HEADING TO GREENVILLEThe trip had been planned for months, there was no turning back now. Even though the Weather Service has been predicting tornadoes throughout the Midwest, Hank and Emily were finally getting the opportunity to get away from things for a while. The farm had been left in capable hands, and this would be the honeymoon that they had never taken. Forty-three years in the making, there was no turning back now.Emily loved to travel, always wanting to go where the four winds would take her. She wanted to be "a bluebird"; just sprout wings and fly. Across the plain, above the river; under bridges and over rainbows, she was finally getting the chance. Emily rationalized that this certainly wasn't flying - Henry didn't drive as fast as he used to.The colors always intrigued Emily. The vibrancy of each tint and hue made life at home feel very monochromatic. It paled in comparison. But every shade of crimson and orange and umber filled her with wonder for One who could so create such beauty. She declared He was a wizard when it came to foliage! Henry smiled and drove on.A few miles down the road, the skies started to take on an ominous cloak of darkness, muting the magnificent colorings. Henry followed the road, having a hard time keeping the car on the pavement on occasion. The pall of the storm gave a strange amber accent to the asphalt. Henry hadn't noticed over Emily's screaming.The tail of a twister just seemed to lift out of the ground, sweeping across the road and levitating their automobile into the eye of the swirling behemoth. Emily's screech was a continuous din now. Henry gripped the steering wheel tightly; his knuckles were ashy white. And then, just as suddenly, the storm released the vehicle and it spun to earth with a muted thud.The road looked different, certainly not the route that Henry's GPS had calculated. The car sat crosswise in the hub of an intersection of country roads bordered by cornfields. Henry rolled down his window and asked directions of a farmhand who stood in one of the fields waving away the crows from the lofty stalks.The couple thanked the man and continued on their adventure. They were unaware of the little girl dressed in bloody gingham and her crushed dog who lay in the road where their car had landed!
"...and your little dog, too"Love it, Walt!
WALT! OK Most everything, BUT for that last line! :(MMT
Oh, you frown on the macabre? Looks like the ruby slippers were on the other foot...er, feet! Less than two to Halloween.
COUNTRY ROADBy Marjory M Thompson Jason looked up the autumn bespectacled road remembering a time, years ago, he had last been here. It was on a picnic with his family and Chad’s family. It seemed like hundred years ago. It was spring and they had followed the winding road (neighboring road) up into the mountains and had made ‘home made’ Ice cream using the linger snow in the churn.He wanted to reach the farm where his parents still lived. At least were living before Meg started on her journey and Chad at stopped to see them.Jason’s heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of either or both not being there when he arrived.He was sorry now that he had not tried to keep in touch and wondered if Chad had been able to get his note to them. Would they understand what he had written?He checked again his campsite to be sure he had not left anything behind. It was a good site, protected from the wind of the increasingly cooler nights. His blanket had not completely warded off the cold night air.Tonight, or at least the next, he hoped to be snug in his parent’s home...and ‘safe from the threat with walked daily with him. His ‘papers’ did excuse him from capture – if they passed the inspection and the temperament of any military man who happen to stop in. They could also decide to hold him for questioning...and horrors of horrors press him into service. Even with the patch on his eye there were thing he could do for them. He still exaggerated the limp whenever he saw anything military connected, but sometimes they appeared without warning. He was constantly on the look out for...As much as he did not anticipate anyone on the back road, he still needed to get over the river, which would require him being on the Regional Highway for a couple miles. All he could do was hope and pray that the time on the Regional went without mishap.He planned to climb down the road back done he was passed the bridge and go cross-country to the lane that would take him to the house. The closer he got the more venerable he felt. “Please, please,” he whispered “Let me make it home.”He ached with longing to see his folks again.At noon, he stopped to eat from his dwindling food supply and rest his leg, which was beginning to throb. He lay back massaging his hip still healing from the shrapnel wood he had received during the riot. Doc. S had said that it would most likely cause him some discomfort for long time. Most of the pain pills that Doc s had manage to get for him were still in the small folder inside he concealed pocket along with his remaining cash. There had been several of opportunities to spend money, but he had avoided shops unless he had to get something.At Hope he had ‘paid his way’ to the young couple that had shared their home with him There were not too many way they could earn cash so what he gave to them was well appreciated and would go for commodes they did not grow or make. He was happy to share with them.The entry ramp to the river bridge came into sight. He sat on a boulder and watched the traffic on the Regional and the bridge, trying to determine if there was any pattern to the traffic.There were too many miles left; he could not make it to the farm before dark. The evenings were getting noticeable short and it was only a matter of an hour or so before it would be dark. He would camp, tonight near the beginning of the ramp, and would cross the bride about sunup – there would not be much, if any, traffic at that time of the day. He would still head over the highway bank as soon as possible and head cross-country. There had not been much rain and the fields would still be dry. The tall field corn, if still un-harvested, would provide good cover.Tomorrow would be a long day.
You are right, I am not much on macabre _ I visualize Much too Clearly - I saw the slippers and had a named for the dog. :( As a country gal, I could not click with the idea of some guy in a corn field shooing birds away following a storm.... :)Marjory MT