Murphy – The Baby Sitter

©Murphy – The Baby Sitter

Fiction

By BR Chitwood

“Your first night, Murphy, want a quick ‘Q and A’? asked Brian Headley.”

“Really, Brian, that’s a bit insulting, don’t you think?”

“That was not in my mind when I asked, Murphy. Cheri and I are just making sure we’ve covered all the bases. Don’t get feisty with me.”

“Yeah, Murphy, added Rob Drawly, father of Brittany, same with Piper nd me.”

I am ‘all the bases’, and I’ve covered everything with all of you…several times. Brian, Cheri, and, Rob, you and Piper, go to your yearly weekend ritual in New York. The children will be fine. I know all there is to know about their likes, dislikes, the food they love and hate, their favorite games…and they already love me. I love them, each and every one – Jordon (the kid who would be King), Camille and Bonnie (who will be famous movie stars and dancers). Now, please, get out of here and leave me with my ‘Charges’!” Murphy did not smile but his voice was frisky and playful.

After a few chuckles and raised eyebrows, the parents looked quickly upon their sleeping children and were gone.

***

After some listed duties, Murphy settled in the den next to the children’s bedrooms, turned on the television – near-muted because his ear-pieces had dual listening capabilities: the children could not hear the television speakers but TV volume defaulted with any crying or needs of the children. Murphy was able to hear their gentle in-and-out breathing with the ‘state of the art’ ear devices.

The TV and den light went off at the prescribed setting time, and all was quiet in the 3000 square-foot house. As the den light brought darkness and stillness to the entire house, Murphy went silent as well…his keen hearing still able to pick-up the sounds of the children.

***

At 3:10 AM, Murphy heard a distant sound, like broken glass falling to the hardwood floor in the entry hall. The children were still asleep…only the ears of Murphy could isolate the sounds.

Murphy immediately deployed an unseen varnish-like spray-substance on the entry walls and the hardwood floor a few steps from the front door. He heard the door opening, heard the shuffling of feet for only a few seconds. After some minutes passed, Murphy heard two sets of grumbling voices.

Murphy dialed a pre-set police telephone number, gave them a required validation code for house equipped as was this one for Brian and Cheri Headley…a similar pre-set requirement was also in place for Rob and Piper.

***

Within a flash of some moments, the police arrived at the Headley residence and found two terribly distraught would-be robbers rooted to the hardwood floor…two sets of shoes stuck to and occupied a space…two sets of socks stuck to and occupied another space…and blood was coming from bare feet in another space.

Murphy magically made the sticky liquid disappear from the hardwood floor, restored within seconds its original finish, and miraculously replaced the glass at the entry…

Murphy watched the police take the unlucky robbers away.

At no time before, during, and after this incident did the children awaken.

The police shook their heads and waved at the strange-looking robot called Murphy.

Flash Fiction by: BR Chitwood – 7-27-2020

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my blog:

http://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

 

Advertisement

Short Journey of Steven Bardo

-Image art by: Nick Herasimenko – Unsplash. com-

©Short Journey of Steven Bardo

By BR Chitwood

Steven Bardo stumbles down a sidewalk in Phoenix, Arizona, the front pockets to his soiled trousers turned inside-out, and he bounces into a brick wall of a mercantile building and falls to the sidewalk. Bardo rests his back against the old brick wall, takes a couple of deep breaths of smoggy air, tightly closes his eyes a few times. People walk by the man, showing no care or interest.

The back of Steven Bardo’s head rests uncomfortably against the aged wall as he gazes across the road to another commercial building, his stare locking on nothing of which his eyes are interested, just at a place in his mind where a vacuum of despair fills the historic messiness he has made of this life he owns.

Steve Bardo was not drunk. He had barely enough for two beers and one jigger chaser of liquor at the bar he just left. The bartender refused to give him credit for more drinks and muttered in menacing words for him to leave the bar. The unsteady figure now leaned back and against the building’s wall, staring straight ahead across the street to a locked-in stain spot on the white brick facing, him mind swirling with thoughts of his yesterdays, the work mistakes, the gambling, the ‘extra-women’, all the side-tracks that crushed his marriage.

Tears came with a sad wry smile, and he dropped his head, turned it slightly to his right, and saw stuck in the crevice of the sidewalk what looked like a folded ‘Circle K’ lotto ticket. It was a ticket someone must have thrown there, and he absent-mindedly picked it up and put it in his shirt pocket…

For a moment, his sad smile brought him up to date with this moment, sprawled on a sidewalk with a lotto ticket in his pocket…he slowly shook his head and murmured to himself: ‘Stranger things have happened. Dumb luck was all over the place. Why did I come up this street when I left the bar? That empty shack by the railroad track is my only refuge’.

‘I’m broke, stumbling around like a drunk sailor…my life is the ‘pits’ – hell, the movie people make these tear-jerkers all the time and make millions upon millions of dollars on the well-off crowds who flock to the theaters to feel sad for the poor bastards portrayed on the silver screen’…

Steve Bardo sat on the sidewalk for many moments until he felt somehow bare and vulnerable. He struggled to his feet and slowly began shuffling back down the street toward that abandoned shack by a railroad track that now served as his home.

