P.S. This is April??? Right???
P.S. This is April??? Right???
Everything is spinning. I see others here as well, their bodies in constant movement in the blackness of this hell. Some I recognize, some not so much. One of them is yelling horrible things. Wait a minute, I seen this one before….Yes, he was one of the guards I beheaded earlier today.
I think it was today, I have no idea how long I am here, time doesn’t exist here in this sickening limbo. …
“We found another one. This one won’t stop crying!” he said, as he scooped the tiny child into his arms and cleaned the muddy water from her body.
Leaving the field where so many children mysteriously show up, he takes her to the compound where she will be tested by doctors and then brought to the place where a home will be found for her.
Lately so many mystery kids have been going out good homes, nobody knows where they come from, but are happy to have them in their lives. Some work out, most don’t. This one may not, at least not until the crying stops. She seems so nervous. She quivers at the slightest touch, and looks away if she is stared at. Truly a problem child.
Years pass and the child, now named Kimberley, has indeed been a problem. In and out of so many foster homes, she is always crying, sometimes even screaming. She is so afraid of everything and everyone around her. Such a pity. Her long blonde hair and her pretty face make adopting her out so easy, but her distrust often leads to home breakdown and she ends up back here in the facility.
Today a new family has come to see her. The man is a kind old soul, a long grey beard and flowing brown hair. His wife is also up in years, but her kind voice almost calms the tiny child, who despite her seven years, barely speaks, and shies away from strangers and staff workers alike.
The old couple take her home and do everything they can for the little girl, who seems to be responding to their kindness.
“Where am I?” he asks. Nobody responds. He hears the thumping of footsteps heading towards him. A light comes on. He is in a tiny cage. “How can this be?” he asks, but nobody responds.
He looks around him. There are many cages, some piled on top each other. There are creatures in the cages. Some are howling, some barking loudly. The one next to his cage is looking at him, drool falling from its lips and a loud growl like he wants to eat Lucien. Lucien cowers back towards the door.
“How about this one?” she says?
The old man takes the tiny pup into his arms, and despite its nervousness, he comforts the tiny creature and kisses it gently on the nose. The little pup responds by licking him on the face. “This one is perfect. She will love him!” he says, as he and his wife head to the door and home with their newly found friend.
Upon their arrival, Kimberly runs to the door to meet them. She looked curious, probably wondering what they had in their arms. When she seen the little dog, they were instantly drawn to each other, as if something linked them together.
The dog, who she named Lucien, became her friend and her protector. She spent hours talking to the dog, sometimes even waiting for a response from the little fur ball. As the two of them grew up, the dog came to her rescue whenever a threat arose. Nobody picked on her in fear of being torn apart by Lucien. Soon she began to talk to others and eventually fit into society. She excelled in the scientific world and eventually went on to work as a scientist, studying the planets and stars.
Lucien was a very mysterious animal who somehow managed to live to the ripe old age of 50, which was previously unheard of for a dog. 50 may seem old for a dog, but it is the average lifespan of a Zion.
the sky held it’s grey color today, not an ounce of light shone, which was probably for the best. Lucien didn’t want to see anything cheerful anyway. His pride in joy was gone from his life forever, and he was the one who ended it.
Sweat and rain soaked his clothing as he trudged along the narrow road that led to the bunker where the others lived. In his hands he yielded an ax-like weapon, his focus on one thing, taking the head of their leader. At least this way he could justify killing the only thing he had to live for in this God Forsaken bitch of a planet. Hell is the only way to describe this place.
Beheading those bastards will ensure that they will never be able to do harm to his lovely Lilly. Once a head has been severed, Zions can no longer leave the planet and emerge in The Living Fields where he sent his beloved. Lucien was determined to make sure none of those monsters reach the heavenly land.
Given the dark dismal evening sky, the trip to the front door of the bunker was relatively easy to access. A few swings of his ax and no longer did he have to worry about the guards at the door. When he reached the entry to the Center Room, he realized that his appearance was anything but a surprise.
Lucien spent most of the night in shackles; his head fixed to a makeshift chopping log. He remembers passing out as the ax did its job on him. From then, everything should have ended….but it didn’t…..
To be continued….
