Category: Fiction

Posted in Fiction, Flash Fiction

The Chess Master

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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The boy ran toward the old man. The mother tried to stop him but couldn’t.

He flopped down in the chair across from the man. “You’re nothing but an old man. I can beat you at chess any day,” the boy sneered.

“Nelson!” cried his mother. “Apologize right now.” Nelson didn’t apologize. He just started playing chess.

The old man shrugged his shoulders and in just a couple of minutes, the game seemed to be over. Nelson had cleared the board.

The old man saw something Nelson didn’t. He started to grab the chess pieces, his hand hovering over them, but quickly drew it back. He had decided to give the boy the game. He seemed to need it badly.

“Checkmate, you stupid old man,” Nelson said.

The old man reconsidered his decision. He picked up the chess pieces and dropped them on the boy’s side of the board.

“Learn to respect your elders, son.” #amwriting #amblogging #writing #FFfAW

 

*Brought to you by FFfAW

Thanks, Priceless Joy!

 

Posted in Fiction, romance, Women's Issues

Part 2: The Silver and the Divorce

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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The Introduction to The Silver and the Divorce can be read HERE. Now for the next installment:

Ana did not sleep very well that night. Not after the incident when Walter was supposed to just be mowing the yard. Instead, he lied his way into the house and tried to steal her silver. She tossed and turned all night as she occasionally woke to hear the sound of Walter’s motorcycle outside her house. She was up by 6 a.m. even though she did not have to go to work the next day.

When Ana got up, there sat her sister, Marcia, at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Ana instantly felt terrible. Marcia was staying with her during her divorce so she wouldn’t have to be alone. Now Walter and his ridiculous actions had kept Marcia up all night.

“Sis, are you OK? Have you been up all night?” Ana asked.

“No,” Marcia replied. “There was a knock at the door around 5 a.m. It was Walter. I didn’t go to the door. I didn’t even consider letting him come in. What do you suppose he wanted?”

“Just to harass me some more, I would imagine. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”

Marcia said, “I didn’t deal with anything. I ignored the knock at the door. But, isn’t he under a restraining order not to come within 500 feet of you? He was certainly closer than that, Ana! He is not respecting the restraining order at all. That’s scary. I’m also glad neither of us are working right now.”

Ana and Marcia were teachers in their large city school system. Ana taught English in the high school, usually junior and senior English and English literature. Marcia taught Geometry in high school almost exclusively. It was summer and school was out. Their break was brief, but Ana felt fortunate she could deal with this divorce on the break. Marcia could stay with Ana this summer rather than in her own home because she had never been married, had no children, and she just locked up her house and left. She checked on her home frequently.

Ana sat down to have morning coffee with her sister. She was, indeed, concerned about Walter having such blatant disregard for the restraining order. She had to get a restraining order against Walter in the first place because he went so crazy when she asked him for a divorce. They had grown so far apart over the past several years of their marriage that Ana couldn’t believe he was even surprised. If he wasn’t, he surely did put on a good act.

Walter had gotten a small apartment nearby after the judge awarded Ana the house on a temporary basis. She had no intention of living there permanently. She had always hated that big house. They had bought it when Walter’s mother was alive in order to have a place large enough to care for her. She had passed away almost a  year ago now. Ana hoped they could amicably sell the house and divide the proceeds. She knew this was going to be a problem. Walter did not want to leave the neighborhood they had lived in for so long and, frankly, Ana could understand that.

“Marcia,” Ana said, “What should I do about this house in the divorce settlement?”

“You’re going to have to do what your lawyer says. Isn’t that to sell the house and divide the money you get from it?”

“Yes,” Ana said. “That’s what the lawyer says to do. But, I don’t necessarily feel that is the right thing to do. I’m the one that wants a divorce. Is it right that I should make Walter leave the neighborhood we’ve lived in for almost 20 years? These neighbors are like family to him. As you know, he has no family.”

“The only other option is for him to buy you out.”

“Marcia, you know he does not have the savings or the income coming in to do that. He can’t qualify on his own for that kind of loan. It seems to me the only other option is to give him my equity in the house and try to make it up somewhere else in the property settlement.”

“Ana, please,” Marcia says. “Walter checked out of this marriage a long time ago with his drinking and gambling. Do you think he would be half as kind to you?”

“No, of course he wouldn’t. But, shouldn’t I try to take the high road. After all, I’m the one who had the affair.”

