Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Tag: Dysfunction
Some Kind Of Innocence
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to write creatively in 250 words or less
using the photo below as inspiration. Here’s my story.
“No! Didn’t do it!” wailed Robbie, the dishwasher at Michael’s.
The waitstaff ran into the kitchen when they heard the crash. Shattered crystal covered the kitchen floor …. the new glasses for the lounge’s grand opening.
Robbie huddled in the corner like a little boy, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve. He was a 32 year old man with the mind of an eight year old, courtesy of that one decisive extra chromosome …. a little thing called Down Syndrome. Robbie’s brother Gary, the maître d’, crouched next to him while everyone stood in awkward silence.
“Robbie, accidents happen” Gary said calmly. “C’mon now. Everyone will pitch in.”
The crew began sweeping up …. everyone except Vic, the bartender.
“Not me. I ain’t helpin’!” snarled Vic. “It was that moron’s fault. He shouldn’t be around normal people!”
Michael Banks, the lounge owner, stormed into the kitchen. “What the hell’s going on?!” Slowly he looked around, taking in the whole scene, then asked everyone to leave except Robbie, Gary and Vic.
“Robbie, it’s ok” Michael said. “Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”
Robbie sniffled. “I saw the boxes but I didn’t touch them, cross my heart and hope to die. Vic rushed in the back door and pushed me into the boxes.”
“You lyin’ freak!” sneered Vic. “Look, Mr. B. I’m tellin’ ya I didn’t do nothing. Who ya gonna believe – that retard or me?”
“That’s enough! It’s over!” Michael barked. “Grab a broom. We’re opening tonight on schedule.”
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Hey Bulldog” by the Beatles
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Eunice Blackthorne
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are
challenged to incorporate the word “frequency”
into a story of exactly six sentences. Here’s my six.
Immediately upon arriving at their destination, Camilla bolted from the car, slammed the door and stormed off, leaving a bewildered Nigel alone to weigh his options: go after her, call her after she’s had a chance to cool down or declare this date a complete failure and forget about Camilla all together, something he was not keen on as he was not the quitting type …. plus, he couldn’t get Camilla’s amazing breasts out of his head; after some thought, Nigel decided to go after her but first he needed to find a parking spot and then purchase two cappuccinos, one for him and one for her, in lieu of an awkward verbal apology.
Camilla was at her desk, obviously engrossed in a conversation of great importance as she was speaking rapidly in an animated manner to a tall, thin woman with blonde hair when she noticed Nigel coming her way and quicky ushered the woman into a back room, closing the door behind them; however, Nigel was determined to wait it out when just then an unidentified man approached and informed him that “Ms. Saunders had left the building and gave no indication when or if she would be returning that day”; this new intel pissed Nigel off royally since he was not prepared to have Camilla pull a disappearing act on him .… a position he found alien, embarrassing and profoundly uncomfortable.
In a huff, Nigel stormed out of the library and quickly walked to his car, arriving just in time to see Camilla and the blonde woman sliding into a white convertible which, of course, he followed, managing to stay far enough away without losing sight of the car which travelled a route which was extremely familiar to Nigel; the more they drove the more convinced Nigel became that he knew were the white car was headed but when the convertible abruptly turned off the road into a parking garage, Nigel was none-the-less astounded when he realized that Camilla’s companion lived in the same apartment building as he did …. or perhaps it was Camilla who lived there …. and just as the convertible entered the garage, Camilla glanced over her shoulder and, spotting Nigel’s car, was filled with consternation.
Nigel kicked himself for not having learned more about Ms. Camilla Saunders while on their coffee dates for if he had he would have known this mystery woman was Camilla’s oldest and dearest friend from college, Eunice Blackthorne, who was also Camilla’s roommate right here in his apartment building; the agenda now was for Nigel to increase the frequency of his visits to his buddy, Vince, the doorman …. shoot the breeze …. buy him a coffee …. give him a few hot tips on the ponies and get him to spill the beans about Camilla, her blonde friend and which apartment was theirs.
Meanwhile, Camilla was pacing the floor of the apartment she shared with Eunice; men like Nigel enervated her, demoralized, frightened and reminded her entirely too much of her overbearing, demanding, unprincipled father, brothers, classmates, boyfriends, bosses …. in fact, every man she had ever known in her life …. and knowing Camilla had had it with men was exactly what Eunice wanted to hear.
