3WW: Corpse, Damage, Knife

Classified: United States of North America: August 14, 2014

It was my job to 'flip the switch'. It must have been a phrase from some earlier time because it wasn't exactly flipping a switch, per se. It was more like hitting a key. 'Enter'. Others might call it a hard return. I called it flipping the switch.

First, we did the damage. That, we called 'zeroing'. We always zeroed before we flipped the switch. We'd watch them struggle, break down. Calling their banks, their credit card companies. 'But, it was there yesterday,' they'd exclaim. 'I'm sorry Mr. So and So. I have no record of that account.'

Second, after they had uncovered their stash or had sought the help of friends and family, we'd twist the knife. We sent those people we called jackals. It was innocent enough. A crackhead here. A transient there. Finding them in alleys and in parks. Sometimes in front of their families. Making them bleed. Making them hurt. Making them paranoid every time they stepped outside the house.

Third, we'd flip the switch. We gathered all of their records from birth - all of their electronic records, that is - and we'd delete them. The final key to delete was that 'Enter' key. No need to worry about corpses. Electronic death. Not at all messy. Just a fingertip to the key and it was done. They were dead.

Then I voted for the losing candidate.

I never thought it would happen to me.

Poefusion Tuesday Title: Blinking with Fists

Hell hath no fury
like a mother blinking with
fists of lavender.

Blinking with fists, he

tore his retina. Blindness

ensued with envy.

Sunday Scribblings: Bragging

To begin...

House projects. Putting up drywall. Plumbing. Carpentry of any kind. Laying carpet. Anything associated with electricity. Installations and removals. I'm terrible at all these things. Can barely wield a hammer properly without hurting myself, someone else, or one of the aforementioned housing projects. I can be convinced I've found a stud and then have the shelf I've erected from the ashes of oblivion fall right back to its former state. We tried to overhaul the kitchen in our home; we succeeded in destroying a few things. And then we succeeded at picking up the phone and calling someone who could help. Terrible!

In the process of bragging, I promise.

My memory. Lacking, to say the least. I can barely remember what I did yesterday. What I accomplished. What I ate for lunch. What I wore. It all flitters into the silence of the stars' hazy light.

I can barely sing one octave. My voice cracks on the high end. And it rasps into obscurity on the low.

I think I'm right most of the time. Obnoxiously so.

And speaking of being obnoxious, I'm one of those who corrects grammar. A grammar elitist, you might say. 'It's not between you and I, it's between you and me,' I expound confidently. And it's 'to whom should I send the letter, not to who'. 'I spoke slow? No, I spoke slowly.'

I am afraid. Everything, it seems, proves an obstacle that I hesitate to pass. I would both love and hate to pack myself into a small room full of books and never talk to anyone again.

I have bragging rights to all of the above. Not monopolized by any stretch, I know. But rights nonetheless. Why, you ask?

Because I know all of these things about myself. And in knowing, I do something about each one. I may not always succeed, but I succeed a hell of a lot more times than I fail because I deny denial.

Poefusion Tuesday Title: I Shall Let the Wind

Painting by John E. Maguire

I shall let the wind teach me secrets.
How it pierces stony hearts in melancholy rhyme.
How it elevates the dying leaves in fleeting climb.
How it hastens autumn frost atop barren fields. I’m
Letting the wind teach me secrets.

Sunday Scribblings: In Which Era Would I Live?

When I saw this topic, I said to myself, self, you've studied a lot of history given you're a history teacher by trade, so of all those eras you've taught, in which era would you choose to live? Being a history teacher, I've heard the question before. From students, other teachers, parents, friends, family, those questionnaires everyone sends via e-mail asking what your favorite color is and the like.

I have the quick answer, the answer about which I can speak at length. The Enlightenment. France. Paris, to be exact. I'd have to be at university or involved in the intellectual life to some degree. And I'd have to be a white male. What an exciting time, I'd say. Yes, I know that I wouldn't have the technology. Yes, I know the cities stunk. Yes, I know that it most likely would have been a difficult life. But, the uncovering of points of view, the leap forward towards revolution would have been enthralling.