On the coldest night in years, he held her in his arms. despite the frigid temperatures, her skin was warm to touch. Taking her head between his huge hands, he whispered into her ear. “I love you more than life itself. You will be going soon, to a place much better than this horrible existence we live in”…..
and with that, he firmly twisted her head, breaking her tiny neck. He laid her lifeless body under a rotting tree, and walked away. His feet squished in the slimy underbrush and in moments, he was gone.
You ever see an entire field filled with bright yellow dandelions? How about a bright blue sky? Quite the sight for sure. Lilly Thuckerfield never seen such a sight in all her twelve years on the planet Zion, that was for sure, but she was seeing them now.
Laying in the field with her mind filled with all the horror she experienced in her relatively short life on Zion, she was in amazement. The smells, the gentle breeze, she truly was in a much better place. Her dad was right.
Once the initial feelings of enlightenment ended, Lily attempted to get up and have a better look around, but that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon…..no longer was she a muscular twelve year old Zion woman. She was but a nine pound infant…helpless and alone. She let out a cry, and was surprised that she could no longer speak. What in the name of Zion was going on…and where (or who) was she?
to be continued..
Spring is here! It’s just buried under ten feet of snow. Despite being buried this year, March 20 still gave me hope that maybe the winter may eventually end….
This winter was heralded as ‘an old fashioned Newfoundland Winter’. I totally agree with that statement, except for one thing…we Newfies have softened over the years.
When I was a kid, winters began in November and ended somewhere near the end of May. And talk about snow! We had snowstorms almost every day. I remember on one occasion my mom warned me that if I were to go outside, be careful not to touch the bottom power line! We really had snowbanks that high.
Nowadays, when the snow blows a bit, they call it snow sqalls and cancel school. We never heard of a snow squall when I was a kid. We had days where it snowed, and days when it snowed more. On the ones that snowed more, they actually brought us to school, and then worked hard to return us home on the bus. Kids these days wouldn’t last a minute in the winters I grew up in….and I walked to school, two miles, uphill both ways….that’s what my mom used to tell me. I guess I was weak when compared to my mom and dad when they were kids.
Today was the first day warm enough to take the dogs outside and play. We had -25 last night, so the snow has a nice hard crust on it, perfect for giving the dogs a good run. I even seen a few kids outside this morning. Their video games must have broke!
Anyway, soon enough that horrible white stuff will be gone, replaced by green lawns and fishing trips….can’t wait!
While at the florist, ordering flowers for our summer wedding, my kid wanders through the store, looking around. He comes running to me, very excited. “Dad! I found the perfect father’s day gift for you. I am going to break my piggy bank and buy it for you!”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the cemetery section and points out a funeral wreath shaped like a heart, surrounded by blue flowers with the words…To Dad.
I am like….how about you wait a few years for that one…like fifty or more years.
When I explained that the wreath was for a funeral, he goes…”But it is so pretty, you sure you don’t want it?”
The store employees almost fell off their stools laughing.
Seems that everyone is posting pics of the enormous amount of snow that has fallen in their yards. I think I have everyone beat…not that I want the white stuff. By the way, if anyone wants snow, I have lots and can deliver…
This week’s Trifecta Challenge entices us to use the word FUNK. In 33-333 words, we are asked to use the third definition,SLUMP <an economic funk> <the team went into a funk> Without further ado, here is my story:
Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Harry Lowe. Having inherited his hard working father’s company, Harry has spent most of his life living well, mostly off the backs of the people that worked for his company. Harry drove the best cars, ate the best food, and bedded some of the finest women in town. Harry bragged that it was ironic that he was so rich, but did so little.
This all came to an abrupt end when the stock market took a dive and his business went into a major funk. Kar-E-Out, a major supplier of grocery bags since the late eighties took a major hit and eventually closed its doors. This left Harry broke, owing money to everyone in town.
Eventually all his fake friends and lovers were gone and he found himself alone. This was when he took up drinking. Harry virtually drank himself homeless.
Bouncing from one shelter to another, Harry made his way by robbing those even less fortunate than he was. Harry felt it was his right to have more than the rest. He figured society at least owed him that.
One morning, while sifting through the pockets of a homeless man, he found a lottery ticket. He slipped it into his pocket before falling to his knees in pain. One of the workers at the shelter picked him up and brought him to the hospital where Harry met with the doctor.