Little did any of them know they were headed for rocky times.
NAR©2024
This is “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
On The Rocks – Part 3: In The Beginning
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to write a story in 250 words or less
using this photo as our inspiration. Here is my story.
Handsome Nigel Forsythe taught history at the university where Camilla Saunders was the librarian. His penchant for crime novels brought him to Camilla’s desk every week. She was a mousy thing with dull hair and thin lips but splendid breasts for which Nigel had a hankering.
When he asked her out for coffee, she accepted. Getting to know one another was excruciating but Nigel persevered, no doubt spurred on by the thought of getting into Camilla’s blouse.
On their fourth coffee date, Nigel suggested they do “something different”; Camilla was apprehensive but went along. They drove to a secluded park with meandering pathways and steps that seemingly led to nowhere.
“Aren’t the flowers lovely, Camilla?” Nigel asked and was rewarded with a thunderous sneeze.
“Allergies” Camilla complained.
“Watch the ivy, Camilla. We wouldn’t want you getting your heels caught up in it.”
“Nigel, this looks like poison ivy. I’m allergic and don’t have my EpiPen! Why did you insist on bringing me to this horrible jungle?”
“It’s hardly a jungle, Camilla, and the view from the top is to die for.”
With each step Camilla’s breathing became more labored until she was near collapse.
Camilla turned. Nigel was stunned to see her blouse soaked with sweat and clinging to her heaving breasts. He grabbed her shoulders, planting a hungry kiss on her cadaverous lips.
Camilla broke away, slapped Nigel and ran down the steps to the car. They drove back to the university in stony silence.
Nigel was not deterred.
NAR©2024
250 Words
This is “Love Bites” by Def Leppard with the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Continuing Adventures of George and Martha, Vol. 2
THE SLOW LEARNER
So that was it, then. She finally left him. After all those threats and tearful rants, she packed a bag and left.
Oh, this wasn’t the first time. Every week she’d get into a tizzy, start throwing things around the place, threatening to leave. But she never did.
She’d get as far as the front door, then stop, turn around and run back into his open arms. They’d fall on the bed and passionately make up, each one promising never to fight again, each one swearing their unending love. Always feeding off each other’s desperation.
It never ceased to amuse him, the look of shock on her face when he beat her each time after having sex. What a stupid, insipid cow. She never learned her lesson. The one thing he hated more than her rants was the fact that she was such a slow learner.
But this time’s different. She actually left him.
On the third morning, alone in their tiny apartment, he lit a cigarette and stared out the window. That’s when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. So, she couldn’t stay away after all. He didn’t even bother turning around when the door opened. He knew one look at her face, he’d want to bash it in.
Just as well. He never saw the gun as she ended his life.
“Police. There’s been a shooting. Send someone round. Yes, the phone booth by Miller’s Road.”
And she hung up and put a bullet in her head.
NAR © 2023
250 Words
This is Cher and “Bang Bang”
BARREN FIELDS
I’m writing this letter to you, Mother, knowing it will never be sent; you’re gone now so there is no one to send it to but still, some words needed to be said.
We scattered your ashes by that old tree that stands alone in a barren field, the tree you always compared yourself to whenever we drove by; how many times did I have to hear you make a comment about that damn tree?
It was rough growing up thinking I was unloved by you and there were times I hated you for that; for years I thought it was something I had done but now realize it was something you couldn’t do – let your guard down and your emotions out and show me a mother’s love.
My teen years were the turning point for me because I got out of the house and freed myself of the strange power you had over me; how I resented you and your aloofness …. so many years wasted …. and now as I look back, I feel sorry for you because you chose to keep yourself deeply rooted behind the walls you built.
I remember once overhearing a fight you had with Dad, an argument about how it was – as you put it – ‘unmanly’ of him to dote over me; that was the only time I saw Dad get angry, shouting at you that he had to shower me with the love of two parents because you were unable or unwilling to express your love.
Well, Mother, I’m happy to say I have a warm and loving family, I’m nothing like you and I will not spend my life wondering how things could have been different if you had torn down those walls you hid behind; now you’re gone, your ashes cast into the wind, and I will be the one who will rest peacefully.
