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No. You Can’t Anger Me…Behind The Tombstone 011

...somethings should be left in the dark

Maybe I should write one of those listables that give instructions on how to succeed as a writer online. You know the kind - "How I Made Over $10k in one month on Medium," or maybe "Get Over Your Writer's Block by Chewing Glass." Whatever. Those are a dime a dozen and so worn out.

The dog looks up at the door. "What's wrong girl? Hear something?" I mute my Meshuggah and turn an ear towards the door.

Thump, thump, pitter patter distantly comes from the upstairs. "Well, I should get up and stretch the old legs anyhow. Come on girl." She got up still staring at the door.

Rounding the banister railing, I crane my neck turning an ear upstairs. Sandy sits and whines by my feet. Patting her soft white furry ears I declare "Up." She bolts up the stairs taking three at a time and stops on the landing.

In the pause I hear it now. Little whispers and giggles are coming from up there.

Lumbering up the stairs I catch my breath at the top next to my patient four legged companion. Looking down the hallway I see it. The attic pull-down stairs are open at the end of the hall. The late afternoon sun beams through the window and illuminates swirls of dust motes making their way down.

I can hear them clearly now as I approach the rickety spring loaded wood planks hanging down from the attic opening. With one hand on the railing, if you can call it that, I make my way up.

I crest the attic floor as I'm caught off guard by a painful sneeze triggered from the dusty air.

"Ahhhhh!" the girls scream in the highest pitch further disorienting me. Snot sticks to my sleeve as I tell them "It's just dad. Sorry about that. It's ok." Their horror turns into scared laughter as they realize it's me climbing up there smiling.

"What's going on girls?"

"Nothin Dad. Just exploring. We heard a bump up here and had to check it out."

"You know you're not supposed to go through Grandma's things. Right?"

"Yeah, but Mom said..."

"That's for me to do honey. It's Daddy's job."

Trying not to bump my head on the rafters above I meander over to the corner they're in.

"Daddy look what we found! Did Grandma write it?"

"Hmm let's see" as they handed me the long scrapbook piece.

The second I took it my hands went cold. My eyes darted all over the page trying to make sense of it.

"Yes, it looks like one of Grandma's poems. Although I haven't seen these pictures before. It says..."


No. you can't anger me. it's inside me. relish the harm. the shit I have is dark, inside buried not afraid to die need to bury it's coming up again stained and bleeding chewing and feeding pushing its way up out with the vomit birth the new child born again like a good christian it's all on repeat somehow defeat the rage the angst burning inside like rape can't run away can't hide cold and frozen inside purple now choosing a vow commit to myself a better way to life a better way to lie to myself

nails bitten skin ripping mind bent who went don't say it was you won't believe it was you not the one I know not the one I sold


"Well now. Seems like this is one of her later pieces. You know, when Grandma wasn't too well. Not herself."

"Let's get out of this dusty air girls. It's killing me. Making my head hurt."

"Daddy, are you coming?" they said in harmony waiting for me at the stairs.

"When did you... Never mind. Let’s go." I slurred walking cautiously with the poem in my hand. “Now where’d they go?”

 
Where would you like this story to go? Yes, you. That’s right READER, comment a direction or your favorite character you want to see more of.

More of this unfolds …Behind The Tombstone. And please remember...

Mayhap you could start the series here at Bone Rattler...


“Take the day. Before the day takes you.” — Seymour Toa

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