The Herd

"Do you ever think about them?" my daughter asked. We had been quietly sitting at the water's edge watching the sun rise and waiting for the others to stir. We would have to move out this morning. It was cold. Soon the frost would come and the winter. We would all need to get going soon; to warmer climates. I never minded the snow before. But now with so many of us in the group and not all being so sure footed or strong and then there were those who were pregnant... well, we just couldn't take the chance.

"Yes, sometimes." Geese began  to honk across the water. A couple of deer brought their fawn into the near by clearing.  Peace. I would miss this place. I smiled knowing we would find peace somewhere else. No more starving, no more waiting to see if we would be fed. Peace was wherever we wanted.

"Are you sorry?"her voice was soft and warm, a little bashful almost. We didn't speak of them. Their atrocities or their self destruction. They were gone and we had endured, outlasted, and survived. Darwinism true.

"For what happened?" I thought about what I should say.

She waited patiently.

I remembered the times before she was born; the devastation and chaos. I remembered the screaming and the tears. I saw the blood. She was too young. By the time she could understand, they were all but gone. We were safe and able to begin again. I thought back how my sister and I had to hide her; in the back barn under the hay.  I remembered when we ran; for our lives; sacrificing and risking everything to save her.

"No Honey. They did it to themselves." I kissed the top of her head and relished the smell of morning in it. Sunshine. Do you know what that smells like? It makes your heart beat a little fuller.

"So they can never come back? They can't ..."

"Do it again? No. Never."

She thought of this and I felt her comfort.  We could not bring back her brother or my husband.  They died protecting us. They died for us. I miss them each day, but I go on proudly and though they are not beside me, they are in my heart and keep me strong. 

"What was it like?" she asked at last.  I knew this day would come. I sighed and looked around.  No one was truly awake so it would be all right to speak ~ honestly.

"It was a nightmare but it never stopped; not while you were awake, nor when you slept. They herded us into cars and shipped us all over the place. We lost sight of family, friends, everything. They sent us to big buildings and forced us to sleep in filth with little to eat. Oh the stench of urine and death. Your Aunt and I, even Grandma ... we were forced out in to the fields to work. At night we barely had time to sleep. We were to take care of the nursery. If we didn't do as they said, they beat us with pipes. It was why Grandma was so slow and Auntie was so...deformed. Her bones just never got the chance to heal. You've seen the markings they gave us". I glanced over my shoulder at the ugly scar. She kissed it tenderly as if hoping her love would make it dissolve. I watched ~ half hoping..." Your uncle was defiant. He wanted to rise up and stand tall... He knew it was wrong." I felt my voice quiver. Inside I warmed at the thought of his bravery and fearlessness. I was scared and cowered under their threats and shouts and beatings.

"And?"

"And one morning they culled him. They picked him out and separated him from the others."

"So we couldn't hear what he had to say?"

"Yes. At first they told us he was sick; gone mad. But we knew better. We could hear them talking to each other. The last we saw of him, he was being led down a long hallway."  I had to catch my breath and regain myself.  The memory was still painful; even now after three years.

My daughter lowered her head and sniffed. The tears warmly fell on me. I pulled her close.

"I heard him begin to scream and then there was this loud bang.  I had left the nursery and wandered part way in..." I didn't realize I was shaking. My stomach tightened and I felt the stab of sorrow. Nausea crawled under my skin. I closed my eyes and saw the horror all again; the broken shattered bones spearing through his flesh, the smell of death and fear. The stench of hate.

"Is it true? What Lia says... "

"Yes. I am sad to say it is true."

"But why? Why did they do it?"

"We can't understand because we are not... wired that way. We would never do those things... to anyone."

She sat and thought some more. We had only been without them for a few years but had flourished in their absence. We were reacquainting ourselves with happiness.