NAR © 2023
This is an AI Midjourney version of the song “Barren Field”:
HER DRIVING FORCE
When she saw him for the first time, he was walking alone at night in the pouring rain. She sat in her car, stopped at a red light, and watched as he slowly tramped forward, head lowered, collar raised and hands in his pockets. He seemed haunted, lost and oblivious to the weather and his surroundings.
He appeared to be in his late teens, tall and slim. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes she felt a great sadness must be behind them. She had the strong urge to reach out to him. She experienced that familiar combination of sympathy, nurturing, curiosity and desire.
The light changed and she had no choice but to move on. Instead of going straight she turned right once, twice, three times until she was now at the corner just as the teen approached. She pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window, asking if he needed help, perhaps a ride to wherever he was headed. At first her questions got no response; neither she nor the young man moved. Then he slowly raised his head and looked up. His eyes were lifeless, his face devoid of emotion.
Again she called out to him, saying he must be cold, possibly hungry. No reaction. She leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door offering him shelter from the rain. Still he did not move and she quietly asked him to allow her to help. His face softened imperceptibly and he tentatively approached the car. She said to please get in and close the door. She smiled as he did what she asked.
She inquired if she could take him somewhere; no response. Shifting the car into drive she headed in the direction of her house. She told him he could trust her. She offered him the comfort of a hot meal and a place to rest. He sat looking straight ahead, saying nothing. She spoke softly, telling him she had groceries in the car – a freshly roasted chicken and warm bread – and she noticed he inhaled slightly, savoring the delectable aromas. She drove into her driveway, pulled straight into the garage and closed the door using the remote control. With a velvety laugh she told the young man she was famished and was going inside to eat. He was welcome to join her – his choice.
She became aware of his presence before she saw him. He stood in the hallway, his sopping wet coat dripping on the floor. She told him to remove it and she gingerly helped him take it off, hanging it on a hook to dry. She placed heaping platters of food on the table and only then did he look up, his face expressionless yet more handsome than she imagined. He allowed her to lead him to the table where his hunger overcame him and he devoured everything on his plate, never once looking at her.
When he finished eating she brought him to the den where he sat on a sofa by the fireplace. Quietly she placed pieces of kindling and wood in the fireplace and watched as the flames began to flicker, filling the room with a warm glow. When she turned around the teen was asleep, his face finally at rest. She removed his shoes, covered him with a blanket and went upstairs to bathe.
Slipping into a sheer robe, she went back downstairs and silently walked into the den. Her guest was awake, staring at the fire. She sat beside him and placed her hand over his. He didn’t move away. Emboldened, she lifted his hand and placed it on her breast. He shuddered and closed his eyes. Reaching across his body she placed her left hand on his right shoulder, turning him to face her and for the first time they looked into each other’s eyes. She shrugged off her robe and placed both his hands on her breasts, encouraging him to caress her. His breathing was ragged and she smiled seductively as she began to unbutton his shirt. Now his hands were roaming freely and he didn’t stop her when she unzipped his pants, feeling his erection growing harder beneath her deft fingers.
She told him it had been four empty years since her husband’s sudden death and she was very lonely. Slowly she eased him back and mounted him, delighting in the exquisite sensation. She gyrated smoothy, deeply; there was no need to rush. Afterwards they went upstairs to her room. There was much she could teach this boy and the possibilities excited her.
The next morning when she awoke she was alone. She went downstairs but he was gone. Unperturbed, she walked into the kitchen and brewed some coffee. She lit a cigarette and sat at her laptop. Clicking a key she studied the roadmap that appeared on the screen, contemplating her next objective. In which direction would she drive tonight?
NAR © 2023
Won’t you join me today
for another rousing game of
Name That Tune?
It’s gonna be fun!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
DAMAGED: IT’S A RAP
Just who in the hell do you think you are
Sitting out there in your flashed up car?
Everybody knows that you’re just a fool
Strutting ‘round town like you’re oh so cool!
You chased me and wooed me and swept me off my feet
With dime store trinkets and whispered lies so sweet.
I felt so very special when we were out together.
Ignoring all my friends when they said I could do better.
It didn’t take long for your true colors to show.
And you turned into someone I didn’t even know.
