I'm writing here now, because it is the thing that I do. It has been since I could hold a crayon in my fat fist, and find that lines and circles could evoke from others, smiles and laughter and more.
It's hard to imagine that you will smile or laugh if you take the time or the effort to absorb the story that lays buried within: and so it goes.
I'll not bore you with the initial catastrophes. Unless you've been on Mars for the last five years, you've been an unfortunate witness to the mayhem that's ensued. With the planet in it's death throes, humankind has succumbed to the need for violence in an effort to find food and drinkable water, and I've seen things of which I'd not believe others capable. I am forgetting that others are me, I've done things, as I'm imagining you have in these desperate times, that I'll not put to paper; this pencil's lead is choice commodity in these forests that sprout no Staples stores, but to relive my maliciousness in my dreams is more than enough of the blood and gore that deserves no space in this journal.
Ted and the girls were first to go. Ted, in a noble effort of fatherly love and protection, called out the demons that maimed and killed with no regard for life or limb. His girls were in jeopardy and he could not sit quietly by and witness the desecration of what he considered holy. They turned on him in the way pack animals would take their prey, and like that, he was destined to be but a memory, an inscription of lead on this paper headstone. I find it too painful to justify the untimely deaths of the girls with anything more than the true statement that they are not here now, gone to better places.
That left Teddy, my 25 year old autistic son, and me, his gutless, grieving mother, who hasn't the strength to lift my head from my hands, or my heart from the hell where it has come to live.
We had continued to travel until we arrived here three days ago. This abandoned bath house serves well enough for shelter right now, but when the weather turns, I'm not so sure. If you haven't found it yet there is a canoe hidden down by the lake that might save you travelling time.
I am writing this now because this is what I do. It is what I have always done, long before the world went crazy. The lead in this pencil brought me gold in days when gold made a difference to my life. Now gold makes no difference, we can't eat or drink it, and it has no trading value, so I leave it in the hope that you'll find it useful.
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Comments
-pawed in love-
What is up?
Rated with a worry
LM-Your kindness is touching. Thank you.
Brian-Sorry this hurt you, but thank you for the visit and the comment. I'm always appreciative.
TME-you wish...?
Joan-Thanks for your feedback and your thoughtful comment.
Muse-Thank you for caring and your loving comments.
grif- You've not missed anything, but I always appreciate your caring input.
J.D.-Nothing is up anymore than any other time. Thanks for coming by and commenting, I appreciate your concern.
Michael-You got what I was working towards. Thank you for your visit and kind comments.
Bonnie-I'm sorry for the confusion, but thanks for your caring feedback.
PW-I apologize for any worry. It's a dark piece,but not meant to cause concern.
Lainey-I never thought this would be taken literally. I'm sorry for the concern I've caused.
Kent-It seems I owe you an apology as well. So sorry for any cause for concern.
Dave-Most of this is fiction. There are some facts about my son. I'm sorry for the confusion.
Jonathan-Thank you so much for your kindness.
I feel the need to offer up an apology to all, for the confusion and unnecessary worry I seem to have caused many. I stupidly assumed, especially because it was a repost, that it wouldn't be taken as reality, but I do admit there are bits of truth sprinkled within. Especially the information about my son. He is autistic and functions at some levels no higher than a toddler. I have my thoughts of panic to think of him left on his own in a crazy world.
Things are seldom wonderful in my world,and OS is one of the only places where I can share fears or hardships, so believe me guys, you'd be the first to know something as potent as my loved ones passing on. Thanks to all for caring like you do.
father releases demons from his daughters,
who have departed
but will be back.
mother tires. yet she writes.it is all she can do.
mother wears down to the very threads of her being
with anxiety and guilt
yet still she lifts that hand
to
write...
and thus she is known. to me.
Bellwether-My writing is a saving grace for me. There have been times when I was hesitant to rely on it, or too ignorant to rely on it. Thank you for your kind comments.
Delia-I have missed you as of late. How are you doing? I have days that could be so much better! But then I have days that could be, oh, so much worse;)
Fay- Thanks for the kindness you send. Better days are ahead.
cindy-I'm ever appreciative of your encouragement in a Higher Power and the goodness that will sustain me, should I open my heart. Thank you, and I didn't feel as though you were preaching for one moment.
Kent-Thanks for your concern.
Hope your heart is lighter today and you guys have some sunshine where you are.
Reminds me that G. Gordon Liddy once told a friend of mine) who worked for his publisher) how to kill someone with a sharp lead pencil ...