“We have some bad news. We did a few tests, and found that you have severe liver disease. You have two, maybe three weeks to live. I am sorry.”
Distraught, Harry went into a fit of rage. “Why me? I was so rich, so lucky! Now look at me, dying and nobody gives a damn!”
With that, Harry reached into his pockets and found the stolen ticket. He scratched it and noticed three bars. SET FOR LIFE: $2000 per week for the rest of your life!
Before Harry could collect his first check, he was gone. Talk about irony!
A bright young man
raised in a small town
His future was bright
no end in sight
he left home for the big city
This was 1950
Hey there Matey
He joined the Navy
and quickly became a man
On the Canadian Warship Athabaskan
Being green and too shy
he hung with the wrong group of guys
They used his naivety as a distraction
They barred him in the hold
for three days I was told
causing the young man pain and grief
he questioned his sanity and beliefs.
sitting alone in the dark
without even a spark
lots can happen to a man’s mind that way
Years of counselling at hospitals and the VA
on drug and shock therapy that was experimental
one day he left the hospital
He returned to the island, to start a new life
in a few years he met his wife
He got a job with the railway
and passed the days away
and for once, he enjoyed his life
but bouts of depression
and drugs set to stimulate
or even manipulate
the very thoughts that haunted his sleep.
Regular visits to the doctor
took away his honor
When nothing worked, he hit a wall
Tried twice to end it all
or to get someone to listen to his Plea
and then finally, a doc from the other side of the world figured it out
and all of a sudden he got help
and with this new found peace
his life took a new lease
a chance to live happily
and he settled down and had a family
to his three daughters he gave the world
but would not utter a word
about his past in the Canadian Navy
or his being considered ‘crazy’.
I woke up early this morning. Actually couldn’t sleep. Started thinking about how I am raising my son and how I must have given my mom so many grey hair while growing up.
I wouldn’t think of letting my son do the things I did as a kid; however, mom had no knowledge anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t the type of kid who was involved in anything bad, like smoking or drugs, but I was quite the daredevil in my day.
When I was a kid, my best friend ever, Ricky and I spent all our time together. We build cabins, we fished, camped, rode our bikes, and built go-carts.
The go-cart incident still sticks out in my mind. Ricky was quite the carpenter in his day. He could build anything with just a few pieces of wood and old junk he found in his dad’s garage. I remember once, we scrapped his dad’s old snowmobile. The suspension featured little wheels called ‘boogie-wheels’. Ricky tore the suspension apart and retrieved these wheels, which measured about five inches in height. With that, we cut a piece of plywood in two so that it measured 8 foot by three, and fastened the wheels to the board. Ricky fixed two pieces of rope to each side of the wheels and inserted a long bolt in the middle, and created a steering system. Our own invention for brakes was a hole in the floor in which we inserted the lug wrench from his dad’s truck (I still remember his dad cussing at us for taking it without asking him).
We brought our contraption to the top of the steepest hill in the community. The contractors had just laid a covering of new pavement, and the hill was as smooth as a baby’s ass. (Ricky’s description, not mine)
Like two Olympians on a luge, we lay on our backs, me manning the brake and Ricky steering, we took off like a light, only to have the steering rope break. We should have used new rope, but we were too poor to buy any, besides, Ricky’s dad had lots of used rope in the shed. Anyway, without steering, it was up to me to apply the brake. I shoved the lug wrench handle into the hole and it scraped on the pavement, but to no avail. Perhaps a trial run was in order, but hey, we were kids!
The little cart (or board with wheels attached) took off, the two of us screaming like banshees, and headed down the hill. Just when things couldn’t get any worst, we seen it. A Honey-Bee bread truck heading towards us. With the two of us on our backs, not six inches from the road, he couldn’t have seen us. He didn’t apply his brakes, but headed straight for us….and over us. That’s right, we went right under his truck.
Ricky used to stutter, but for a brief moment, and I will never forget it….he didn’t. He let out a ‘WHOA” and said “HOLEEEY FUCK! WHAT A FUCKING RUSH! LET’S DO IT AGAIN!”
Of course, I didn’t. Scared me straight I guess!
Ricky was such a good carpenter for an eleven year old kid. He could have done something with his life if only he didn’t discover drugs and booze.