Although my memories were awful, we had an obligation to share them with our children lest it be forgotten; the horrors; the abominations committed against us. We lost our friends and family to crazed experiments. We were "culled": selected or de-selected for our looks, our stock, our ability to produce... something ANYTHING they needed. And if we didn't or were perceived as lesser creatures, then... we were terminated. Dissent was useless.  They would beat us as I said earlier or lead us out to the middle of a ring where they would gather in groups.  We would be collared and bound. Sometimes they would drop us into pits and make tiny cuts along our flesh.  Sometimes they would blow harsh chemicals like pepper in our faces; up our noses so that we would have difficulty breathing  or be blinded.  The worst was when they would use the dogs.  After being starved for days, cut and beaten, they would lift or lead us from the graves or pits and these dogs would come... They would snap and bite at our feet. They would attach themselves like leeches to our noses or necks. My God, their jaws would lock shut and no matter how we tried, we could not shake them loose. It was beyond agony.  All in the name of sport. They cheered and bet against us. We were expendable. They worked us to death in the fields. they stole our young for experiments and as we discovered later, often ate them. Our disgust for them grew.  Our hatred of them came to know no boundaries but we were powerless to stop them.  

And so in quiet times like this, we share our experiences with our babies in hushed tones, constantly looking over our shoulders as if they would come at us; shouting and wielding their pipes, haul us to the dogs or worse to pull us down the hallways...long dark hallways that only ended in screams and blood; death.

"How did it start?" ah that was always the question followed by ... "Why?"

"We don't really know how long it had been going on. We all grew up in that ugliness; your daddy, his daddy, even our grandparents. I remember hearing once that we were all almost exterminated once because there was a disease we contracted and they didn't want to get it from us."

"So there was no medicine to make us better?" She shook her head sadly and with disbelief. I understood. Had I not lived it I might not believe it either. I was grateful for the chance to see something different, something better for my daughter and generations to follow. 

"There were medications but they weren't sure they would work."

"Didn't they try?"

"Only on a few that they pulled away."

"How did they survive for so long?" She laughed a little now, remembering The Beginning. Well I suppose that for them it was the end.

"They just gouged the land they took be it from others; like them or different. They ate those weaker to frighten the weakest. Anything or anyone who was strong, they culled in order to keep the rest in their skewed sick clutches. They did what it took to keep themselves at the top. They were in fact too weak and frightened to attempt to live amongst us. Eventually, they used it all up; their specialized foods, their fuels. They had nothing left and had never actually adapted to their environment but tried to control it. They fought constantly between themselves for MORE land, MORE food, More....and then there was none.  They invented sicknesses to share with each other; to harm and kill. They were so concerned with this, that they developed germ free places and  all too late realized they were unable to fight off even the most simple bacteria. Eventually, between the warring, the new sicknesses and their unwillingness to change, work WITHIN, they ... well you know." I shrugged.

"I saw one of them die once." she said it in a rush half hoping I wouldn't hear her.

"Oh?" It was my turn to wait.

"I was in the field down by the old town." she paused again knowing she should never have been there, not near the slaughterhouse.

I did not admonish her but wanted to hear her own tale.

"Were you afraid?"

"No. It was small. I think it may have been one of their offspring."

I smiled remembering the children. They were always fun; noisy and smelly but loud and laughing. Their eyes just filled with the wonder of ... everything. It was the only thing humans did well. But just like kittens who grow to be cats; they become adults. I sighed.

"It snuck up slowly with it's leg out."
"Arm Honey. They had arms."

"Oh. yes. I'm sorry. And it wanted to touch me."

"They called it petting." I recalled for her. "It reached out to your nose, didn't it?"

"YES!" she snickered and bobbed her head.  I laughed and our tails flicked the long grass happily.  "Why did they do that? It is SO annoying!" 

"They didn't know better and never asked." I said softly. "So what happened."

"Well, it just kept ... petting? me? But it coughed so fiercely. and it was all... gooey and wet with ...

"The sickness." I finished. "they were so sick in the end."

"But it made soft noises and seemed so gentle. It was tired I think because is just sat down next to me. Petting me and then it went to sleep. Well, I thought it was asleep. It seemed so kind and innocent..." 

"Some were. But then there were the farmers." I shuddered in the cool morning breeze. "The dairy farmers that pinched and pulled at us making us give milk. Heaven help us if we couldn't. My word! Their hands so cold and rough... Then of course there were the others."