Those are the reasons I could give for choosing the Enlightenment. Those and so many more. But I choose that period also because I know the most about it. It is, in some ways, very familiar to me. A time with which I can relate, being a European mutt by ancestry.

When I saw the question posed on Sunday Scribblings, I got to thinking about it more. Would it really be the Enlightenment? Or would it be some other time? I needed to try to think outside the box.

I could say that I was born in exactly the right time and place. That would be true. I enjoy my life, and if given the chance, I wouldn't live at any other time. But, for me that steals the fun out of the response. I kept thinking.

The 20th century? Nah. Not really into world or cold wars. Outside the box... I could have lived in another country that wasn't too much affected. Like which, I responded to myself, Mongolia?

Back in time. 19th century? Certainly not the U.S. China, maybe, before the significant interactions with the West. Or even Japan. To be a part of Japanese culture before 1868 would have been truly interesting. But too strict. Too totalitarian.

Ha! you may say to me. Try to find a situation in which a society was NOT too totalitarian in history. Some African tribes. Some Native American tribes. The Vikings, though too decentralized for me. There were plenty.

So, when and where?

After some research, I settled on the Navajo in the southwestern U.S. BEFORE the arrival of the Europeans. In reading about their nomadic culture and their love of the land and everything the land gave them, I would have to say that - although I would have no conveniences - I would be a part of a tight-knit matriarchal community that understood the truths of history and the future.

Why the Navajo? Too much further north, and I would have been freezing. Too much further east and I'd have been annoyed by the humidity. Dry warmth is my idea of a good climate. Why not the Mayan civilization or some other in Mexico or South America? The government was too centralized. Some of the dictators in Tenochtitlan and the other Native American centers were just as bad as any Asian, African, or European dictator.

Why not the Hopi, then? Okay, fine, I'd consider being Hopi too.

Just as long as - I reemphasize - I would have been long dead before the Europeans came.

3WW: Thrash, Effortless, Vindictive

The flow thrashes their porcelain skin with effortless abandon, its vindictive force scouring the bloody remains.



‘Mom, I’m done with the dishes!’

Sunday Scribblings: Forbidden; Matinee Muse: Abuse of Power

‘If you must,’ his wife acquiesced. At the young man’s nod, she ushered her two sons upstairs.

The two young men stood, obviously bracing themselves for what was to come.

The father, his plea unheard by his wife, decided to try a different tack with the two gentlemen. He breathed deeply and calmed himself before speaking. “Look, guys, I don’t know what this is about or what my voting has to do with it, but I think we can talk about this. Sound like a plan?’

The two young men actually chuckled. They now flanked the father, to the left and right of the chair in which he sat. The taller one spoke. ‘Sir, we were interested in talking, but you wanted to be difficult. And in front of your wife and kids. You’ve just proven that you’re a bad influence. We’re here to help you, your family, your neighborhood, and your country. We are here to start teaching you about patriotism.’

‘Patriotism? Are you saying I am not patriotic? I believe in the Constitution, the American flag. Everything that this country has stood for since its founding. I believe in checks and balances. Executive, legislative, judicial. I believe in…’

‘Sir, we don’t particularly care about your views of American history. Or about your beliefs. We care about your actions. And according to those, you have opposed the ideals of this country. Now, please stand and make this easier for us.’

He sat, careful not to make any rash movements. The two young men obviously outmatched him in strength. And they had him surrounded. He grasped the arms of the chair, about to rise.

There came from the front door a knock. His wife descended from her perch atop the stairs, intending to answer, but the short, stocky man held his fat hand up to her and made for the door. He opened to find an old woman who the husband immediately recognized as the odd Miss Oneiros from down the street. The families on the street knew little about her, except that she enjoyed her evening walks with her two Pomeranians, Bia and Eris. She had moved into the neighborhood about six months earlier and she kept to herself.

‘Hello, young man. Is the man of the house at home?’ she asked.

‘Uh…’ The young man stuttered for a moment. ‘He is not available, ma’am.’

She glanced inside at the husband. ‘But he’s sitting right there,’ she spoke matter-of-factly. ‘Why are you fibbing to me?’