That was just the start of a whirlwind of deceit.
Thinking you could use me and then kick me to the street.
My father always told me you were nothing but scum
But I just wouldn’t listen, I acted deaf and dumb.
You think you’re perfect like Jesus walking on water
But tell me, what kind of man leaves his wife and daughter?
What happened to your soul, your spirit, your heart?
Did you ever once wonder why it all just fell apart?
Of course you didn’t; your conscience is clean
Of every misdeed you claim to have never seen.
So do us all a favor and get the hell out of here.
Don’t come close to me or the ones I hold so dear.
Take your heart of rotten wood and don’t bother to return.
You’re going straight to hell and I’ll be laughing while you burn!
NAR © 2023
242 Words
THE BENCH
Grundy sat in his favorite spot: a dilapidated bench on the boardwalk at Coney Island overlooking Brighton Beach. He was celebrating the sixteenth anniversary of his divorce from Barbara, the “Bitch of Brighton” as he called her. And he was getting drunk as he did every night.
His routine never changed. After his shift at McDonald’s, he’d grab a Big Mac, walk across the street to the Liquor Loft, buy a $7.49 bottle of Old Crow Kentucky Bourbon and a pack of Camel cigarettes, then stroll over to his bench and settle in.
Grundy’s Bench … his home away from home. Well, not literally. Thanks to his cousin Marcy and her husband Phil, he had an actual roof over his head. Grundy was real close to Marcy, growing up together and all, and Phil was as nice as they come, humble but with the bearing of a prince. Grundy lived with them and their three kids and all Marcy asked was for Grundy to cook Sunday dinner for the family. Hell, he’d cook dinner every night for those precious people if he wasn’t always shit-faced after work.
“Pretty sweet deal” Grundy thought as he took a swig of his Old Crow. “I’m a freaking loser, an embarrassment, yet they treat me with a love I don’t deserve.” He had his own room, a TV and Marcy did his laundry. He mostly kept to himself, getting home late. He had the day shift, breakfast and lunch included. The pay was lousy and so was the food but it beat a blank.
How the fuck did he end up here? Carl Grundy, a graduate of The Culinary Institute of America, working in some of the finest restaurants in the world … once one of the best chefs in New York … now a burger flipping drunk in Brooklyn.
So what happened? Bourbon happened. He wasn’t much of a drinker – an occasional beer – but one night after a particularly ugly argument with Barbara, he surreptitiously chugged a shot of the restaurant’s finest bourbon. It was ambrosia and he had another. Before long it became a ritual, then a habit and finally an addiction. He got caught, fired and the cycle began. Land a new gig, drink their booze, get sacked. Eventually the only job he could get was at Mickey D’s and Old Crow was all he could afford.
Out of nowhere he recalled the words of some televangelist his mother used to watch: “Your decisions cause your circumstances”. Damn straight! He didn’t even realize he was crying. Well, enough reminiscing for one night.
Grundy gave his beloved bench a pat and stood up to begin his walk to Phil and Marcy’s. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his chest and crumbled to the ground.
“Oh, Lord! I’ve made a fine mess of things” Grundy gasped. “I’m hurting and I want to go home. Mom and Dad are waiting for me.”
He died alone that night, his hands still clutching an empty bottle.
NAR © 2023
It’s that time of year.
Come on over to
In The Groove;
find out what’s the buzz.
https://rhythmsection.blog/
SINS OF THE FATHER
A dozen years had passed since Danny Cameron had seen his parents. Perhaps he would have handled things differently had he known this estrangement would be the outcome. He asked himself that question every day and the answer was always “no”.
Danny excelled at football in college and had a shot at going pro but his real passion was music. His dream was not shared by his father, Donal, who constantly pushed Danny in the direction of professional sports. Night after night Danny was subjected to the same diatribe:
“What the hell kind of musical career do you think you’re gonna have?
If you think you’re gonna be the next Paul McCartney you can forget that pipe dream!
Danny, you can be a great quarterback on any pro team you want,
make millions and have women beating down your door.
You’d be a damn fool to let that opportunity pass you by!”
Danny couldn’t stand another lecture and the dam burst. He yelled at his father in frustration:
“Dad! Enough! Football may be your dream but it’s not mine.