Ana had been deeply unhappy in her marriage for many years out of the 20 years she and Walter had been married. Several years ago, she met a man, through mutual friends, and was tempted into an affair. That affair last three full years before Ana and the man involved called it off, realizing it wasn’t going anywhere. Unfortunately, Walter found out about the affair right before Ana ended it.

Walter went absolutely crazy after he found out about the affair. Instead of dealing with it with Ana, he told all their friends and neighbors, literally running up and down their street talking to everyone about it. He embarrassed Ana with everyone as much as possible until she finally had to throw him out of the house and file for the restraining order. She had become afraid of him. He started digging up their credit card bills to try to find out if she had spent any money while having this affair, vowing to make her pay it back to him as part of the property settlement.

Walter even said that he was going to take everything from her – the house, contents, money, and leave her destitute. Ana was so upset at the time that she couldn’t think enough to realize that her state was a no-fault divorce state. Instead of acting like a man and assuming any blame for the state of their marriage, Walter was high and mighty and blamed Ana for everything.

The funny thing was that Walter did not want the divorce. He wanted he and Ana to reconcile, even while trashing her to friends and neighbors and even her family. When he learned that Ana was serious about the divorce and was moving ahead with it, he became even more distraught. He threatened her in every way he possibly could while begging her to come back to him and not go through with the divorce. He could not seem to see that this was not the way to win Ana, or any woman, back.

“An affair,” Marcia scoffed. “Had I been you, I would have had 10 affairs. When Walter wasn’t laying on the couch, he was drinking or putting your money down slot machines. What in the hell was the big deal about an affair? You’re just feeling guilty.”

“Marcia, I’m afraid that, in an open court hearing, he will try to ruin my reputation and I am a teacher. I could lose my job. Maybe I should have tried harder to save my marriage.”

For God’s sake, Ana,” Marcia cried, “You did try. Remember that disastrous trip to Las Vegas you took with Walter a few months ago?”

A few month’s after their marriage blew up, Walter talked Ana into taking a trip with other couples in his company to Las Vegas for a few days. It was the most disastrous trip Ana had ever taken and really sealed their fate. When they got to their room in Las Vegas, Walter wanted to have sex immediately. Ana complied but it was a terrible experience. Then, Walter wanted them both to go to one of the casinos. So, they did. At the casino, Walter completely vanished – for hours. Ana shopped, played a little blackjack, stopped by the sports book. Walter was no where to be found. She walked alone back to the hotel. Walter did not show up until the middle of the night – very drunk.

The next day, Ana got a plane ticket and flew home while Walter was passed out.

“Oh, Marcia, I’ll never forget that horrible trip to Las Vegas,” Ana said. “I was foolish to take it. I don’t think I’ll ever have the stomach to go back to Las Vegas again.”

“I think you need to talk to your lawyer and start getting some advice about the property settlement. You’ve really avoided it up to now. I know you and Walter have discussed it, but he is acting too crazy to be logical. You’re going to have to get your lawyer to draw up something and just present it to his lawyer.”

Ana replied that she would think about it.

That afternoon, there was a knock at the door. It was Walter. He was nicely dressed. Ana answered the door. Walter asked if she would come outside and talk to him. So she did. He seemed calm and ready to talk. Ana knew she should have an attorney present, but this was her husband of 20 years. Surely, they could have a conversation.

Walter wanted to tell Ana one more time that he would like for them to get back together but if they could not, he wanted the house. He went on to say that she could have everything else, meaning the contents. He would take over the house payments. Ana got out a piece of paper and they started making a list. She told him she would take that list to Jack, her attorney, as soon as she could get an appointment. Ana knew she would be stuck with any debt they had since she made much more money than Walter. They ended the night on a conciliatory note.

Ana shared the list with Marcia who was absolutely against Ana and Walter making up their own property settlement. The divorce so far had been filled with such animosity and vitriol on Walter’s part. Marcia just did not think it would work. Also, where in the world would Ana live?

Ana shared with Marcia that she had quietly been looking at small homes on the other side of town. All she wanted was something small in a nice neighborhood as that was all she could take care of by herself. Ana and Marcia knew that, soon, they would have their own mother to take care of and they planned to share that responsibility. Ana was looking for a small home, possibly with mother-in-law quarters.She had not found anything suitable yet but she was optimistic.

