The Chair

Reposted For Fandango’s Flashback Friday

The Chair

First posted October 14, 2019

Maybe, sixteen year old Thomas Gilder thought when his heart slowed down enough for him to think clearly, if I just relax and close my eyes I can figure how I got here and how I can get out because if I got into this I can get out too- that’s logical, or science or something like that right?

His hands, were clammy and sweaty and cold and they grasped the smooth arms of the chair with less force then he realized because he was very close to passing out. He bit his lips to keep from calling for his Mother. She’d be so disappointed in him if she knew where he was. He could not- would not do that to her. He would not call for her like he did when he was a little kid waking up terrified from  the nightmare that he had at least once a week until he was 12 about the clowns that drove around in the mail truck with USPS written in sloppy red letters with a decapitated eagle hanging from the ” U “.

At least not right now.

Thomas turned his head and looked at the little window with the pale blue curtain drawn across it that was to his left

and he wondered why the room was painted pale green and why it didn’t really match the curtains in the window and why

he was sitting in this electric chair and how long it was going to be before the Executioner realized he was here .

Thomas looked up at the clock and watched the second hand crawl from one number to the next- not that he could read the clock. Most kids his age can’t but it gave him something to think about and when his thoughts got back on the Tommy Gilder train he made himself remember the walk down here, the instructions, and the RULES.

Maybe that was the key. If he could remember the short walk that brought him here maybe he could avoid the long walk ahead.

What ever he came up with, he had to snap himself out of this nightmare before the face appeared in the little window and saw him.

It was all over for him at that point, wasn’t it? Or maybe it really ended for him when he decided to heck with it and decided to not follow the RULES.

Thomas wasn’t bad kid, well- he knew if he had made a few better life choices he wouldn’t be here waiting for that curtain to be moved to the side and for Hell to rain down on him.

There had to be something he could do, maybe say he was sorry and that he’d never screw off and he’d promise on a stack of bibles to follow THE RULES but before he could put his thoughts into order and choose one of those flimsy options his out of control brain had come up with, the curtain in the small window opened and then the face of the Executioner appeared and it was indeed the face of his doom and a painful molten rain of words did indeed fall down upon him.

” Son of a bitch! Take your kid to work day. What can go wrong they said. You only work for the State. None of the dumbasses that nagged me to do this asked me what I do for the state.”

She took a breath which meant she was nowhere near finished yelling.

“What did I tell you about wandering off? This isn’t  a playground. I work here. I told you what the RULES were. So tell me. How the Hell did you get in there?

Chin to his chest, Thomas held up his Mothers keycard.

” Forget asking me for the car or for the password to WiFi at home which I am changing and NEVER going to give you. Forget ever hoping that I will forget this stunt. Get over to the door NOW.”

Thomas got up from the electric chair, he bowed his head and he walked slowly to the door.

When the door opened and he saw the Executioner- (or as she was known at home ” Mom” ) standing there with how miserable his fate was going to be written all over hear face, he knew his punishment would indeed be a fate worse then death.

You Just Had To Ask Her, Didn’t You?

Sometimes when I join in on Flashback Fridays I find things I forgot about and I’ll go over them and think- wow, that was kind of cool.

Then there are things that I look at and think- Anita, what the Heck? But those are the posts that I like the best because they’re strange and weird and I enjoy them.

Here’s one of those little weird ones reposted here For Fandango’s Flashback Friday

First Posted  August 20, 2018

I  can be

sad

and happy

macabre

and delightful

all at the same time.

 

I am like

a stained glass window

caught in the walls

of an abandoned church

where ghosts  and demons

play cards and shoot dice

at Midnight

for fun.

Daily Addictions Prompt: Fuse

Have You Ever…

Here’s a flashback post from 2014. 

What can I say? I must have been in a mood when I wrote it ( wink ).

wpid-IMG_20140119_061826.jpg

Have you ever touched a dead person?

Seen a dead person?

What’s it like, you may  one day get the chance to ask

someone like me

who has  prepared the dead for their

last visit with their nearest and dearest.

Well. It’s like this.

Have you ever walked up to a house

doesn’t matter if it’s a new house or an old house or the remains of a house

and you’ve stood there and knew, in your bones, that nobody was there.

That the house was empty.

Whatever it was that made that house a home was gone.

So that’s what it’s like to touch a dead person.

