Markwildyr.com, Post #250
Image Courtesy of Masterfile (Royalty-Free Div)
First, I have to
apologize for being late with this post. I missed my 5:00 a.m. posting time by several
hours. That hasn’t happened often in my ten years or so of hosting this site. No
excuse… just an apology.
Hope you enjoyed last post’s Dil Farmer and Thew Miller, a little piece of flash fiction.
This week, we’ll try a little flash fiction. Enjoy.
* * * *
SHAMUS LAZRUS SHUTTLEFORD
Shamus Lazrus Shuttleford was
a dignified man. Not much else was notable about him, but he was proud and
protective of his propriety, including the lettering of his middle name, which
some considered as misspelled out of ignorance. Shamas was not what many would
count as successful, although he would dispute that. He owned his home and
automobile, had few debts, and had cared adequately for his children until they
grew up and grew away. They were still respectful and kept in touch
appropriately on holidays and birthdays and the like, but they certainly
couldn’t be called clingy offspring.
He'd been close to his wife
before she passed a year ago in her sleep—hopefully without pain. They’d been
close but not demonstrative as some of the other couples they knew. When Violet
left, he had some difficulty coping, but eventually found his way again.
But the world was changing,
and very frankly, threatened to leave him behind. He’d managed to bridge the
gap between pen and paper to the typewriter, and finally to those electronic
monsters they called computers. In fact, he was adept at typing on the beasts,
finding them infinitely easier to correct errors than either pen or typewriter.
That was the only thing he liked about the forced conversion.
But of more concern was the
deportment of others these days. Especially, the young ones, and especially
about… well, sex, to be frank. That was a subject that did not claim a great
deal of his attention, but increasingly he found himself facing the subject
whichever way he turned and wherever he went… even in the grocery store, for
crying out loud. They had those magazines in racks right by the cashiers—where
they couldn’t be avoided—literally screaming that short, pungent word.
Shamus believed, all things
considered, he had adjusted to the new “normal,” until yesterday. What he saw
out his kitchen window sent him bustling for the telephone to call his next-door
neighbor until he decided what he’d witnessed was none of his business.
He’d known for years the
neighbor kids thought there was a completely private nook in their back yard.
They’d gotten into mischief since they were toddlers in that private corner
screened from their parents’ prying eyes. But Shamus could see into that bower,
although it probably appeared his lattice of Violet’s climbing roses obscured the
view. No such thing. He saw the spot clearly. And what he saw yesterday rocked
his world.
The older three Gideon
children were away at school or at a job in some remote place, but Timothy was
still in residence. He was a strapping, good-looking lad with honey hair like
his mother and a firm jaw like his father. Always cheerful. Forever playing
sports… first this one and then that one. Respectful as all get out. And
helpful too. Always offering to help when Shamus was in the yard tending to
chores. Downright likeable.
But what he’d seen yesterday
afternoon after school shook Shamus’ faith in his judgment of others. He had to
swipe his eyes and look again to believe what he was seeing.
Timothy was spread out on a
makeshift pallet of some sort in the corner of the yard, his pants bunched at
his ankles, and someone’s head was bobbing up and down in his middle. Shamus
gasped aloud and reached for the kitchen wall telephone when he finally made
himself believe that other head—the one working so hard—actually belonged to
another boy. He couldn’t believe it. Timothy was allowing himself to be abused
by a boy.
Shamus couldn’t believe that
he actually stood there gaping, the phone in his hand, for several minutes
before he came to his senses and slammed the blind on the window closed. Then
he made the conscious decision that what he’d observed was none of his affair
and hung up the telephone. But the image wasn’t that easy to forget, and he
found it disturbing his sleep that evening. Usually, he dropped off when he
went to bed, but the night after he’d witnessed that disgusting scene, he’d witnessed.
He had trouble reconciling it with the pleasant youngster he’d known for years.
But he finally managed to clear his mind and fall asleep after deciding he’d
brace young Timothy and admonish the lad for his lapse in proper behavior.
Sometimes
kitchen windows see things that ought not be seen. But see, Shamus did. Does he
owe Timothy’s parents a call, or is he decision the proper one?
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email:
markwildyr@aol.com
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Twitter: @markwildyr
Now my
mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing.
You have something to say, so say it!
See you later.
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