Ana decided to take the list she and Walter made to Jack, her attorney, tomorrow and see what he thought. She felt pretty good about it. She felt she was more than fair to Walter and that she would be able to leave the marriage with a clear conscience.

Ana and Marcia talked some more and tonight, there was no motorcycle circling the house. But, unfortunately, Ana had no idea what was to come. #divorce #romance #blogging #amwriting #amblogging #writing

*Stay Tuned for Part 3, The Silver and the Divorce

@Copyright Rosemary Carlson 2016

 

 

“What do those men want, William?” Anne whispered. William and Anne were crouched in the bushes at the base of the arch bridge. Three men had attacked them about a mile away, grabbing Anne’s sweater, but they had outrun them and were hiding.

“I don’t know. We’re just tourists,” William said. They had only been in Europe two days. They heard the men run onto the bridge.

They waited for what seemed a long time and heard the men run off the bridge. They crept up the bank, peering at the road leading off the bridge. There stood one of the men, acting as a sentry. He rushed forward and grabbed Anne but discreetly.

He whispered for her to unfasten the brooch she had on her sweater and give it to him. She did as he wished.

The man ran off. William and Anne started laughing. Her brooch was a copy of the famous Queen Victoria’s Bows brooch. It wasn’t worth anything. The thieves had been fooled! #amwriting #amblogging #writing #flashfiction

*This post sponsored by FFfAW

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Queen Victoria’s Brooch

Posted in Fiction, Writing

Calling All Fiction Writers!

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

It’s NaNoWriMo Month starting November 1. For those of you not familiar with NaNoWriMo, it means National Novel Writing Month. It you join the NaNoWriMo movement, you will be committing to writing that novel you want to write and writing a first draft this November, in 30 days, and writing the first 50,000 words.

Yes, it makes me want to scream to but I am going to DO IT! The bottom line is that you just do your best. But, at the end of NaNoWriMo (November 30), there may be prizes! So you really do your best. You can and should have a writing buddy to help get you through the trauma and I would love for one of you to be my writing buddy. Just let me know if you’re interested after you sign up for the program!

Go to the NaNoWriMo webpage to sign up and get all the details. Here it is. Take a look at all the cool gear.

Good luck with your writing! I’ll still blog at least twice a week so I will see you here – or there – or both!  #NaNoWriMo

Rosemary

Posted in Fiction, Horror, Uncategorized

Horror Collaboration: The Dark Fairy

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

Chuck Wendig of the blogsite, Terrible Minds, sponsored a horror story collaboration as a writing challenge over the last three weeks. I wrote the first part of a story called The Dark Fairy and two other excellent writers wrote Parts 2 and 3. Here is the entire story for your reading enjoyment:

The Dark Fairy

Enjoy!

Rosemary

 

Posted in Fiction, Writing

The Spook

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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We are sitting across the street in the non-descript black sedan watching Frank’s house. The Agency has assigned us to the job of determining if Frank is circumspect enough to work for them, to be a spy. There are a lot of moving parts to check out.

Today, we’re charged with following Frank to make sure he isn’t hooking up with any other agencies.

“Here he comes,” says my sidekick, Margaret. “He’s got his dog with him, a black Lab it appears.”

“Probably going for their morning walk,” I reply. “Let’s see if there is any pattern to where he has gone for the past couple of weeks.”

“Look at this data,” Margaret says. “He has gone to the same Russian coffee shop every morning since he has lived here, taking his dog with him”

“What joker is trying to stick The Agency with a Russian spy?” I scoff.

*FFfAW sponsored by https://pricelessjoy.co/

Posted in Fiction, The Blog Propellant, Writing

The Woman Who Screamed

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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“Johnny, we have to get the tent set up before it rains. I can see lightning off in the distance,” Jill said to her boyfriend of two years, Johnny.

Jill and Johnny were students at a university deep in the Daniel Boone National Forest in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. After their Friday classes were over, they had decided to camp and hike for the weekend. The area is a popular hiking spot.

“How is the campfire coming along, Jill?” Johnny asked.

“Great,” Jill replied. “Almost ready to light it.”

“Now all we have left to do is hang the rope in the trees for the food and we’re finished setting up the campsite. Then we can go for a short hike before dark,” Johnny said. “Well, if it doesn’t rain. I see the lightning too but it is off in the distance. It just looks like heat lightning.

