Let’s Go Back To The Kitchen In The Woods

I’m finding the stories and poems that I wrote during the height of the Pandemic to be pretty cool.  

For Fandango’s Flashback Friday I’m re-posting ” The Kitchen In The Woods ” because I don’t think I was trying to capture a sense of isolation and desolation, but I did:

 

THE KITCHEN IN THE WOODS 

FIRST PUBLISHED AT MY ENDURING BONES

APRIL 22, 2020 

Photographer Unknown

I remember

a small cool room at the back of the house

encased in smooth plaster walls turned beige with age.

Grainy yellow light filtered through a row of dusty windows.

Shelves lined with ceramic cannisters decorated with  labels of  grapes and apples rolling pins and sunflowers.

 Swollen tin cans entombed in darkness behind tall cupboard doors

 A light green cake plate waiting to be fed  sits upon a wobbly splintered wooden  table surrounded  by four worn out mismatched kitchen chairs

 Hanging from the wall, next to the black iron stove

a row of well sharpened, shiny  knives

twinkle like starlight on a clear cold winter night.

My Grandmother’s kitchen

in

her house in the woods.

Photo by Aphiwat chuangchoem on Pexels.com

Reposted For Fandango’s Flashback Friday

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.