Can You? Will You?
Those two questions will be answered
if you take up this challenge.
It's daunting.
It will require reading time.
It will take you on a different journey.
Halloween.
Space.
Eerie.
Do a spin off of this story
https://theprose.com/post/249394/bbq-day
Do a part 3 on this story
https://theprose.com/post/248894/return-trip-part-1
https://theprose.com/post/248898/return-trip-part-2
Write another tale about the town of Cantry
https://theprose.com/post/242752/death-in-the-dark-complete
**********
I
double
dog
dare
you.
Seen and Unseen
She hovered in the scant shelter at the end of the aisle where the spices were kept. She delayed; torn between dread, and just wanting to be OUT of this gauntlet. Glancing at the checkout line, she decided to wait, pretending to compare spices. Another look at the cashier and the now empty queue, and she steeled herself. Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to pull her hood up– she knew from experience that trying to hide made it worse once they saw… more embarrassed as they looked away again. The cashier smiled and voiced his rote greeting, and then he looked at her. His smile faltered a moment before it froze on his face like a mask - a mask to cover his shock. His curiosity. His sympathy. He tried to look away, but couldn’t seem to help but stare at the burn scars that had left the right side of her face in ruins – a bad sculpture in progress. It happened every time. Every time they saw, but didn’t see HER. They couldn’t help it, she knew. She understood. Understanding didn’t help, and she paid quickly; turned away and fled home to her sanctuary.
Poison
Her barbed words are laced with a vicious poison which she dispenses liberally to those around her. The deadly mixture she got from the barbs others threw at her, so many years ago. They slipped under her radar and filled her blood with poison and fear and now she is stuck, throwing barbs at those who try to get close enough to soothe her fears - or stab her again.
Coma
Jackie looked at her patient, the older gentlemen. The man had been at the hospital for a greater time than she had been a nurse. Jackie thought of when she first had been assigned him. Family members would be all around. Flowers flourished as gifts that friends came to water. Get well cards from his coworkers. Now there was no one, the air was stale, and only medical devices remained.
Today was a solemn day. Jackie had retired and she would never see him again because she was moving to the other side of the country. Jackie would be his last visitor. His last family member had died from an abrupt heart attack a few days ago. He had been in the coma for 45 years. For how many more, no doctor knew. This man was stubborn. It was time to say her goodbye. Jackie got up from her chair, walked over to the hospital bed, and laid her hand onto his shoulder.
To her surprise, the man stirred, and eventually grumbled, “Where am I?”
Mother’s Grace
Can you feel the morning sunshine rays? Gracefully touching the fields of golden grass, the earthly breeze enchanting the frigid air. I dance through these fields leaping past life and death, escaping to the other side. There is but one true love for me. That is, the caring, sentimental, soul that guides me, my mother.
Not Gonna Lose
It took all of their energy to keep their shoulders from slumping, but they held their head high. They may never win, but they still would not lose- even when it took all their might.
Even when it left them biting back their tears until they were in a soft bed with a pillow to muffle their sorrow.
Book One: Part III: Deadly Evil - Chapter Sixteen
The Weekend in Montie
For the first time in weeks, you could walk or drive around Montie and see the city park filled with happy people. Mother’s tending to their babies, young kids throwing Frisbees, or a group of teens playing softball, and even younger children playing on the swing sets merry-go-round, and monkey bars.
Other people would be sitting on park benches, reading, or relaxing. Couples would be walking hand in hand, young and old alike.
Local vendors were out an about selling their wares. Balloons, t-shirts, hamburgers and hot dogs, pretzels, and soda, or everyone’s favorite: ice-cream.
It was a bright sun-shiny time for the first weekend in June. Business was picking back up again in the malls and other places. Montie was back to being Montie.
And as this weekend would roll by with each ticking of the clock, Jan and Ed could be found out and about during the day, but they kept their private affairs very private.
Captain Raymond Todd was back at home with his wife, Elaine, and he was resting, yet eager to return to work, but he did thank God, for every second he was given a second chance to live life and be both a better husband and father.
On this weekend, Bishop Ekerson would be putting the finishing touches on his newest sermon, ‘Forgive the Sin, Lest Ye Become Unclean Thyself’. It would prove to be the hardest thing he would ever write.
Then there was Freddy.
He too, was out and about. Smiling inwardly. He had many surprises waiting to be revealed. And they would be revealed very soon. He felt like he was living in a time of glorious achievements.
It rained Saturday night, but no one cared.
Sunday, the churches were packed with those seeking spiritual guidance, and the churches became a little wealthier because of that; as the tin plate was passed around.
As Freddy might have said, “Ask for a little forgiveness, drop a fifty in the bucket. Go and sin no more, well, at least not until Wednesday night. But come back next Sunday. We can start this here party all over again.”
It rained Sunday night.
Elaine and Raymond Todd were snuggled together as the rain pelted their bedroom window.
Baker and Ed were fast asleep after a torrid two hours of making love.
Bishop Ekerson sat in the Rectory, writing out a list of things his secretary needed to get for him this week.
Satchell was at home, listening to his Great Uncle on his mother’s side, sing and play the trumpet, on his stereo. Louie ‘Satchmo’ Armstrong. Most people that would remember, always thought he was nicknamed because of Satchel Paige, a baseball pitcher back in the day.
Stevie was fast asleep, dreaming about seeing his mother in less than a week.
June came in with a bang. But the real bang hadn’t even happened yet. Let us pray.
The Squad Room
Monday – June 4th – 8:01 a.m.
She watched him as he walked up the steps. Eddie, bent over due to some form of injury or maybe a birth defect, somewhat stocky, who walked with a limp because of a leg brace he always wore. In truth, he has a not-so-pleasant look to the eye, but he was a person with a huge heart, as big as they come.
As he was making his way to the break room upstairs with five dozen doughnuts as always, she watched as how methodical he was in how he arranged everything. She never took time before to notice how he does his job.
She walked into the break room as Eddie was finishing up and asked, “Eddie, can I speak with you for a moment?”
Eddie stiffened briefly, then turned slowly around.
“You gave me a start, Mithy Baker. Did I do sumptin wrong?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. And no, you haven’t done anything wrong.
“I just wanted to take a few seconds to thank you for attending last week’s funeral. That was very nice of you.”
“Wasn’t nuttin, Mithy Baker; they were people like me and you. We need to have sumptin to remember. Fummerals help us remember.”
She smiled somewhat.
“You’re right, Eddie. They do help us remember.
“You be safe out there, Eddie.”
“You too, Mithy Baker. You too.”
She never saw the smiled sneer on his face when he turned and left the room.
Once the meeting was finished, and routes were reassigned back to normal hours of operation, and overtime no longer awarded, the streets flourished, and the police went about their day doing normal, almost routine, and sometimes dull duties.
Fender benders, brake lights out; tickets were issued along with “Here’s your ticket and have a great day,” type of attitude.
Everyone seemed to be in happy spirits.
There was to still be one more viewing, and one more funeral to attend.
Baker mimicked Eddie’s words aloud to no one special.
“Fummerals do help us to remember.”