"Oh mama." she pleaded softly. "I don't understand. There was so much to eat... why..."

"Us? I don't know. We worked with them. We worked alongside horses and could pull more, work longer. We are more sure-footed because our hooves are better."

She raised her foot and studied it. Her tail flipped. "Did they eat horses?"

"No. Horses were the only ones safe. Sheep, Pig, Chicken, Rabbit, Duck, Goose,... they were voracious. Even frogs."

My daughter absently chewed cud. "Disgusting." and shook
.
"But no more."

"No."

The sun shone on our faces and made monster shadows of the world humans had once called kingdom. Their cars sat empty on the roadways now crumbling beneath the grass and trees that were breaking through; growing again. Behind me I heard the soft lowing as the my friends began to stir. We would begin to travel south to the new grazing lands.

"Come on Honey." I said and stood slowly. The bell around my neck clinked softly.  

"Why do you still wear it?" she asked nudging it with her nose.

"So no one forgets."


So did you figure it out? Kinda crazy but fun and different for me. Okay, I got a writing prompt for a competition. :) "Write the end of the world from an animal's point of view"  I love cows simply because they stare... just ... stare.... 

Anyway, I hope you liked it if for nothing more than a change of scenery. 

I hope you have a good rest of the day. Thanks for coming over to visit. It's always nice to spend time with you.

Counting

This is my speech for my daughter's sweet sixteenth party. So much to say, words just seem inadequate and insufficient but I tried. For those of you coming, thank you. We've all watched her grow in to someone amazing. I celebrate this lovely delightful young lady with these words:



The first time I met you, felt you wiggle and hiccup, I hugged you; my belly, my you; counting the weeks, days, minutes until you came to us.Your dad and I would race up the stairs at night; sitting, watching you move, stretch under my skin. We marveled at the wonder of you.

That was a year of firsts; you cried all the way home as did I wondering what we'd done. How could we do this? Raise a baby? Be parents? We rolled up our sleeves and began this journey. We changed diapers, we rolled around on the floor and sat up all night. We went to the doctor's. We napped. We packed up all your gear for an outing, loaded the car and left you locked in the house in your car seat on the table. We clapped and sang and played. You walked to us, you spoke to us and we loved it. Loved you.

The terrible two's? They were NOTHING compared to your throes in the Threes. You stomped, said nothing but NO and threw tantrums. You were grabby and loved to smack people. You bit me once.  Most of this year was spent on the laundry room floor; crying or sleeping... worn out from crying. Me too. I fell back on naps after I was done crying. I think you taught me that.

Four brought reading, writing, getting ready for school.  You would dress yourself, although fashion was, as I discovered NOT your strong suit.  We played games, laughed, loved being silly with crazy hats, paper bag costumes and made up stories. The naps were fewer. We simply had too much to do.

And then you left me at the tall age of five; so abruptly. You got on the bus and as I waved, Daddy took pictures. You tripped and fell in between the seats.  I raced up on that big yellow monster and helped you up. My thanks were the words: "You have to get off the bus Ma'am. She's fine without you." And I did. And I cried.

Six, seven and eight charged in with "stories" not all of them true, school, learning, class trips.  The marvel, the wonder of it all was watching, listening to you as shared it with us. Sad that I had to be at work, was unable to participate; be there for my little girl, you mended my pain accidentally by your funny anecdotes, giddy retelling of the day's events. I understood and appreciated the beauty of the word vicarious.

Double digits and tween? Who cried more?? I watched jealously as I became a less sought playmate.  I felt the wrath of new hormones and the growing desire to push limits (AND BUTTONS) I scolded you daily alone in my mirror;begging for that simple, happy, little girl, not this defiant dismissive tween who hated every article of clothing I showed her. Now I was crippled by lacking fashion sense. A tween despising every restrictive rule I set and burdened by each request I made. But I promised there would be better days.  If we held on, if we counted passed the tough times and tears.

Then you smacked me with your teenage wings; silky, with a new experienced sense of self, a set of principles, goals, opinions and I had no choice but to hear you. Listen. Although occasionally disappointed in some of your choices and unable to stop you from some of the mistakes BOUND to happen, I realized I needed to accept YOUR frustration and anger... that I was right. Not always; but sometimes.