Jill and Johnny were hanging a rope for food in the trees because black bears lived in the area and that was one way to possibly keep them stealing their food. Other smaller animals would also make it a feast. Lots of other, smaller animals lived in the forest as well such as raccoons and opossum that would also steal food.

Jill and Johnny finished setting up their campsite. They each grabbed an apple for their hike. Johnny retrieved their fishing poles and bait as they left to hike, telling Jill they were going to catch their dinner in the little stream that ran near their camp. There was trout in that stream and Johnny could already taste it. It was delicious cooked over a campfire and they had brought all the fixins’ to go with the fish just in case they could catch a few.

All of a sudden they heard a scream. Johnny turned to Jill, who had stopped dead in her tracks with her mouth open. “That sounded like a woman,” he said. Jill started to run toward the sound of the scream and Johnny followed her. They looked around everywhere and saw nothing. No people. Not another scream. Nothing. There was a cliff on the right side of their trail. They tentatively looked over the side of the cliff but saw no signs that anyone had fallen.

Johnny and Jill walked slowly back to where they had dropped their tackle box and fishing poles. They decided to call 911 and let the police handle this because they didn’t know what to do next. They had no weapons on them, not even a bow and arrow.

The couple went on to the stream where they planned to catch their dinner. It had turned into a partly cloudy day, but night was approaching. They baited their fishing hooks and threw them in the water. Johnny and Jill sat there in companionable silence and suddenly, Johnny had a big bite. As he pulled the fish in, he saw it wasn’t a fish at all. It was a turtle! Neither were in the mood for a turtle for dinner.

As Johnny baited his hook to try again, Jill quietly said his name. Then she said it again. When he looked at her, she nodded her head to the side. Johnny looked up and there stood a woman, covered in mud and clutching herself around her middle, tears streaming down her face.

There was no fish for dinner that night, but Johnny and Jill were back at camp with the woman who had screamed and the police and paramedics. The police were out in the forest looking for the man who had pushed the woman off the cliff. The paramedics were tending to the woman. Her family, under the crescent moon, were profusely thanking the two college students for possibly saving her life. #blogpropellant #amwriting #amblogging #writing

Literary device – elephant

Cubing the Stories 15

 

 

 

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The last three weeks have been some of the most miserable of my life. I’m sure it has shown in my writing and not always in a good way. However, one good thing about a writer going through both good and bad situations is that it gives them so much great material to write about.

The crazy thing is that I have gone through exactly the same situation under basically the same circumstances with the same people at least two other times in my life. This is the third time. It seems that I never learn, doesn’t it? That, my friends, has been true in the past. It will not be true in the future. This time, I learned a very hard, extremely painful lesson. Much more painful than the first two times.

The first two times were painful enough and it took me years to recover. Why? I’m a sensitive and emotional person. I think that came from my dad who wore his heart on his sleeve. That made him the best dad in the world, but I’m sure he was hurt many times. I don’t exactly wear my heart on my sleeve in most situations, but I do recognize that I can be emotionally fragile in the right (or wrong) situation. I was definitely in the wrong situation this time. Probably the first two times as well. I mistook flattery for something else. People should remember that words are important. Never say words that you don’t mean or that aren’t appropriate.

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This time, I’m older, more fragile, less able to come back from being shattered into a million tiny pieces. This time,  I was very emotionally invested and the rug was pulled out from under me in a brutal way. I never got an explanation. I’m not assigning blame. I was as much to blame as anyone else involved. That doesn’t make the hurt go away.

Until the last two days, for three weeks, I’ve hardly eaten or slept. That’s what happens to me when I’m upset about something that was as important to me as this situation was. I’ve sat at my kitchen table and drank a thousand cups of tea, trying to figure it all out. I’ve talked to my good friends endlessly and they have been saints on earth to put up with me. I feel like I would have lost my mind without them.

I’ve walked around in a daze because I’ve been so distracted. I would cry and not even realize I was crying. If I could catch a couple of hours of sleep at night, I would wake up sobbing. I’ve written – a lot – because nothing else much gave me any solace. I had no family to turn to – I’m an only child and except for a few cousins I seldom hear from, my family is gone. I didn’t want to burden the couple of cousins who might actually care enough to listen. I would find myself going about my days, living in the same pattern as I did when I was involved in this situation, except there was no need now. Then, I would just cry more.

