Jump to Navigation

Gasoline, Gears and Gun Oil -4-

Zane Richards's picture

A man sits in his back yard, the sounds of a quiet suburban neighborhood on a lazy Saturday afternoon, a little girl no more than 10 plays on the emerald green grass a short distance away.  He looks back toward the hows to see a blonde woman in a blue dress pause breifly at the open back door to smile at him.  The man takes a long drink from his cold beer, savoring the smell of fresh cut grass, watching the girl play.

Suddenly the young girl gets up and runs over jumping into his lap, in her arms a small kitten, a baby bonnette on its head, the animal seems to take the abuse in good humor as it dangles from the little girl's arm.

"Play with me daddy," the little girl grins at the man, "Look at my kitty, isn't she pretty?"

"Not now honey, maybe after dinner."  He caresses the little girls blonde hair, "Why don't you go see how much longer until dinners ready ok?"

"Ok Daddy," the little girl runs off up into the house.

The man gets up and puts the lawnmower away in the small wooden shed at the back of the yard, as he comes out of the shed, the sky is dark, no clouds, no stars.  A howling wind is the only sound, no cars, no voices, just the wind and the creak of the now rusted chains on the pouch swing, the house paint is peeled and cracked.

He starts toward the house, from the dark shadows of the back door a low groan cuts over the wind, a shambling form in a tattered blue dress with ratty blonde hair staggers out...a digger...

"No..." The man falls to his knees a shotgun is there on the ground.

The digger in the blue dress stumbles down the steps from the porch into the yard.  The man reach for the shotgun, his hands shaking.  Then a second form leans out from behind the first, a child like digger with the corpse of a rotting kitten in her arms peers with empty eye sockets. 

A low croaking voice emits from its cracked and tattered lips "Daddy ..why...don't...you..play with ..meeeeee??"

"NOOOOO!!!!" the man howls.



Zane snaps awake jolting up from the work table were he fell asleep, various objects go scattering off the table as his arms whip out, he grips the edges of the table his knuckles white;  the scream dying on his lips as the memories of the dream fade from his mind.

"Jesus Christ...."

He looks around finding the upturned ashtray on the floor, retreiving an unfinished cigarette from the debris.  He sits on the floor and lights it, then finds the toppled bottle of whiskey pulling it from the pool of its spilled contents and drains the last of whats left in a couple of swallows. 

He sits staring at the empty bottle for a moment then fishes a small 4x4 inch scrap of paper from his pocket, a photo, one of those generic ones that use to come in photo frames, a blonde woman and a blonde child, he crumples it in his hand, before his face falls to his fists.

"Why can't I remember...when with this end...."

Groups audience: 
Fallen Earth

Main menu 2

Blog | by Dr. Radut