The last three pieces of correspondence had gone unanswered. That was unusual for Sylvia. She loved to hear her thoughts spring to life and her skill in letter writing was indeed poetic and heart fulfilling.
But Helen Bach, was worried. Sylvia had remained in the family home long after their parents had parted this earthly plain. The neighborhood had become decrepit, and the old homestead reflected as such. And Sylvie could no longer care for the house, or herself for that matter.
Helen had planned to visit her sister. Two of those letters that were returned unopened, stated so much. She had been prepared to change her plans on a moments notice, and stay with Sylvia until she could get back on her feet. But sadly, Sylvia had lost the use of her legs in a fall from the second landing of the staircase.
Her taxicab turned down Mallory Road and as it approached the driveway, Helen noticed something strange. A scarecrow adorned their front yard. It was dressed in Sylvia's favorite frock, it's arms draped over the wooden crossbar dangling in the wind. Helen could swear it moved its head. There was no wind of which to speak, so Sylvia ruled that out completely.
The visiting sister gasped in horror when she realized the effigy had indeed moved under its own volition. And it did wear Sylvia's clothes, being that it was Sylvia that hung in the front yard. A cruel prank by the area thugs who had broken in and ransacked the home.
The officers who had responded to Helen's enraged call were disgusted in kind as the poor woman was gingerly removed from her perch.
The detective was handed pages of a letter that they found on Sylvia's kitchen table. It was in Helen's hand.
"One may very well start with Helen's letters to her sister." the investigator posed.
She spoke of coming back home to "hang out" with Sylvia. She had given the scumbags the idea. Helen felt pangs of guilt for leaving her sister to fend for her own independence. Her decision was made for her; she decided to stay.
Hi Abigail. Frankly if I get a spark of an idea, I can hack it out n twenty minutes with a quick revision thrown in sometimes. I just let my stories go where the feel they need to go. My fingers are just the means to that end. Glad to see you've come back. I love watching your thoughts develop into your stories.
FROM HELEN BACH...
ReplyDeleteThe last three pieces of correspondence had gone unanswered. That was unusual for Sylvia. She loved to hear her thoughts spring to life and her skill in letter writing was indeed poetic and heart fulfilling.
But Helen Bach, was worried. Sylvia had remained in the family home long after their parents had parted this earthly plain. The neighborhood had become decrepit, and the old homestead reflected as such. And Sylvie could no longer care for the house, or herself for that matter.
Helen had planned to visit her sister. Two of those letters that were returned unopened, stated so much. She had been prepared to change her plans on a moments notice, and stay with Sylvia until she could get back on her feet. But sadly, Sylvia had lost the use of her legs in a fall from the second landing of the staircase.
Her taxicab turned down Mallory Road and as it approached the driveway, Helen noticed something strange. A scarecrow adorned their front yard. It was dressed in Sylvia's favorite frock, it's arms draped over the wooden crossbar dangling in the wind. Helen could swear it moved its head. There was no wind of which to speak, so Sylvia ruled that out completely.
The visiting sister gasped in horror when she realized the effigy had indeed moved under its own volition. And it did wear Sylvia's clothes, being that it was Sylvia that hung in the front yard. A cruel prank by the area thugs who had broken in and ransacked the home.
The officers who had responded to Helen's enraged call were disgusted in kind as the poor woman was gingerly removed from her perch.
The detective was handed pages of a letter that they found on Sylvia's kitchen table. It was in Helen's hand.
"One may very well start with Helen's letters to her sister." the investigator posed.
She spoke of coming back home to "hang out" with Sylvia. She had given the scumbags the idea. Helen felt pangs of guilt for leaving her sister to fend for her own independence. Her decision was made for her; she decided to stay.
Woah Walt. This one is increadible. I am curious how much time you actually spend on your pieces here...
DeleteHi Abigail. Frankly if I get a spark of an idea, I can hack it out n twenty minutes with a quick revision thrown in sometimes. I just let my stories go where the feel they need to go. My fingers are just the means to that end. Glad to see you've come back. I love watching your thoughts develop into your stories.
ReplyDelete