Until today. Last night, for the first time in three weeks, I slept. I didn’t have nightmares. I woke up this morning and I knew it was over. The acute grief. I felt like myself again, for the first time in a long time. I knew that this time, the third time I’ve let this happen to me, would be the last time. Never again. Never again would I allow myself to be involved in this situation. I was finally able to put it in a little box and store it away in a corner of my brain, hopefully to someday forget it forever.

Now I don’t care what happens. I can deal with it. One of my friends told me today that I sound like the person she’d always know and, funny, I feel like that person again. So whatever this situation, or any situation, throws at me, I can handle it. Bring it on! I made a terrifically bad decision and mistake. But, I was not the only person involved who made a mistake and I hope the other people involved in this situation know that.

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So why do I have a picture of Marilyn Monroe here? It’s complicated. She reminds me of many things, but right now, looking at her picture reminds me not to make bad decisions. Put yourself first. Don’t let yourself be used. Don’t assume anyone will take care of you but you. I want to look at this picture of her a lot right now.

No sympathy please though I thank you! Now I’m ready to move on. At my age, there is no time to waste. I’m going to go to the ocean. Hearing the waves and seeing the water has always soothed me. But, mainly, I want to see the ocean because I can see the horizon. I can see for miles and miles. I need that. I need to be able to see for miles and imagine what a good future is waiting for me. #amwriting #amblogging #writing #shortfiction #romance #marilynmonroe #dailyprompt

I Can See for Miles

Posted in Fiction

Bachelor Buttons

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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Barbara flings herself down on her couch in frustration. The damn muffler fell off her car again. This is only the third time. She had to call for a tow. Another expensive tow to the muffler shop. Can’t those people even put on a muffler? She knows her car is old but they still make mufflers for it. She should know. This will be the third one she has had to have the shop order and install. They never mention a problem with installation. She is so careful with her car.

Her nervousness makes her shaky and Barbara feels cold. She grabs the large throw from the back of her couch and snuggles up in it. She really can’t afford so many car repairs but what does she do? She has to have her vehicle to get to work and do all the other things a person has to do. She is fighting frustration and hopes she can just drift off to sleep for awhile.

After awhile, Barbara gives up on sleep. It’s not going to happen. She has way too much on her mind. She sits up, still snuggled in her warm throw, and notices the beautiful decorative treasure box sitting on her coffee table. She smiles. Looking at that treasure box helps calm her. Barbara’s mother gave her that engraved treasure box many years ago. Her mother has been gone for years now, but Barbara still keeps her most special things in it. She reaches for it.

The first item she sees when she opens the box is the ever-present pack of Monopoly money. If seeing that Monopoly money didn’t give her such good memories, it would increase her frustration because, after all, real money is what she needs to replace her muffler. That packet of Monopoly money is one of her treasures that reminds her of her Daddy. As Barbara was growing up, she and her Daddy loved Monopoly. Then, when he got sick, she helped keep him occupied by playing Monopoly until he got too sick to play. She will never forget all those wonderful times with her dad.

Under the packet of Monopoly money is the seed packet she recently picked up at the farm supply store. Barbara goes to the farm store to get corn for the deer that frequent her backyard. While she was there, she walked by the seeds and that’s when she saw the bachelor button seeds. Her mom always used to plant them in the fall in a planting box. By spring, they were coming up and then were planted in the flower garden. On an impulse, Barbara bought a packet of bachelor buttons.

Barbara jumped up, thinking her planting box was in her sunroom. She took the packet of seeds with her. Barbara got involved filling her planting box with dirt, planting the seeds, and watering and fertilizing them. She forgot all about the offending muffler.

Suddenly, the phone rang and it was the muffler repair shop. They were going to replace the muffler for free as they determined the previous muffler had been installed incorrectly. All that frustration for nothing. However, Barbara had already calmed down. She was much happier just standing in her sunroom planting her bachelor buttons. She would deal with her car later. #blogpropellant #amwriting #amblogging #writing #dailyprompt

TBP’s Objects in a Box 4-5

Posted in Fiction, Politics

The Snollygoster Politician

Posted on by R.M. Carlson

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“Oh, he is a snollygoster, all right. That Donald, he is a right snollygoster,” the old man said as he stood on the street corner talking to a group of folks that had gathered round him.

“What’s a snollygoster, mister?” Asked a young fellow who was part of the group.