He passed the ‘Circle K’ on the corner where he turned toward the RR shack, walked a few feet, stopped, and had a sudden urge. ‘Why not check the number on the lotto ticket? The ‘Circle K’ is only a few feet away’.

Inside the ‘Circle K’ he approached the employee behind the counter, an older woman, Marge by the pinned label attached to her blouse,  already showing signs of doubt and worry about the man approaching. Still, she thought, ‘he looks harmless, sad and lonely, and he’s pulling a lotto ticket from his shirt pocket…maybe, he gets lucky’.

 The counter lady smiled sweetly at the man, suddenly feeling sorry for him. “You have a winning ticket there?” She asked cheerily.

He tried to smile, gave his head a short nod and handed her the ticket. The pleasant lady brought a good feeling he wasn’t sure he could explain to anyone.

“Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed.” She smiled and went to a small alcove to run the numbers.

Steve Bardo leaned on a small counter at the alcove watching the nice woman’s face as she did her meticulous check of the numbers. Then, with glowing eyes, she repeated the second re-check of the lotto ticket…

The man watched her moves, and, with every cheerful mood she made, he became more excited…’My Good God! Maybe she’s finding me a new life’… He knew something good was happening.

Then, police officer Gig Weller walked into the ‘Circle K’. Officer Weller watched Two young casually dressed men filling their tote bags with many bottles of liquor, wine, and sundry treats. The taller of the two men saw the policeman, and, when their eyes met, all three knew, one way or the other, the party was over – and all the booze and ‘goodies’ stuffed in the ‘gear bags’ would not be used in frolic and fun…or, resale.

Officer Weller approached the two men. He judged them to be in their mid-twenties, and, at the moment, they were nervously dithering as to what their exit plans should be.

Within ten feet of the young men, the officer saw the signs that spoke of illegal activities.

“You fellows want to show me what’s in your ‘sports bags’?” The officer rested his right hand on his holstered weapon.

“Just some party stuff, officer.”

“Lots of booze coming off the shelves and into that travel bag…you planning to pay for that ‘party stuff’?”

The two men were not so evident of their criminal intent as some he had encountered, but he could observe that nuance he had come to trust over the years…these fellows were committing a robbery – he knew it but would practice decent discourse until they made their move.

The two medium-built men looked quickly at each other, and the shorter one answered: “Oh, sure, Officer, just making it easier on ourselves with the bags, and we didn’t notice any collection carts when we came in.”

The Officer gave a slight smile and pointed toward the entry/exit doors: “You mean those stacked at the entrance? You two bring your bags to the counter, and we will get an accounting.” The Officer’s right hand never left his weapon.

Reluctantly, the two men shuffled toward the counter, closely watching the Officer’s moves. Another male employee had returned to the counter and watched the approach of the two men and the Police Officer some three feet to the side. The counter clerk knew instinctively that trouble was walking toward him, his slow labored swallow giving him away.

“Okay,” the Officer said, “pay the clerk, and we’ll see if we’re done with all this.”

The two men looked at each other, the taller man spoke: “Go ahead Ellis, pay the man…”

The man called Ellis looked quickly at his partner with widened eyes: “Whoa, Jack, I thought you were paying with your credit card…”

“No, it was the other way around, Ellis. I don’t have my credit card or any money. You were to pay.”

“Bull-croppy! You were to pay! Look in the bag…maybe you put your credit card in there.”

Jack grabbed the bag, unzipped the middle opening…

His voice no longer carrying any cordial tone, the Officer Weller spoke in a loud demanding voice as he pulled his gun from its holster: “Drop the bag and raise your arms, you are both under arrest…”

The man called Jack pulled a revolver from the bag and jumped sideways toward a counter end, and pulled the trigger several times.

A woman’s scream was heard from the back at the alcove.

The Officer managed to get off several shots, one shot immediately mortally wounding the man called Jack, and, unfortunately, one bullet from the now dead man crazed the shoulder of Officer Gig Weller, fortunately, not disabling him. The man called Ellis stood shaking, arms raised high and stiff.

Officer Gig Weller cuffed the man called Ellis, made his call to the precinct, described the altercation and aftermath…

The ambulance arrived, put some ointment on Officer Weller’s shoulder and a patch. Ellis was taken to lock-up.

The police ambulance not only carried Jack to the morgue but Steven Bardo, the man who had lost his way in life…until the final moment of his living. He was killed by a stray bullet from the gun fired by Jack.

Officer Gig Weller talked to a tearful Marge as she emerged from the ‘Circle K’ alcove to report the death of Steven Bardo. When Weller saw her tears, he asked, “Was Mr. Bardo a personal friend of yours?”

“No, but in my heart, I know he was a good man who had some very bad luck in life, sad from all the weight he was carrying, the mistakes, loss of family, the ‘boogey-man’ always there inside of him…” Fresh tears began to trickle.

“Why was he in your ‘Circle K’? Sounds like you had an emotional encounter with him.”