I know it won’t be easy but I’m determined to pursue music.
Forget the money and all the women. I’ve met someone and we’re moving in together.
It’s time I started living my life on my terms.”
Before Donal could respond, Danny’s mother Fiona chimed in excitedly:
“Danny! Why didn’t you tell us you have a girlfriend?! This is so exciting!
What’s her name? How did you meet?
We must invite her to dinner. I want to hear all about ……..”
“STOP!” Danny shouted. “I don’t have a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend. His name is Richard. I’M GAY!! Mom, Dad – I’m gay.”
And there it was – not exactly what Danny planned but the words were out and there was no taking them back. Donal was enraged; he lashed out, slapping Danny’s face so hard he almost fell over.
“GAY? Call it what it is, Danny – you’re a fucking queer! You make me sick!
Get out of my sight! Get out and don’t come back!!”
Grabbing his phone and car keys, Danny stormed out. He moved in with Richard, a law school student by day/valet parking attendant by night. Danny had a couple of gigs in a bar but that didn’t last and he eventually got a job as a singing waiter. He hated it but it helped pay the bills.
Fiona secretly phoned Danny from time to time and managed to get his belongings to him, but father and son never communicated.
Richard passed the bar exam and landed a great job. Danny had written several “damn good songs” as Richard called them but he just couldn’t catch a break. Richard encouraged him to be patient and keep trying.
Friday was a busy night at the restaurant. Danny was singing “Something” to a newly-engaged couple when he saw his boyfriend Richard come in with a group of people. When Danny’s song was over, Richard motioned him to the table and said “You have a great voice, man! Do you sing anything other than Beatles songs?”
Curious as to why Richard was pretending he didn’t know him, Danny played along replying that he had written a number of songs.
“Well, how about singing one of your own songs for us?” Richard asked.
Wondering where this was all going, Danny sat at the piano and sang one of his original songs. The people in the restaurant loved him. One of the men at Richard’s table handed Danny his card and said “Call me tomorrow”. The card read ‘Bob Ludwig, Gateway Mastering Studios, Inc.’. Trying to keep his cool, Danny expressed his thanks but his heart was pounding and his head was about to explode; Bob Ludwig was a mega recording producer!
Thanks to Richard and that meeting with Bob Ludwig, Danny’s career took off and he became a sensation. They talked about getting married and having kids some day. Richard and Danny were the happiest they’d ever been.
Then the call came from Danny’s mother; his father was gravely ill. Fiona said Donal was asking for him. After all these years Danny knew it would not be easy seeing him again; he reluctantly acquiesced.
Danny returned to his childhood home where Donal was being privately treated. Waving Fiona and his nurse out of the room, Donal beckoned Danny to come closer. He could barely speak and Danny bent down, his ear next to his father’s lips.
Donal rasped, his breathing labored:
“I hear you’re a star, a real big shot. You’re famous!
You’re living the life you always wanted, aren’t you, Danny?
Everyone adores you but to me you’re still nothing but a disgusting queer!”
Danny stared into his father’s cold, unforgiving eyes; all he saw looking back at his was loathing and revulsion. Devoid of all emotion, Danny reached for Donal’s oxygen tube and squeezed it as tightly as he could, cutting off his air supply. Wheezing, Donal’s eyes bulged and his face turned blue; then he stopped breathing.
Danny straightened the crimped oxygen tube and walked out of his father’s room without looking back. Hugging his mother tightly, he whispering “It’s over, Mom. It’s finally over”.
NAR © 2023
Check us out at https://rhythmsection.blog/
A SHELL OF A MAN
A SHELL OF A MAN
Who the hell do you think you are,
Sitting out there in your fancy car?
Everyone knows that you’re just a tool
Strutting around town like a Goddamn fool!
You spend more time on your pretty boy look
Thinking you can snag me with your Devil hooks.
Well, let me tell you something that you might not know:
Your looks count for nothing when it’s all for show.
You’re not a man, just an empty shell
Of someone I thought I knew so well.
It’s obvious to everyone who called you friend
You care for no one and deep wounds never mend.
What happened to your soul, your spirit, your heart?
Did you ever once wonder why we had to part?
Of course you didn’t; your conscience is clean
Of every misdeed you claim to have never seen.
