Read Online September Again (September Stories) by Hunter S. Jones, An Anonymous English Poet - Free Book Online
Authors: Hunter S. Jones, An Anonymous English Poet
Ads: Link
sit down and chat. She can never remember the specifics of the dreams, just that she sees him again. Once, she asked if he remembers her. This dream she does recall. Of course I remember you. How could I ever forget you? he says. Then, he pulls her into his strong, comforting arms and kisses her as he had a million times.
Waking up with tears running down her face, Liz openly cries into her own pillow. Nothing will ever be the same. She has lost Jack. She has been abandoned by her daughter. She is ready to cross the abyss to join her grandfather, her brother, and Jack. The Cherokee warrior will guide her. That must be why he has returned to her dreams.
There is only one thing to be done. She has to leave Zelda a part of her legacy. Malachy found a few new poems from Jack only a few days ago, along with some never before seen pictures of Jack with Indie on one of their trips across Europe. Liz can pull herself together long enough to get the message to Zelda that she has something for her. Something new from Jack. She can be that Strong American Woman long enough to do that for their beautiful daughter.
~ ~ ~
Halfway around the world at her weekend getaway condo in Chattanooga, Tennessee, Zelda awakens, bathed in sweat. It is late morning. She gets up and wanders from room to room. She takes her sleeping meds and takes down the picture of Walnut Street Bridge from its place in the kitchen. Meds and memories. She's cold, but past caring.
She picks up a small Kitchen Devil knife with a black handle and eyes the steely blade. She rests the blade upon the skin of her wrist and sees Indie walking down the train track. The train hurtles into her. Red mist. All over. The knife falls from her hand and clatters over the cold tiles of her silent kitchen. She sees what she recognizes from pictures as an ancient Cherokee warrior looking in from the window. Have you come for me? Have you? She covers her eyes and finds he's gone when she looks again. Was never there. Was there. Never there. Was, was, was, is. She runs up to her bedroom, throws herself onto her bed, and pulls the covers over the desolation her life has become. Meds and memories of what could've been or what should’ve been. Meds and nothing.
7.
Uncertain Terms
S kyler and Jazz gaze at Nook Manor. It’s a long way from London, long way from anywhere , thinks Sky. Can this really be it? Are they really there? Neither can quite believe it. Jazz checks out the name on the brass plate on a brick post with a built-in intercom. Very efficient. Yep, they are definitely at their destination. Without either of them lifting a finger, the ancient wrought iron gates – a latticework of scrolls and circles – begins to glide noiselessly open.
“Think we’re expected?” says Jazz.
“After you,” says Sky.
“No . After you. I insist.”
“Smile , dykie-love-bitch, you’re on CCTVee-hee. Big brother surveillance is here today and here to stay.”
The gates close behind them as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold. As yet, they cannot see the house, just a long avenue of ancient oaks, some now little more than broken hulks as wide as they are tall.
“So this is where retired mafia hit men come to die,” says Sky, nodding at an especially squat tree hulk.
“The things you say. No wonder you only got low grades in school.”
“Shuddit.”
“Or else? Will you fuck me like a diesel weasel?”
“I might just.”
“Promises. I wonder what Indie would have made of this place.”
“Yeah, shame none of us will ever know.”
“He owed it all to her, you know. Jack Savage.”
“Yeah, didn’t he just.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Quite excited , actually. I can’t believe we are actually doing this.”
“ Me either.”
“Neither.”
“What?”
“Me neither.”
“Are you editing my conversation again?”
“Someone has to.”
“Yeah, right. Long way from London.”
“Don’t keep saying that!”
“Sorry.”
“ Focus.
Waking up with tears running down her face, Liz openly cries into her own pillow. Nothing will ever be the same. She has lost Jack. She has been abandoned by her daughter. She is ready to cross the abyss to join her grandfather, her brother, and Jack. The Cherokee warrior will guide her. That must be why he has returned to her dreams.
There is only one thing to be done. She has to leave Zelda a part of her legacy. Malachy found a few new poems from Jack only a few days ago, along with some never before seen pictures of Jack with Indie on one of their trips across Europe. Liz can pull herself together long enough to get the message to Zelda that she has something for her. Something new from Jack. She can be that Strong American Woman long enough to do that for their beautiful daughter.
~ ~ ~
Halfway around the world at her weekend getaway condo in Chattanooga, Tennessee, Zelda awakens, bathed in sweat. It is late morning. She gets up and wanders from room to room. She takes her sleeping meds and takes down the picture of Walnut Street Bridge from its place in the kitchen. Meds and memories. She's cold, but past caring.
She picks up a small Kitchen Devil knife with a black handle and eyes the steely blade. She rests the blade upon the skin of her wrist and sees Indie walking down the train track. The train hurtles into her. Red mist. All over. The knife falls from her hand and clatters over the cold tiles of her silent kitchen. She sees what she recognizes from pictures as an ancient Cherokee warrior looking in from the window. Have you come for me? Have you? She covers her eyes and finds he's gone when she looks again. Was never there. Was there. Never there. Was, was, was, is. She runs up to her bedroom, throws herself onto her bed, and pulls the covers over the desolation her life has become. Meds and memories of what could've been or what should’ve been. Meds and nothing.
7.
Uncertain Terms
S kyler and Jazz gaze at Nook Manor. It’s a long way from London, long way from anywhere , thinks Sky. Can this really be it? Are they really there? Neither can quite believe it. Jazz checks out the name on the brass plate on a brick post with a built-in intercom. Very efficient. Yep, they are definitely at their destination. Without either of them lifting a finger, the ancient wrought iron gates – a latticework of scrolls and circles – begins to glide noiselessly open.
“Think we’re expected?” says Jazz.
“After you,” says Sky.
“No . After you. I insist.”
“Smile , dykie-love-bitch, you’re on CCTVee-hee. Big brother surveillance is here today and here to stay.”
The gates close behind them as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold. As yet, they cannot see the house, just a long avenue of ancient oaks, some now little more than broken hulks as wide as they are tall.
“So this is where retired mafia hit men come to die,” says Sky, nodding at an especially squat tree hulk.
“The things you say. No wonder you only got low grades in school.”
“Shuddit.”
“Or else? Will you fuck me like a diesel weasel?”
“I might just.”
“Promises. I wonder what Indie would have made of this place.”
“Yeah, shame none of us will ever know.”
“He owed it all to her, you know. Jack Savage.”
“Yeah, didn’t he just.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Quite excited , actually. I can’t believe we are actually doing this.”
“ Me either.”
“Neither.”
“What?”
“Me neither.”
“Are you editing my conversation again?”
“Someone has to.”
“Yeah, right. Long way from London.”
“Don’t keep saying that!”
“Sorry.”
“ Focus.
Similar Books