“Steven Bardo found a ‘lotto ticket’ on a sidewalk, and, on his way to his humble shack he called home, he passed our store, came in to see if the numbers might have been winning number – a real ‘long shot’ of course…

“Old tear-jerker me, I feel immediately sad for the man and wanted so much for that lotto ticket to give him a new lease on life, and my verification came at the very moment of his death from that stray bullet…

“I got to see him light up with a smile when I told him he was a winner? NOT, the jackpot amount, but enough to turn his life around…his last number was ‘13’, but he knew, KNEW, that he was a winner – finally, a winner. Thank God he was able to go with that knowledge…”

A trio of tears dropped to the ‘Circle K’ floor.

The End

©Short Journey of Steven Bardo

By BR Chitwood – July 22, 2020

Please preview my books on my Website:

billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood  

 

 

Face It

21424918

-Platonic Academy in Athens, Greece Prior to 86 BC-

Face It!

By BR Chitwood

Have you figured it out?

You know – Corona Virus, earth orbiting, people doing crazy things, hate, love, murder, riots, politics, reading, sleeping, waking, writing, Sun up, Sun down?

Of course, you have…

Those Athenian primo Philosophers like Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, they had it figured pretty well: don’t tell people anything! Just engage them in dialogue until someone comes up with a ‘philosophical gem’ that sounds universal and valid…and, it didn’t hurt that ‘SP&A’ walked around in funny long-loose clothes and sandals – maybe, even barefooted – definitely too lazy to shave, and spoke with erudite voices that guaranteed they had some scintillating and earth-shaking knowledge likely already known but wanted their listeners to author the answers.

Having read about these ‘Genius Three’ in college and even now occasionally – just, not too long because they give me a ‘hillbilly headache’, trying to understand the ‘Socratic Method’, ‘Plato’s Republic’, and ‘Aristotelian Logic’. There is one thing for sure, these hard-thinking men devoted their lives to the pursuit of knowledge, and Socrates committed suicide by drinking some hemlock potion…it was either that or ‘exile’, and he took his honorable way. The Athens legal authorities claimed Socrates had corrupted the Grecian youth. Socrates’ best student was there with him at death – another young Athenian scholar and friend, Plato. 

Plato would go on to ‘dialogue’ a lot with Aristotle and other giant scholars of that ‘Classic Era’. Plato would also establish The Academy’ in Athens c. 387 BC. The Academy persisted throughout the Hellenistic period as a skeptical school, until coming to an end after the death of Philo of Larissa in 83 BC. The Platonic Academy was destroyed by the Roman dictator Sulla in 86 BC.

Now, sure, you can find all of this on your own, but I had to show off just a bit…and I’m not quite finished yet…

In refreshing my mind a bit on these three great Philosophers who have adorned college textbooks for centuries now, I should not have been surprised – but, I was – to find out that these Greek giants, particularly, Socrates, thought  Democracies were not the best governing blueprint, particularly, if the wrong people were working at the power desks. Plato, perhaps more than Socrates, was not a ‘democracy’ advocate. Each believed that too many variables existed in a Democracy – favors, paybacks, ‘big money’, ignorance leading to ‘Mob Rule’. It is also true that within any system of governance, there is potential for some semblance of disaster.

After so few paragraphs, my brain power is used up, and I will end by saying a definite NO to Democratic Socialism, NO to ‘Open borders’,  NO to de-funding our ‘Law and Order’ people, NO to higher taxes, NO to the SWAMP GROUPS that rob us blind, YES to a strong Military, YES to Charter Schools and Educational Reforms with too many promising programs thrown aside, YES to a proven leader for President who has had some remarkable achievements during his first four years in the oval office, and YES to Innovative solutions to state and local government.

Okay, like it, do not like it, ignore it, but the man who wrote this post is  taking a nap…writing, taking naps, that’s what old guys do!!!

BR Chitwood – July 16, 2020

Please preview my books:

billyraychitwood.com

  

Please follow my Blog:

brchitwood.com

 

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood  

“The Galaxy Higher Order”

“The Galaxy Higher Order”

by BR Chitwood

(Messenger Chosen and Indoctrinated by TGHO OuigiBoard.)

***

Overview and Statement of Purpose:

 Centuries, Millenia have passed since The Supreme Deity of TGHO unilaterally, with a compelling and compassionate inner guidance brought forth the most favored thinkers to embrace with Him/Her a benign concept that would create union between females and males to populate countries, who, in turn, would create through a procreation process other females and males, all to grow and multiply with different mind-sets and talents for further creations…it would be an interesting experiment, with certain expectation levels of achievement.

It was not so much idle moments that brought about this epic adventure. The Deity, his followers, had the idea of an exclusive Galaxy that would spread through the great Spatial Heavens. The Deity thought of the project more in divine terms and all their efforts were kept in perspective of this great and noble experiment.

So, it came to pass…

Great countries were built, their cities rich not only in their beauty, their architecture, but the people wise and productive in their giving. There were periods of unique, beautiful art, and wise thinkers who were able to predict and prepare for colossal events.