So here we are. Sixteen. Sweet? Oh yes of this I am certain because of all that we have seen and lived through and counted beyond: frustration, sadness, disappointment, anger, misunderstanding... of ourselves and each other. All of that accompanied by laughter; smiling, apologizing, trying... doing so honestly.

From my soul, the heart of who I am; your Mom. Tess. I love you, my daughter.
I treasure you my friend.
I'm grateful for all you are; share and give- as this beautiful wonderful young woman before me.
May it be this hard always, if only to remind me to appreciate how amazing it is to have you in my life.
I count on this.

Talked Into

When I met my wife, I was young, stupid and horny. I'd have screwed a knotty pine just for the namesake. But Donella defined the word hot; and it was good; tip your hat; "Thank you Miss " good. It was "Don't tell your buddies" good. And the more we did it, the more I liked her. She had a funny sense of humor.  She was smart; WAY smarter'n me. She made sure we didn't just go off the beaten path do do it... but off THAT road too! Loved the way she could think.  She made me feel good. She always said nice things about me. She was always sayin nice things... She was a good girl with enough devil to make her great. So I married her.

And it went straight to Hell.

I realized too late that her giddy temperament was anxiety; over everything from being late to being mad that someone ELSE was late. Her smarts? She over thought everything from what to have for supper to looking down on what others put in their grocery bags during her weekly shopping trip because that was what THEY was having for supper... sometime. Heaven forbid you ask her opinion. By the time she was done givin it, ya had a headache and no clue what you wanted to know in the first place. And the speed at which she rattled it all off had to be a record in the county if not the state.  People always seemed to stare at her as if their contacts were too tight. I think they were just trying to catch it all... Lord she could talk! And gossip was her hobby second only to snooping, rounding out the top three with judging others.

Yeah, over the course of our forty-two year marriage I regretted many a thing;  not keepin it in my pants that steamy summer night at the fair grounds, pullin out that ring the night we graduated high school, and saying "You bet" to the preacher.

But she taught me a lot. I suppose the fact that she talked non-stop, I just learned it by ... smosis? OS-mosis. that's it. Donella was surface educated on just about everything and expert in nothing. But it made her fun at parties and I enjoyed taking up the finer points to argue with her behind closed doors.  I loved to agitate.  She didn't know enough to really come back at me so her stock answer was "We'll see bout that." accompanied by a narrow spit fire glare. I knew I'd won.

Well enough about my charmin busy body wife. Let's get to the crux of it.  I tried to tell her to quit snooping, spying, gossiping and waggin her tongue as well as her guilty finger at people. I warned her. I think it started when Carly-Jo came home with her new baby. The girl was victim to a smooth talkin boy ... like me back in the day. The baby, little Jeanne, well now, she had some special needs.  I think that's what they call retards nowadays. Well my delicate daffodil marched right up to Carly-Jo and asked her what kinda home she was gonna put her in. Wanted to show her all the places a "baby like that" could be kept outta sight and embarrassment. HONESTLY WOMAN! Ohhh I bout hauled her round back of the wood shed for a whuppin of epic proportions that day. CJ was kind and gracious enough to smile, nod and thank her for her concern.  Funny, little Jeanne grew up to be the best vet this side of Harper's creek.. Of course if you asked my wife, she'd have handed CJ a little bit of advice that made Jeanne all she is today. Lord-a-mercy.  Then she bought the little glasses. Opera kind at first but they weren't strong enough. She hadda have the big ole by-noculars. One time I put my camo grease around the eye sockets so when she put em up to her face she got big old black rings around her eyes. I bout runned outta air laughin at her.  It took her two hours and four more fittings afore she realized what I'd done. I was blessed with silence for two whole weeks.