‘Excuse me ma’am. I said he is not available. I suggest you leave.’

She began to speak, mumbling at first. As if she was having some kind of autistic episode. Those listening caught only a few incoherent words. She finished. Then, she began what sounded like a rehearsed speech. ‘We are the Sons and Daughters of Liberty. Your abuse of power has ended. What you have forbidden, we will do. What you have given, we will take. What you have taken, we will redeem. The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure. ‘

‘Look, lady, I’ve been patient. I’ll only tell you once more. Get the hell outta here.’

She raised her cane and poked him in the chest. ‘Young man, you leave me with no choice.’ As he swung his arm to knock the cane from the woman’s hand, she pulled a hidden trigger at the head of the cane and watched as the young stocky man fell backwards, his head leaking blood.

‘Oh shit!’ the tall young man yelped. He pulled his concealed weapon but didn’t have the chance to fire. Another shot came from outside killing him instantly.

The husband sat in the chair staring at the old woman.

‘Well, I dare say you’d better come with me, Paul. I don’t think you’ll be safe here. Will your family be joining you?’ Miss Oneiros asked sweetly.

This entry is meant to stand alone, but it is also part of a developing story.
See Part 1
See Part 2

3WW: Intervene, Deliberate, Nourish

He sat on his bed cradling his head in his wrinkled hands. Remembering that night when it happened, when his family was torn asunder.

He, his wife, and their two sons were watching an episode of the twelfth season of American Idol when he heard a knock at the door. He found standing on his stoop two young men dressed in white shirts and black pants. Mormons, he thought.

'Good afternoon, sir,' the tall dark-haired boy spoke clearly, confidently. 'Do you have a moment to speak with us?'

'No, I'm sorry, I'm enjoying some rare family time with my wife and sons,' he said hoping that they might respect family time.

'This concerns them as well,' said the shorter, stockier boy. He took a deliberate step forward, positioning himself in such a way that the door would not be able to close.

'Look, I'm really not interested in what you have to say. I don't wanna be a Mormon.'

The two young men chuckled. 'Oh, we're not Mormon. We'd just like to have a word.' They simultaneously stepped into the welcome mat inside the house backing the father into the living room.

'Honey,' the father said, 'We've got company.' His wife emerged from the den.

'Oh yes,' she said. 'These two young gentleman said they were going to return. Did I not tell you?'

The father shook his head.

'Please sit down,' she said to them. 'Can I get you something to drink?'

'No, ma'am. We are just here to speak with your husband, but you and your children are welcome to sit and listen.'

'Oh that's fine. Let me get the boys.' She walked from the room.

The father sat in his chair and looked at the young men seated on the love seat. Something wasn't right; he felt it. When his wife and kids were seated on the couch, the young men commenced.

'Do you agree that you need to nourish young children's hearts, minds, and souls?' The dark haired boy started.

'Yes,' the father said uncertainly. The mother, meanwhile, was pumping her head vigorously with approval.

'We feel the same. We are concerned that the young people in our country are not receiving the proper direction. And according to your neighbors, your family is at risk.'

'What?' the father asked. 'Why? What are you talking about?'

'We are here, sir, on behalf of your family and friends to intervene. We work for a government agency that ensures that families are protected from harmful influences.'

The father looked over at his wife. 'Do you know what they're talking about?'

'Yes, hon, they told me about this last week. It's for your good and for the good of our family.' She said matter-of-factly.

'Okay, look. I'm not abusive. I've never been abusive. I love my wife. I raise my kids well, I think. I've raised 'em to think for themselves and be who they wanna be. I worked hard at my job. I mean, I know I've been laid off, but I'm looking. I love my country. I vote; I'm an active member of the community. A den leader. A dues-paying member of the Democratic party. A softball player. What am I doing wrong?'

'Sir, for whom did you vote in the last election?'

'What? Are you kidding?' He saw on their face their utter seriousness. 'That's none of your goddam business!'

'I'm sorry, ma'am,' the stocky young man directed his comments at the wife, 'I think we're going to have to bring him with us.'


Please see this previous 3WW post for part 1 of the story.