Then, with growing aggravation came the vermin, the insects and diseases that destroyed the crops.

People died from inexplicable causes.

People became angry, fought among themselves.

Then came wars between countries, with weaponry that grew in size and mass destructive ability.

Where went benignity? Where went peace and good will? Some would blame human machines, people who focused on power and control.

***

Perhaps the paths taken to get to the twenty-first century, had different routes. Perhaps the symbolism, the ‘galactic allusion’ does not fit so well, but we are here in the year of our Lord, 2020, our knowledge doubling at such speeds to make the head dizzy, a Covid-19 Pandemic, Political forces seemingly asleep at the wheel of government, riots in the streets of our cities, murders, rioting, looting…what madness has infected the souls of our nations. Our monuments and statues from History, who we were, who we are, how we fought and won our freedom and liberty… What is the Demon force at work? Who are the Demons? Who are the ‘power brokers’ ripping apart the USA? Are our educational systems, for whatever their reasons, brainwashing our kids? Taking from them the ‘guts’ of our Republic: how we got here? The good, the bad that got us here?

Why are we allowing idiots to walk our sacred halls of Congress…yes, I know, they were voted into office…how? why?

We are allowing ‘mindless hoodlums’ to kill our children and neighbors, to kill our police, to riot, to loot…likely paid to do so by Anarchist Power Brokers

‘Some Big cities wish no longer to fund the Police’?

That’s ‘Crazy’, simply, NUTS!

‘Black Lives Matter’? More Craziness…begging stupid questions.

‘All Lives Matter’! Black, brown, red, white, yellow… We all matter… Pain and Suffering are not limited to one group of people or one location. Some of us are products of Appalachian poverty, and we worked to break away from that unpleasantness. We all did not crawl inside our minds and build envy and hate for those who had more than we. So many good people with their own plates bare of food helped others. People care but cannot always be there to help ease the pain. Hate is invidious, divisive, and a terrible place to be… Yes, these are just words that can’t pay the rent or buy the food…show me a man, woman, or child who can be economically burdened but can still smile and help another in need, and I’m meeting a most special person. Yes, these are just words, but I can say, I’ve been there, and I will never envy or hate anyone who has more than I do.

There is a lot of sadness in the world, and we should help as many as we can who try each day to help lessen their load.

And, of course, if you do hate the USA, want to take away the freedom and liberty that millions have died to preserve for us, then, get on a boat to Venezuela and/or another Totalitarian country.

This is AMERICA, those of you who brazenly shout and shove your way to looting, killing our police, and defying our symbols of past glories and sacrifices. There are a lot of us who do not have so much, but we did get past abject poverty by working our way out. We served our country through some wars. For those who need food and shelter this country does have places of refuge, counseling, and job assistance. Seek help from reliable sources, and, PLEASE, avoid the ‘mob mentality’ that feeds anger and hate.

Yes, we have some acute problems at the moment, and it is an ‘election year’.

One candidate has been in several positions in our government. If he has been successful in those forty-plus years, I must have pulled a ‘Rip Van Winkle’, unless becoming very wealthy and making a son very wealthy are some sort of hallmarks.

The other candidate may not have the decorum some would wish in a Commander-in-Chief, but he knows how to run a business, and, after all, it seems we need a man who knows thoroughly those principles of business and growth of the economy. The Pandemic will hopefully run its course, and we will get back to strong markets and a confident America.

Okay, I have more or less satisfied my anger, but I love this country, and we have to get our schools (Charter, or, otherwise) re-opened and up to speed.

BR Chitwood – July 14, 2020

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

http://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Butterfly Hearts

©Butterfly Hearts

  • – AKA The Souls of Romantics

By BR Chitwood

*

Close the gates to reason,

Defy the constancy of doubts

You know of only one season.

Tis the season that fades not away,

But lingers like butterflies in flight

Flower to flower on a summer’s day.

Call it a Butterfly Heart, this joyous toy,

That ticks wildly at likely signs of love,

For the soul that captures ultimate joy.

If World’s woes try for intervention,

And cause a temporal rush of rain,

Butterfly Hearts pay it no attention.

©Butterfly Hearts

  • AKA The Souls of Romantics –

By BR Chitwood

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please Follow my Blog:

http://brchitwood.com

Please Follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Can We Talk?

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Can We Talk?

By BR Chitwood

“Can we talk? Of course, we can talk. You asked. I answered, and that was five minutes ago. So, what’s on your mind, BR? You knock on the door, nod a greeting, and want to talk. We’re sipping beers, and you have not said two words. Your brow’s all wrinkled. You’re fidgety and nervous as I’ve never seen you. What’s eating you up, buddy?”

“Sorry, Luke, I’m not handling too well all that’s happening in our orbiting craft these days. It may all be above my ‘savvy classification’ and my ‘retirement pay grade’, but what is happening in this only world we know? The ‘World Pandemic’? ‘Corona Virus’? Masks? Family Separation and Isolation? Riots in our cities? Looting? Deaths? Restaurants and Bars closed? Sports cancelled? Political chaos and anarchical acts? Geez, I have no idea what Armageddon looks like, but, if this is it, I’m scared.”