Then came the Sawyers. They moved in across the way about two years ago. Margret was a shut away according to Donella. I think she just liked keepin to herself. She read books a lot on their porch. She liked to play out in her flowerbeds and they were impressive.  Donella was certain she was puttin stray cats or orphans in the dirt a make em grow so good. I would just shake my head and move along. Now Margaret's husband Bud was a different story. I hear from down at the mill he was some big shot sales guy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jars; money AND women. Not for nothin but he had no reason to be lookin over his fence. He had it all right there in his own back yard. And by the looks of him? He shoulda been grateful.  He had tiny dark beady eyes and big greasy pompadorish black hair. He was thick in the middle but swaggered better'n most better built men. His skin was... just too ... shiny; like he had too much lotion on or something. Anyway, nothing he had was enough. Eh, some folk are just greedy I guess. None of my business. I wished Donella coulda seen it that way. She just wanted to see it.

So she watched as Bud began to parade women in and outta his house while his wife was workin or away for church functions. Donella wrote countless anonymous letters and I intercepted each and every one. No WAY I was gonna let her do that ~ Put stuff in the paper or air someone's dirty laundry like that. And at last we were introduced to the last piece of the puzzle. Joe Goodall.

Now I grew up with Joe. He's was my baby brother's age. He was a bad boy and just about every girl in town tried to set him straight.  He had dishwater blond hair, green eyes that could charm a snake and a grin that could coax an "Amen" from an atheist. The challenges always accepted but certain to fail. Joe loved lovin women and Margaret Sawyer was a beautiful creature. So I hear. Well then my petite flower began seein Joe and Margaret sneakin around while Bud was hosting many a gal in the local motel.  It was sordid but funny... to hear about from my chatterbox wife. Donella was fixated on the twists and turns of the house across the way. She just set there day after day, writing stuff down and cluckin her tongue; most judgmental hen I ever did meet. Then came the fight. Seems that Joe and Bud crossed paths; not at the Waffle house but the Sawyer house. Hoowee! Joe was pullin out, so to speak and Bud was rushin in. Well needless to say, it was a fire storm and then some! I confess in my state of weakness I did pull up a chair and watch for a bit. Donella was riveted.

Joe slugged Bud and Bud commenced a poundin Joe. Margaret was squallin from the porch and Donella couldn't stop gawkin. I went out back and fired up the grill. All that rough housin made me hungry. Burgers. A double stack for me thanks. Well I guess it was Nellie Horbatch next door that called Sherrif "Baldy" his name is Spalding but he lost his hair his junior year of high school so Baldy stuck. Heehee... Baldy. He's a good egg though. He's fair. Well, he come out and broke it all in to bits then came over to ask Donella what she knew...knowin she would know SOMETHIN. He stayed and had burgers because Donella knew a lot. In fact, he took her papers and wanted to copy em for notes cause his hand cramped up. Donella had now been deputized in her eyes. Oh good Lord I prayed they wouldn't give her a gun!

Well things settled down a bit. Bud was still runnin round but Margaret seemed to disappear. Donella was suspicious the first time she noticed the flowers were droopin. She began houndin me to go chew on Joe's ear and find out what was what. Not bein a gossip hound, I insetead, turned a deaf ear and turned up the game.

One night, oh I guess about two weeks later; it was a Thursday because trash went out on Friday. Seems Donella was watchin Bud and saw him carry out trash: A LOT of it; big, black leaf bags.

"There's Margaret." she said flatly and took notes.  Now normally I would have a  smart mouth comment but I watched and nurtured a little seed of suspicion myself as Bud hoisted those bags into the back of his truck and drove away but my attention was short lived.  Soon I gave up and went to bed. He returned in the wee hours because I was just gettin ready to head out for the mill. I covered Donella up with a blanket and kissed her nosy forehead. She begged me to confront Bud, or go to Baldy. I ignored her and with a bit of a snap told her to watch her own hen house for once. She knew I'd bout had it so she stopped talking about it; to me at least.

She marched right out to Nellie's library and checked out all sorts of books.  she began reading day and night while watching (a little less) the house across the street. She was studyin ghosts. It wasn't even October so I knew it had nothin to do with Trick or Treat.  AND she bought one of them talker boards...and began trying to communicate with Margaret. I bout laughed myself insane watchin her talk into a little tape recorder and play it back listenin to the snow while tellin me she heard stuff... Margaret talkin back.