That’s what it feels like.

It’s not to big of a thing and after a while you actually get used to it.

But when the dead touch you…

You never do get used to that.

The Cemetery Stop

For Flashback Friday:

The Cemetery Stop

First Published at the SFC in 2006

 

I’m enjoying these Friday Flashback trips back in my blog- it’s interesting to see where I’ve grown as a writer. Also, I’ve noticed that after a lot of us swarmed to Social Media, my stories got shorter because I became aware that most people read on their phones  and they just don’t stay in one place long enough to want to read through a story that’s longer then 500 words.

I should probably care less about that and go back to my original word count of 1000 words or more.  It takes more time to write those stories and I’ll probably loose traffic but that’s the way the cookie crumbles-

now on to

” The Cemetery Stop “.

Photo By J.M Moscoso

Cilla Breck works as receptionist in a Funeral Home, her husband is a Grave Digger for the County and Cilla’s only other living relative beside her husband is distant cousin named Georgina who until her appeals run out will be sitting on death row in a State that has never executed a woman before.

Cilla wakes up hoping that the world will not start paying attention to her  next and so far it hasn’t.

That night she stood alone at the bus stop, which was locally known last the ” Cemetery Stop ” where she waits for the S-4 and where she always sits alone at the back of the bus.

Cilla does not say hello to the driver she does not from left to right and it’s debatable that she actually focuses on anything in front of her as she makes her way to the last seat.

Like most nights, Cilla set her backpack on her lap and looked out the window and began to wonder what she should make for dinner, or maybe she should have a Pizza delivered when she felt something  bump her elbow.

She looked over and sitting there right next to her was a man in a blue suit.

He smiled at her.

She did not smile back.

“ Chilly tonight, isn’t it?” he asked.

She did not answer.

She was busy thinking, he didn’t look familiar so he wasn’t a regular rider. She guessed he was a new rider.

And a chatty one.

Cilla hated chatty bus riders.

She was looking out the window when a thought crept up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

It said.

“ Cilla, did you see this guy at the bus stop?”

No, Cilla told herself.

“ Did you see him when you were walking to the back of the bus?”

Can’t say I did.

“ Doesn’t that bother you Cilla?”

Does what bother me?

“ Well, first of all that you don’t seem to focus on anyone-which seems to be something a lot of people are guilty of. But look at this awful position you’re in because of that. Some guy came out of nowhere and touched your elbow. He got that close to you Cilla. He touched your elbow. And he’s talking to you”

Cilla ended her one sided conversation and looked at the man from the corner of her eye and then she then she looked out the window.

She saw him sitting next to her.

He was looking out the window and that’s where their eyes met.

Cilla turned back to him and stared into his face for moment.

And then she turned back to the window.

She never saw him  change seats.

Now he was close enough to touch her

and now he was staring at her.

“ I don’t think I’ve ever seen you on this bus before.”

“ I ride it every night. “ he told her.

“ This bus?”

“ This bus.”

Cilla pulled her shoulder away from the man and she said bluntly. “ I’ve never seen you before.”

“ I’ve seen you.” He said.

Cilla did not doubt that.

“ I’ve even  sat next to you a few times. “

Cilla looked straight ahead.

“ I’ve even gotten off at your stop  with a couple of times.”

Cilla wondered if anyone noticed the two of them talking.

“ But mostly I get on at  the stop on Second and Washington.”

Cilla clutched her backpack to her chest.

Nobody used the stop on 2nd.  Cilla didn’t even use it. She walked around the block to the front gates of the cemetery and used the stop there.

That stop was located by the Southwall at the cemetery – back in the old days that’s where the John and Jane Does were buried.

Traditionally the  women were buried in simple dresses and the men…

In Blue Suits.

I am sitting next to a ghost, Cilla told herself. I am sitting next to the ghost of a dead man.

He knows that I know what he is and people are looking right at us and they don’t know what they are looking at.

She looked ahead as the bus pulled up to a stop and  when she turned to look at the Dead Man in the Blue Suit…

He was gone.

She looked out the window and she saw him at the bus stop standing next to a woman talking on her phone and a man reading a book.

They were looking around the Deadman and right at the Deadman and Cilla guessed they weren’t actually seeing the Deadman.

But he saw them.

He was looking right at them.

Photo A.M. Moscoso