  “You have a lot of company, BR. The anxiety levels of people are visceral, me, included. I can’t remember a period in our history when such anger, riots, killings, total disregard by so many of our laws and fundamental law enforcement is no longer viable…

“So, my friend, we have many people feeling the same emotions, the same doubts, about solutions and a return to some semblance of normalcy… I’m hearing ‘doubts’ seeping into conversations – doubts about Covid-19 and possible episodes with some extreme edging, like…

Is there more to this Pandemic than what we’re being told by our leaders?

“Are there ‘Hate Groups’ backed with lots of money to stir National unrest to the point of making Socialism a reality? Think about it, groups working toward defunding our police departments, hoping to make it a more ‘peoples police force’ to serve their socialistic desires.

“We are all feeling our own pressing doubts about where we’re going with these actions we are witnessing. We can, I believe, no longer doubt that there are ‘interests’ being served by these current actions than by what our founding fathers had in mind.”

“God, Lucas, are you trying to cheer me up?”

 Short snicker.

“I’m kidding, your thoughts are my thoughts as well… I, too, feel there is more to the Pandemic than what we are being told…is it worse than we think? Is it better than we are led to believe?

“Are there people actively at work trying to erase our history? We already know that the Universities are hell-bent on shaping the minds of our youth.

“It is sad to think that so many people wish to erase and void the history of our Democracy, the wars fought, the lives lost, in building this greatest of all nations – spending huge amounts of money to buy malcontents and corrupters of freedom, defacing, tearing down our heroes and monuments. It is not only sad. It is an egregious affront to our pioneers, our trail-blazers, our historic greatness, all the lives lost in preserving our union.”

“Well said, BR. Is our little ‘beer and pep session’ helping?”

“Well, Lucas, you got me talking, mostly repeating everything you said…and, you know, I do feel better after our short chat here…guess that’s why you make the big bucks. {Chuckle}. The good people of this country, I have to believe, are not going to ‘cave in’ to the negative elements of Globalists, Socialists, and Rabble-rousers. This great nation could not have come this far without the great will of our people…and, guess what? The ancestors are ‘locked and loaded’!”

BR Chitwood – July 4, 2020

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com  

Please follow my Blog:

http://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Those Romantic Moments

By BR Chitwood

To be sure, there are rare, unique, and special romantic moments in our lives. Some, we will pledge to posterity with all the poetic and prose talent we have…sure, it might come out as gilded prose, but the words will still carry some heart messages that convey what the possessed lover intended.

Being a ‘charter member’ of The Romantic Anonymous Club of Misfits and Sly Scoundrels, I am drawn to the soft violin strings, the meticulous wafting notes of a harp – which, at times, has drawn me to the lovely Harpist – and the gentle soul-seeking keys of a piano. Ask any active member of the TRACMSS, and they will validate my wordsif they do not, they will be heavily fined.

Some readers might question the value, the worth of such a blog post… C’mon, man, who wants to read about this kind of stuff? Man and woman, meet – BOOM – they get it on. End of story.

I will not pigeon-hole my readers. If they are truly too offended by my words here, it will actually please many of our TRACMSS club members…you know, without too many pickers, there are more luscious fruit on the trees.

At this point, allow me to explain the presumptive reason for this particular post…

On July 4, 2020 we celebrate our great country’s ‘Declaration of Independence’. This year, with all that has come upon us – the ‘Covid-19’ Pandemic’, the many deaths, the Isolation, the Masks, the trepidation of our people about future riots and the unrest of tens of millions of people – it somehow seemed appropriate to write about Love and Romance.

It will take a hellava lot from the bad folks who are creating all of this death and destruction to defeat the good people of our country. The good people of this country want freedom and liberty to stay its course, law and order to prevail, and government malfeasance to disappear – to STOP stealing our money.

So, on the fourth of July, My wife and I are going to put on some Mantovani, some harp music, some violin music, and some soft floating piano notes, and celebrate our Independence Day – and Evening – and, we won’t be forgetting candlelight and wine… By the by, that TRACMSS  CLUB is looking for members… We love belonging but it’s just the two of us.

HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!

By BR Chitwood – July 3, 2020

Please preview my books:

http://billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

http://brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

 

 

World of Wannabe

World of Wannabe

By BR Chitwood

The world of Wannabe is available only to the hermits of the world, those precious few among us who come to a place in their minds that bid them escape the habitual and mundane nuances of life, a place where patterns of living become such narrow spaces to subsist and cater to those higher, more spiritual longings of the soul.

Wannabe is a place of transition, a place of substantial caring far away from the giants of commerce and business, a place where loneliness becomes a blessing, not a curse, where a day begins with a soft salute to the Maker of us all, then tending to the humble daily needs of faltering lives of beasts and fowls, building a sanctuary for the forgotten simple inhalers of fresh air, a blessed place where living in the only skin you have need not worry about the predators of the world.