"That's good Hon. Ask her if we're gonna have a rough winter."

Donella became a ghost hunter. She was so angry at what Margaret was supposedly tellin her that she next took up voodoo. She wanted to get back at Bud, who was by now having all sorts of women sleep OVER and wanted to make him pay.  She would make sure she was getting mail when he got mail and she would make rude comments.  She would tell him to watch his step because she was watching and no one believed his story about his wife runnin off. She had proof and he would pay.  Bud would smile a greasy smile and invite her in for coffee.

"Not on your LIFE." and she would give him a sour look and wander back up the steps in her "dress jeans" and turtleneck with some ugly vest one of her friends hand made. I'd smack my hands if they committed a yarn sin like that. Who puts horses with long yarn manes on a sweater vest? Who wears sweater vests? Anyway,  she turned him down and told me all about it. It took over an hour and my ears were hot.

"What do you want ME to do?" I asked her; regretting the words the minute they stumbled out in to daylight.

"Well... NOTHING I guess you old bump. I'll do it myself."

I laughed at her. and regretted that. To this day.

It was a Tuesday. I went to the mill as usual. She was up with me; dressed and talking into her little recorder.  She told me she had had a long chat with the ghost of Margaret and she was ready to do what was right.

"Okay then. Be good." I took my lunch off the kitchen table and went.

And that was the last time I saw my chatterbox. I had to tell Baldy the whole thing. He would write and listen, chew his pencil which he did all through school. We USED to call him Beaver. His teeth were so bucked, he could eat an apple through a picket fence, but braces changed that and contacts made him cute I guess. he worked out and toned up... lost his hair so we still could make fun of him but .. well I git sidetracked.  He helped me a lot and he tried to find my Donnie.

I knew right well what had happened. I knew who did it. I knew we'd never find her. I sat alone in Donnie's chair at night just watchin Bud. He would sit and stare right back; daring me. But I've never been a fighter. The same can not be said for my wife. I began to read what she'd written. I read all the books she got from Nellie and I began playin with that talkie board; weejah but it's spelled fancy.  I asked if Donnie was there; like I was callin a college dorm. I asked her to let me know she was around. I got some thumps and bumps. I told whatever it was I missed my wife. I was sorry I didn't do more. I asked if she was okay. A few lights flickered. Her favorite music box played though I hadn't wound it since the day I bought it for her. I played with her recorder and began to listen through the static. I can't be sure but I thought I heard her tell me "I'm ok." I told her we couldn't find her body. I said we knew it was Bud but we couldn't prove it." Then I heard it clear as day.

"We'll see about that."

 I had to laugh at my chatterbox. I began to watch Bud a little closer.  He seemed to change over the next weeks.  He looked tired, like he'd been up all night. He seemed agitated and nervous; always lookin behind him. It was like he was... haunted. Then about nine months after my wife went missin, Bud Sawyer walked right up to Baldy and offered his hands ... like they was gonna skip and sing kiddie songs on the playground.  He confessed right there and continued confessin all during his arraignment, his trial his sentencing.. he just kept talkin.  The police went where Bud told em and found Margaret and Donella. When they gave him life without parole for the murder of his wife and mine. He began to weep like a little girl.  He looked up and all around him and shouted

"THERE! ARE YA HAPPY? WILL YOU SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLE NOW?"

I smiled, went home and put all her ghost stuff away; satisfied my motormouth Donella talked him into doin the right thing.



Happy Daylight Savings! I sure hope this is the beginning of something warm, sunny and snow-less.  This one, although silly and a bit skewed was fun for me. I read it aloud and just loved the flow. It felt good to hear the accent and I enjoyed the path this one took. I hope you did too. A little fun and silliness on a Sunday mornin is okay by me. 

I have a super-busy week. My daughter turns Sweet 16. Sigh. BIG sigh. So we have lots of neat things planned for her; some she knows about... others.... (I know you read this my lovely little girl.. so.... It's not here either... quit snoopin! :)   ) are top secret. Anyway, I hope you have a fantastic week. I will be very sentimental and on the brink of tears most of the time.

Enjoy! See you soon.