The old man replied, “We don’t want to vote for a snollygoster, young man. A snollygoster is a right unprincipled fellow. He can be anyone, but is usually one of those unscrupulous politicians. Ha! In the old times, they smoked big cigars, carried carpetbags, wore flowered waistcoats, and were very shrewd and loud and proud in getting their point across to the public.”

The old man continued, “I think they are a bit more in disguise now. They are still loud and proud, but if they are politicians, they wear expensive suits, give speeches that promise the world, but they are really out for themselves and not for the people they are trying to represent. They are shrewd, however. You have to be more shrewd to spot one. You can usually spot their egos before you can see them.”

The young man nodded his head and started talking softly to the other people standing around the old man who was obviously holding court on that street corner. There were rumblings in that crowd. It was hard to tell if they were with the old man or against him. The crowd was growing.

The place was a street corner in New York City in the U.S. The time was October, 2016, only a month before the U.S. Presidential election. The candidates for President of the United States were probably two of the most disliked candidates ever running for President and it was clear that the old man was talking about one of them, Donald Trump, the businessman turned politician. There were rumors about both candidates, but new information had just popped up about Mr. Trump. Disturbing information. This information had apparently sparked the discussion on the street corner that day.

A middle-aged woman in the crowd spoke out. “Donald Trump is a snollygoster. We should all be able to see it. He says he is supportive of women’s issues, but look at the new information we just learned. Trump has even admitted that it’s true.”

Someone else in the crowd asked, “What information? Tell us.”

The middle-aged woman said, “Donald Trump made extremely lewd and sexually aggressive comments about women, citing that he could do anything he wanted to women because of his “star” status before a television show in 2005. His words were captured on tape because he said them on a hot mic pinned to his lapel. He had been married to his current wife, Melania Trump, only a few months at the time. Mr. Trump admitted the remarks were made but was not apologetic.”

There was a louder rumbling in the crowd after that explanation.

The middle-aged woman continued, “How can we, as a society who professes to give equal opportunity to everyone, vote for a candidate for President who has such disregard for such a large segment of our population?”

A cheer went up from the crowd surrounding the old man. Obviously, the crowd was an anti-Trump crowd or at least a crowd eager to hear the information the wise old man was imparting to them.

The old man said, “There have been many other revelations about this Donald that make us wonder how he can deal with foreign leaders who are women, governors and senators and representatives who are women, staff who are women, and women’s issues that come across his desk. He obviously has a blatant disregard for women and only values them in the bedroom.”

A loud male voice said, “But what can we do? He is very close to the other candidate in the polls. He may win!”

“We have to stop this carpetbagger, this snollygoster,” the old man said. “Do what Americans do best. Revolt! Go to his rallies and demonstrate against him. Make him drop that snollygoster cigar out of his mouth and lose his cool. Don’t vote for him and tell everyone you know!”

The old man said, “Remember the stories of the Old West where a covered wagon would pull up into towns and everyone would gather round because they knew there was a salesman on it selling products that might help their ailments? A salesman would appear in a flamboyant costume and have all kinds of products — elixirs to help their rheumatism, potions to cure whatever ailed them? Those elixirs and potions all turned out to be nothing more than snake oil. Nothing at all that would help and the people paid good money for them because they were desperate.”

“Yes,” the crowd, that had tripled in size, cried.

“That Donald is offering us snake oil if he becomes President. What he offers sounds good to some of us who are desperate but it will turn out to be nothing that will help us and will probably hurt us instead. He is the snollygoster in the flamboyant costume and the loud voice,” said the old man.

At that point, the crowd was whipped into a frenzy. Someone had gone into a local store and had gotten material to make signs and posters. Everyone was down on the ground making anti-Donald posters to carry. The crowd numbered at least 500 people.

The old man slipped quietly away. He had done his work on that particular street corner. He was off to another street corner in another part of New York City. You see, the old man was not as old as he seemed. He was a Viet Nam veteran who loved his country. He was also ill and did not have long to live. But, he and some of us buddies from that war were not about to see their beloved country taken over by a carpetbagger. They were spread out all over the U.S., doing exactly what the old man was doing. They were on street corners all over America, holding court, telling the truth about the snollygoster determined to highjack their beloved country. They were not going to let that happen.

The old man trudged on.

#blogpropellant #amwriting #amblogging #writing #realDonaldTrump #politics

TBP’s On-Line Writer’s Guild #33

Random Number 3