 Such a special place is Wannabe for those who have no earthly longings save for the harmony of living among a cayote’s wail to the midnight moon, a bear’s gentle grunt in passing on a trail, a large cougar’s poetic stance on a boulder in silhouette with the full moon, a bearded man sharing his meager meal with a wildcat or snake.

Wannabe is a place for the hardy and the matter of fact, with no dreams left to interrupt his or her simple life, a place one might call a refuge while a hermit calls it home.

Most visitors will not stay long in Wannabe for they see Isolation, loneliness, and the absence of imagination and desire to create, while the hermit will never wish to leave because he/she could not dream beyond what they find here.

There are no obituaries for the Hermits of our world…they are the few who faded from the tall buildings and neon lights to find their own peace on earth!

*

By BR Chitwood – June 30, 2020

*

Please preview my books:

http://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

http://www.brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

©Sweeny, The Doll

©Sweeny, The Doll

– Short Story – By BR Chitwood –

*

Mr. and Mrs. Holcomb were looking in a toy shop at possible gifts for daughter, Kellie.

 “Oh, isn’t this darling? His name is ‘Sweeny’, and his voice is so sweet… Kellie will love it.”

“You’re kidding, right? Kellie is all ‘GIRL’. I can’t see her playing with this guy-doll at all. She might like its voice – it is soothing, but Kellie would lose interest quickly with this slick-haired bozo. She’s more into the more etiquette-like stuff.”

“Frank, trust me on this one. I know my daughter, and she will be talking to Sweeny on a constant basis. You’re not around so much that you would notice. Lots of girls are wanting male dolls now…it’s ‘the thing’, some toy clerks tell me.”

“Well, Sweeny is kind of cute in his untidy ‘cut-offs’ and flaming red shirt, the sly smile…what are some of the ‘things’ he says in his taped repertoire?”

“His various conversational utterings are here in this pamphlet…”

“I’ve glanced at a few statements Sweeny makes, and I’m not sure the vernacular matches up well with Kellie…are kids really talking like this? About hugging, kissing, silly adult-like language?”

“Don’t go ‘archaic’ on me, Frank. Kids live in different generations and speak for the most part like others in their age group… We still must do our parenting, our monitoring of their lives so they don’t cross into dangerous areas of thoughts and deeds.”

“Well, Gerrie, you’re the ‘Mom’ and you know better about these things than I do. I just want the ‘best’ for Kellie. She’s so sweet, smart, and special and I want her world as free from the ‘ugly’ as we can make it, and I know you do as well. Go ahead and throw ‘Sweeny’ in the shopping basket. I hope they become really good buddies.”

***

(Night-time: Six Months Later )

Wearing new special PJs Kellie’s Mom made, Sweeny lay stretched out on his back next to his mistress on the opposite pillow, eyes open, alert, now and then glancing at his sleeping bed-partner. Only the plugged-in night light gave light to the bedroom.

“Kellie, psst, Kellie, are you awake?”

Kellie was in deep sleep, dreaming of a new boy in her sixth-grade classroom at school. Tommy was the new boy’s name, and his small desk was next to her desk.

Kellie’s eyes twitched and her body quivered under the bedsheet, and a small discernable smile appeared on her face. She liked Tommy at first sight and thought that rather unusual for her to like a new boy in class…girls, generally, yes, but, boys, a bit strange.

 Sweeny’s closed eyes simultaneously twitched as well, and suddenly came fully open. In no way could he explain his awareness to his supposedly non-active environment – a male doll that for some inscrutable reason could remember a special ‘compound’ put inside his combination hard-rubber and polyethylene terephthalate head.

Sweeny only knew he did not like the ensuing disturbance within his tiny body, did not like where Kellie’s thoughts were taking her…he now knew about the new boy in her Sixth-Grade class, and he would not know how to explain it to anyone.

In some manner, Sweeny, with eyes aquiver, his tiny factory-made body thrashing beneath the sheet, caused the bed to rock and sway, made loud noises on the floor and walls. The noise became so loud it awakened Kellie, her mother, and her father.

Amid Kellie’s screams, the parents entered her room and saw lamps on the floor, wall plaster displaced on the walls from the bed-rocking, and other debris spread across the bedroom.

Then a silence so deep within itself came that frightened all in the room but Sweeny.

“Oh, My God! What happened in here, Kellie?” the mother asked.

“I don’t know, Mommy, but it woke me up. I’m scared, Daddy, Mommy.”

Sweeny lay quietly on his pillow, his eyes closed as though in sleep, but listening carefully to what was being said.

Kellie’s parents would not allow such paranormal thoughts to enter their mind, but they did believe their eyes and knew something dramatic and nerve-wracking happened in their daughter’s bedroom.

Kellie slept in her parents’ bedroom that night and the next three nights, only going into her room for showers and clothes changes. When her eyes fell on Sweeny, she thought she noticed angry eyes, and it scared her, but she finally accepted that her little mind was playing tricks on her…the scary episode could be explained in a sensible manner with a sane and understandable narrative.