You used and confused me, deluded and abused me
And made me forget the strong woman I used to be.
I don’t look any different; it’s inside I’m not the same.
It’s gotten so I don’t even recognize my name.
It won’t be long before you’re all alone.
No one’s gonna call you on the telephone.
You’re the biggest loser so face the facts:
People will judge you by your deeds and acts.
You think you’re perfect like Christ walking on water
But what kind of man abandons his wife and daughter?
My father always said you were a piece of shit
But I turned a deaf ear; I just didn’t want to hear it.
I trusted you once; I was blind, deaf and dumb
To the fact that you were nothing but a piece of scum.
How could I have been such an idiot not to see
What a snake in the grass you’d turn out to be?
You wooed and chased me, swept me off my feet
With pretty little gifts and whispered lies so sweet.
I felt so very special when we were out together.
Never listening when told I could do much better.
It didn’t take long for your true colors to show.
I caught you making time with some floozy named Flo.
That was just the start of a whirlwind of deceit.
You broke my heart to bits and I kicked you to the street.
So now you’re sitting there just like you own the place
With a look so smug I want to slap it off your stupid face.
You thought you could control me, break me down, but in the end
I turned into a willow tree and I learned how to bend.
Do us all a favor and get on outta of here.
Don’t come close to me or those I hold so dear.
Drive as far away as you can and don’t ever return.
You’re going straight to hell and I’ll be laughing while you burn.
NAR © 2021
| Reposted for Fandango’s #FOWC http://fivedotoh.com/2023/01/06/fowc-with-fandango-swept/ |
YOU REAP WHAT YOU SEW
“Grundy, you old son of a bitch! What the hell are you doing here?” exclaimed Ian Simms.
“Same as you, Ian, and your brother, Carter. Attending the reading of your father’s will. May he rest in peace.
“Carter, look who’s here!” declared Ian to his twin. “It’s the one and only Grundy!”
“It’s been a while, Grundy. I can’t even recall the last time I saw you” remarked Carter.
“I believe it was your sixteenth birthday – the day before your mother deserted your father and shipped both of you off to military school.”
“You know, Grundy, there was a time when you showed a bit more respect to me and my brother. You used to call me ‘Master Carter’ and my brother ‘Master Ian’ – back when you were my father’s lowly valet.”
“Yes indeed – when you behaved like the spoiled crowned princes of Palm Springs. I’d say we’re on equal footing now, Carter.”
“Watch your mouth, old man” snarled Carter. “Remember you were just a servant!”
“Were being the operative word. Here’s your father’s attorney now. Let’s get on with this, shall we?”
“Good afternoon, everyone. Please be seated. I’m Lester Garrison, Mr. Simms’ attorney, and we’re gathered here today for the reading of his will. All right then, let’s begin.” Garrison cleared his throat:
• “I, Franklin Theodore Simms, being of sound mind and body declare this to be my last will and testament.
• To my former wife, Gloria Morrow Simms, I leave a dildo so she can go fuck herself. I’m sure she didn’t have the decency to attend today but there was never anything decent about her.
• To my sons Carter and Ian I leave both the amount of $19.79 which represents the year you were born. Perhaps if you had bothered to call or visit me just one time in the past 24 years the amount would be substantially higher; however that is not the case. You reap what you sow, boys.
• To the San Diego Zoo I leave $2.5 million dollars because animals are infinitely nicer than humans.
• The remainder of my estate, all my worldly possessions and $18.5 million dollars I leave to my one true friend – Samuel Grundy. Sam, you were never just my valet; you were my brother. You were the only one who remained when my family abandoned me. And when I became sick, you cared for me, refusing any income. We spent many hours in the garden by the weeping willow tree playing chess, sharing memories, baring our souls.
• A note to my sons: if you hadn’t been so self-centered you would have known Mr. Grundy’s first name. Instead you treated him like chattel and called him simply ‘Grundy’. Shame on you both!
• My lawyer already knows that I don’t want a funeral. I’m to be cremated and my ashes buried under the old willow tree where I spent my final days with Samuel Grundy.
• See you at the tree, Sam. The rest of you ingrates can go to hell.”
NAR © 2019
inspired by Fandango’s One Word Challenge (FOWC)of 24 September 2022, spite
The Elephant's Trunk 