“How many times do I have to tell you to put your shoes away?” or, “How many times do have to tell you, don’t leave the door open, the dog’ll get out?”
I heard it every day, growing up. You’d think I’da learnt. But no.
Now, fifty years later, Mom’s gone and so’s the dog. With my shoes.
Prompted by the Daily Post with today’s word, Countless.
I remember picking up the keys at the lawyer’s office, opening the front door, and walking in for the first time, my dog, Buster, at my side. I finally owned my own house. It was just going to be the two of us.
I had my mom look after the pup for a few days and I got my brother to help me move stuff in. My mom didn’t like the idea of me, a single woman, living alone, but it was what I wanted. I was strong enough to help my brother lift all the furniture, after all. And I had my hound.
I’d been living there for about a week before I started to get really annoyed with Buster. If he wasn’t outside trying to dig a hole under the shed, he was whining at the back door to get out there. Finally I got my brother to come over with a shovel and help me dig out whatever Buster was trying to get at.
And what do you know? Dead bodies.
So I had a choice. Contact the authorities and lose my house until they finished their investigation–it could be a year!–or drag the bodies out and rebury them so the dog couldn’t find them. I decided on the latter. Which would have been fine if they hadn’t come back to life.
Now my life is all zombies, all the time. They come in and raid my fridge in the middle of the night, I keep finding the occasional limb under my bed – Buster! – and every single morning as I’m getting in the car to go to work it’s, “Hey Julia! How ’bout them brains? When are we gonna get them yummy brains for dinner?”
All I wanted was a nice quiet life in my own house. Maybe Mom was right.
She said she’d come when the butterflies flutter by, but spring came and went without a sighting. Then summer, then autumn. When winter rolled around I caught a glimpse of spotted wings and knew they were carried upon her breath.
I delved into my studies to find that indeed, the Dark Queen cannot reign from the shadows. She thrives on contrast; she commands symphonies of her minions on snow.
Now her spirit deepens my midwinter dreams. She lay upon my pillow, whispering sweet promises of death to my face. I awake to the bodiless wings of Monarchs in my window.
50yo WASP male seeks female aged 20-65 for serious relationship.
The lady I’m looking for must be outgoing, fun-loving, faithful, and committed. Must love beards, and be okay with a man who limps, has one arm, has one good eye, and flies. Must love planes and fish. Must have good grammar.
As much as I fear looking back at my former life, I look forward with alarm. The direction in which I travel is dark and inhumane. My course may lead to the end of the world as I know it. My only consolation is that I’m alone on the planet.
“Saga” is the word of the day at The Daily Post.
Kamakura, Japan, December, 2014
when the waves break
upon the shore
with not so much but a whimper
take to heed that
to the speck of sand
transported
from the depths of the ocean
up to the shore
the movement was
momentous and the water,
in its course,
god
This post is part of Stream of Consciousness Saturday! Click here to see how you can join in: https://lindaghill.com/2016/05/20/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-2116/
The doorbell’s ring had an ominous tone. It was with trepidation that I opened it; the bright sunlight burned my retinas, and it took a moment for the two policemen at my door to come into focus.
“Yes?” My voice shook.
“Are you Mr. James Miller?”
“I am.”
“Are you familiar with the name,” the officer looked down at his notepad and then back up to me, “Greta Miller?”
“She’s my great-aunt on my mother’s side. Is she okay?”
“I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Miller, your aunt has passed away. We have you listed as her sole survivor.”
I felt my face crumple as I cried, “I killed her!”
The two officers moved quickly to handcuff me. “What did you do with the gun, Mr. Miller?” one of them asked.
“Gun? What gun? I posted a meme on Facebook that guaranteed me a fortune – and now Aunt Greta has gone and left me her all her money!”
“Is… that how you killed her, Sir?”
“I DIDN’T THINK IT WOULD WORK!!!” I’d never felt so distraught in my life.
however you burn
be it with the fierceness of conviction
or the warmth of compassion
the glow of inspiration
or the brilliance of determination,
do it completely, my child
for the world needs you as much
as you require freedom
your dark that should
be comforting
ends with a slap on
the cheek
or the ass
and you plunge into
thoughts disturbed
by demons of so
long ago
your dark that should
envelope you in a warmth at
the end of a screeching day
does nothing but make
you recall the
hope that
you lost
somewhere in
someplace within
that time when you felt
safe and whole
and now
and now when everything
lay to waste
in shades of emo
and silky
black
your thoughts decline
to the depths
of holy
nothing
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Hannah read the sticker pasted over the Happy Acres sign at the end of the long, dusty driveway. She knew she’d been here before, but she didn’t remember why.
“Dad said there were hookers here,” said her husband, Jessie.
“Well, they’d better be male strippers, ‘coz if they’re female, you’re not gonna last long.”
“Pfft,” Jessie scoffed. They got back in the car and headed up the lane way to check themselves in.
________________________________________
Tuesday Use It In A Sentence is fun! This week’s word is “abandon.” Try it out! The link to join in is here.
Linda G. Hill 