While she could not understand her own reasoning regarding that night, Kellie remotely thought that Sweeny had something to do with it. Giving her seemingly crazy thoughts a rest, she would hold Sweeny and talk to him, but when she placed him somewhere away from her she sensed an anger showing on his face. Then, there came a sense of dread that would drive her out of the room, and she could also sense his staring eyes following her.

Her relationship with Sweeny she knew was over – from a pet toy to any kind of plaything. She could never, would never get over that one night-time episode and the ensuing moments of distress. She talked to her mother, convinced her that she no longer wanted to have Sweeny around her.

Gerrie  placed Sweeny in the original box he came in, took him to the local park, and left the doll with the Park Director, Stu Bruner, to do with what he wished, gift it to one of the children who played there. Gerrie explained simply to Mr. Bruner that her daughter outgrew the male doll and had moved on…Gerrie felt a little ‘white lie’ would not hurt anyone.

*

The Park Director placed Sweeny on his office credenza and left for home later in the afternoon. It was odd, the Director thought as he left his office, the male doll’s face seemed strangely different from the time he was brought to him, and, he thought he had placed him in the middle of the credenza, but he was now sprawled toward the end of the furniture with a scowl on his pale face.

“Ah, I’m just tired… I wasn’t paying that much attention at the time, and those toy makers can now do so much with innovation in dolls…”

At the first traffic light, Stu Bruner almost ran a ‘red light’ which had just recently turned ‘green’, and Stu screeched to a stop, just missing the opposite flow of cars.

‘Darn, am I going blind? I could have sworn that light was turning ‘green’ when I came to it’…

Stu Bruner soon regained his normal happy mood when going home to family and pets.

At the next traffic light five blocks away Stu had to quickly brake again…something, a cat, a dog, an animal of some kind was crossing the road, but, damn, it looked just like that ‘doll’ Gerrie Holcomb left earlier at his office.

‘My eyes are going bad on me. Two lights in a row I’ve almost lost control. Not good, Stu, not good at all, but I could swear it was that stupid male doll.  Then, again, dusk can tease the eyes to believe things that are not real. Lots of accidents occur at this time of the day’.

Again, Stu Holcomb managed to stay alert and began whistling his favorite country song – ‘Put your sweet lips closer to the phone’… (“He’ll Have to Go” – popular country song sung beautifully by Jim Reeves.)

As Stu Holcomb opened his private office door the next morning, he stumbled, almost fell to the floor.

His office, his beautiful mahogany desk, chairs, credenza, wall hangings, awards, trophies, plaster, everything was totally destroyed…but he heard the sound of a voice familiar to his ears – a radio announcer’s voice reporting the news of the day.

Stunned by the destruction, Stu stumbled to the area where the radio was normally setting on his desk, and, below, among the debris on the floor, he pulled the radio from the rubble, held it in his hands, and was about to replace it on the floor when the announcer mentioned names he knew…he cleared a place by the window and listened to a staggering news report:

“The cause of the fire that destroyed the Holcomb house is unknown, but there is a strange footnote to this tragedy – amid all the debris, in the corner of a child’s bedroom was the warped, demonic face of a doll, smiling and absurd in its countenance… To repeat the important part of this fiery news story, the Holcomb Family survived the midnight fire with minimal injuries and will undergo some psychological testing when they have been stabilized to a point where shock has been mitigated – and only God knows when that will be…”

*

The End

©Sweeny, The Doll

By BR Chitwood – June 29, 2020

*

Please preview my books:

http://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

http://www.brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood

Gina Malloy’s Secret

[Image Art by: Aziz Acharki – Unsplash.com]

©Gina Malloy’s Secret

By BR Chitwood

Recently… Ah, hell, just yesterday, I made the decision to end a one-year relationship with a lovely lady who within the first few weeks of knowing her gave all systems of body, heart, mind a collaborate indication that my search for a life’s companion was over. Gina Malloy was twenty-six years old, lovely in a Natalie Portman way, and we came together on a daytime ‘Soap Set’. I played the Doctor who would win her heart.

The first six months was as ‘storybook’ as Hollywood could have filmed it. We had a lovely place in Pacific Palisades, always eager after a day on the ‘set’ to get home and enjoy our privacy and luxury. We were quick to cater each other’s needs because we wanted our mutual and natural caring personae to show. It was a fun six months, real, honest, and wholesome, the caring and catering bringing most delightful bedroom tricks and treats, sighing satisfying oohs and aahs.

In the seventh month, Gina seemed to be avoiding contact with me. At first, I thought it was that time of the month when women go through their ‘Menstrual Cycle’, but I began to question my reactions. So, it was my way to ask more harmless questions of Gina which she brushed aside, by my thinking rather cool-like and somehow out of character. “Danny, please, stop with the questions. Everything is fine.” She would then leave the room too abruptly.

So, I, Danny Watts, decided to give her the silent treatment until she came around to her old ‘self’. I was still convinced it was the ‘menstrual cycle’ thing. And, she did show some signs of becoming her old self until I apparently kept a conversation going too long or made some cuddling moves or show too much affection.

