Rescue Bid - 1939-1943
Jack Bache joins the RAFVR and Tommy waits for the new shaft
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New Arrival Poetry
Deadline: In 3 Days

One Line Poem
Deadline: Apr 22nd

20 Word Poem
Deadline: Apr 25th

New Arrival Flash Fiction
Deadline: Apr 28th

Loop Poetry Contest
Deadline: May 5th


Poet: None
Author: None
Novel: None
Votes: None

 Category:  General Poetry
  Posted: April 29, 2019      Views: 60

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Not yet exceptional. When the exceptional rating is reached this is highlighted
horror flash
"The viewing" by LIJ Red
"I heard it myself. I think she said it more than once, to most everyone at some time. She told her husband Tom, 'If you laid a hand on the mousy wench, best not bring her to my wake. I will have much to say if you do,'" said Ms. Johnson to the widow Starke.

The widow replied, "Old Doc cleared Tom and the wee caregiver. He said it was a wonder Tom's bitter half did not literally explode. Uppers and single malt do not mix well. Especially with boxes of chocolates and extra shots of insulin. The Doc said the pair were miracle workers to keep the harridan alive as long as they did."

The two matrons stood in the spacious foyer at Ernest Loggins' mortuary.

"When could they have canoodled? You could hear her voice at all hours of the night, demanding pills, or liquor, or an omelet, or a sundae or poor Tom's tin ear."

"Ernie the undertaker worked miracles. She looks almost human and serene in her extra-wide casket. All the old classmates and neighbors are here to see her arise and smite
little Aravella. It is after all the most hardshell Baptist community in the South."

"She kept that kid jumping and often crying. But no one else would take the job of caregiver for such an ogre."

"Oh, my God, it's them. Tom and Aravella. They are coming into the funeral home through the breakroom. The minx is hanging on his arm!"

"The congregation is following them. Like kids to a train wreck."

"More like a bird to a snake with the evil eye."

Ernie had hidden the cruel lines and mottled skintones. Tom's wife wore the waxen face of a Tussaud refugee. Her thick arms would not cross so her waxen hands lay palm down on her chest. One could have heard a pin drop as husband and caregiver stood by the coffin amidst the many hypocritical flowers....

Author Notes
Just why the Club path led me to a poetry post, I am not sure. The challenge asked for an opening line, which I provided. Then I added enough until, since this is a horror club, you can imagine what happened next...the walking rending slavering dead bit...
or maybe just some phony tears...
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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