children crying when the government agents rounded up the surviving Family members. When night came and hunger woke him there was no one in the remains of the compound, but he could see soldiers in black patrolling the fence-line.

A push is on to make skyscrapers more visible to birds. Glass is invisble to them, and millions are killed each year when they run right into them. One blowhard real-estate magnate refuses to spend any money on stupid birds, and goes on air to jeer at the bird lovers. He later decides to take a relaxing cruise. His ship sails into the Atlantic, into the triangle of ocean east of Bermuda, and disappears forever.

Algorithms run many aspects of human trade now, from Amazon and McDonalds auto-purchasing their items to wall street trading houses. Very few people know China has been secretly using them instead of bureaucrats for a while now. Until one day when a faulty line of code releases all the irrigation water in the Three Gorges Dam at once, washing away everything from Hubei province to Shanghai into the sea.

The Producers created the entertainments and Consumers were entertained. The Gatekeepers controlled the feed. There was little else to do since physical needs were seen to. But as is often the case the Producers spent so much time focussing on creation and competition for scarce resources, they rarely saw the profits that were taken in. Finally revolution broke out. The Producers, starving for bandwidth, worked to wrest the feed from the Gatekeepers. And the Consumers, starving for the feed, followed them. But revolution is a fickle goddess, and in a generation many of the Producers were as bad as the old Gatekeepers.

He was always the first to volunteer for a project. His friend thought it was almost a psychosis. The guy volunteered for so many things that he ran himself into a ditch trying to help everyone at once, and inevitably did a bad job. His friend talked to his wife about this, and they wondered whether to have an intervention. But then there would be no one to do the laundry or help fix the plumbing.