In the following weeks Gina took a couple of trips to visit sorority sisters, she said, irritating our film execs because they needed to alter scene selections for the soap. Returning from those trips, she seemed her ‘old self’ and, for a short duration, we were back to our ‘good place’.

By the twelfth month of our cohabitation, Dina was driving her own car to the studio…she seemed always to have some errands to run after the ‘shooting’ was done for the day. When she did not come home on some nights and none of our friends knew her whereabouts I knew that the relationship was in serious trouble, and/or, there was no longer a relationship, period.

When Gina did not come home some nights, and my heart and mind vacillated between dread of accident and/or death. My mind conjured up possible scenarios – car problems, in a hospital somewhere, seeing someone else, raped and murdered (yes, my mind took me there as well). The love we shared in the early months of our time together brought me to tears, to self-recrimination, to a ‘hell’ I could not have expected. More calls, hospitals, police stations, people we knew, there was nothing worthy of good news or bad news.

There were sleepless nights of worry and heart aches that brought more tears.

When I got to the Studio yesterday morning, I was told that Gina was no longer a part of the ‘Soap’ cast. She had apparently called in her resignation to some angry studio executives, and some hasty re-writes of the daily script were made with a lot of cursing.

It would be one of the longest days of my life. Then, when I got home from the day’s filming with a low threshold of hope of finding Gina there, I found the envelope tacked to the door…

My legs suddenly became rubbery. My breathing was erratic and suffocative as I staggered to the ‘love seat’ where Gina and I spent so much of our time petting and staring out the broad plate glass window to the distant waters of the Pacific Ocean, listening to the soft romantic music-making of our favorite Sergei Rachmaninoff. We were so proud when often criticized with insulting ‘Romantic’ qualifiers.

With shaking and reluctant fingers, I pulled the folded letter from the envelope. On the first page of the flowery stationery, a large ‘Red Heart’ was centered in the top-middle of the first page, and something broke inside of me…the tears came, flowing fast down my cheeks because in my hasty glancing at the written words I saw a phrase that caught my eyes and brought the weeping…

I focused on the beautiful heart and could go no further for many moments as my hands would not stop their incessant trembling. My whispered mumblings of sorrow and regret assembled with the slight humming sound of the air conditioner. My mind was filled with the past images of Gina and me in all the activities of our lives. My unsure shaking hands reached for her face I longed to see in front of me but could not tenderly grasp it…

Cowardly I allowed seconds, minutes to pass, knowing there could be no good news coming from her beautiful hand. I closed my eyes for some seconds, felt a short sharp pain in my chest, sniffled loudly, sighed deeply, re-opened my eyes and stared down upon Gina’s words, some now fading and smeared with my tears.

With sniffle pauses, I slowly focused on the words on the pages my fumbling fingers lifted from my lap.

*

download (1)

*

My Dearest Danny,

How does my own broken heart convey to your troubled mind and heart the awful news which I must share with you in this missive?

For me, and I hope, for you, Danny, our first days, weeks, and months together were the happiest, most incredibly beautiful times of my life. I could never have hoped to meet someone with a heart, a mind, and a soul so remarkable in their tender giving of love and understanding as your marvelous trio.

I love you, Danny, and our special time together represents God’s gift to me, His gift which will stay with me until your arrival in Eternity.

The Cancer came unexpectedly and I’m sorry my mood-changing behavior often upset some of our precious time together. I allowed my self-pity to open the door to bitterness and anger… I loved you, loved the harmony of our lives together, and, at times, I felt cheated and unfairly treated by Fate.

God finally gave me the understanding of life’s slowness and haste, its repetitions, its ebbs and flows, an inner knowledge that finally came to me, not so much by total comprehension, but by some holy, spiritual awareness that was impossible to doubt.

I’m sorry, dear Danny, if this all sounds too theatrical, but the truth of life and death will be known. I know that. You will know that.   

I’m in Arizona, Danny, and the medical group keeps my pain under control. It is now just a matter of hours before my life here is over but please know that I am at peace and will be waiting for you in Eternity. I pray that you will go on with your life, find new loves, follow your dreams, and know that I am in a good place waiting for you. You will always have my heart and my love.

Gina

*

download (1)

*

Sadness came, lingered, as I read and reread Gina’s words, and slowly the tears no longer flowed. The heartbeat came back from its erratic behavior.

Why?

I don’t know, but outside that big plate glass window a beautiful twilight with a magnificent western sunset was showing.

Why?

I don’t know, but there are no timers on the stereo system and suddenly a calming and lovely palliative Sergei Rachmaninoff piece of music began playing enigmatically and peacefully.

Why?

I don’t know, but inside my total being there was a tingling sensation, an awareness, a certainty, and I knew that Gina had reached Eternity…

Why? I don’t know…

***

©Gina Malloy’s Secret

By BR Chitwood – June 23, 2020

 *

Please preview my books:

http://www.billyraychitwood.com

Please follow my Blog:

http://www.brchitwood.com

Please follow me on Twitter:

https://twitter.com/brchitwood   

%d bloggers like this: