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The Inspiration …
A story …
It was a punishing summer, crops and townfolk fading under a relentless sun.
They rolled in with the dust at the edge of town with tents of gaudy gypsy color, crackling torchlight glinting off spangles. Hungry from our months of sun-leeched existence, their bazaar bewitched us.
Fried delicacies entranced the children, the menfolk sampling exotic drink, the women drawn to silks and potions of promise. A night of wild music and abandon.
I huddle in our root cellar listening to the fire and screams that consume the town. I write furiously in the dark, a witness to the approaching doom.
********************************************
Now, your turn.
GWB says: Wow. Have you ever read a book called “The Good, The Bad, And The Infernal”? I didn’t enjoy the book much, but that turn you did at the end made me think of it.
Nice job!
Darleen Click says: No, haven’t read that. I saw the image and was reminded of Bradbury’s ‘Something Wicked This Way Comes’.
Thank you!
GWB says: Oh yes! Had forgotten about that one. (Which shames me greatly *hangs head* )
Steve White says: “There they go again. It’s just disgusting.”
“Aww, Ma, t’ain’t nothing but a carnie show. Ain’t no harm in it.”
“Carnie show? Thought it was them politicians from Worshington here to tell us that the Dust Bowl was goin’ away. Flapping their gums the same way.”
“Now Ma, it’ll rain again someday. Soon. You just watch.”
“I been watchin’ all this while, child. Politicians will run outta words before we ever see any more rain.”
“Politicians will never run out of words, Ma. ‘specially not in Worshington.”
“Yep. And we ain’t goin’ to see no rain again, either.”
Darleen Click says: Ha!!
(btw, I say “Worshington” too…and I was born in CA..go figure)
Sam Fletcher says: She’s plump, a bit. He has crazy eyes. She wears avocado green looks like it growed in a swamp. He stares right through you like you don’t matter at all. Freaks is what they are. I guess I got my quarter’s worth.
They didn’t have no one. Both alone. Both hatched strange and unlovable. He first saw her in Reno. He set his googly eye in her direction. She looked back, smiling a lopsided smile.
They’ve been together for awhile now, Rattlesnake Joe and his Wild Rose. Together is new for them. I guess they plan it to go forever.
We were used to dust storms, they came and went and life went on.
“There is a big blow coming,” uncle Ivy said. We paid attention. Uncle Ivy knew things. He had been overseas in the big war.
Mama was sitting on a bag of potatoes reading her bible in the dim lantern light. Uncle Ivy was smoking his pipe and playing his harmonica between bowls.
I scribbled in my notebook.
The storm swooped in out of a clear sky.
The dust didn’t settle for two days. When it did; our town was gone, buried under a mountain of topsoil.
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