Tag Archives: murder

Old Writing: Untitled

While I am unsure of the class this was written for or my age at the time of its writing, I do remember writing this and being very proud of the phrase, “…explode in a fatal shot of a gun being fired and the scream of pain as the bullet hit its mark.”

Now that I have finished transcribing it, I think it was written from a prompt of a black and white photo of a young man sitting on a balcony. It might have been in high school — possibly Freshman year.

Ever since they were children, Rene's brother, Ryan, was the favored one. Ryan always had the best things, toys in the beginning, then more important things. Ryan even had better women. They said that it was because Ryan was older. Could be, could be.

These thoughts, plus many others passed through Rene's mind as he sat on the balcony of the unused ballroom of his huge home, waiting. Waiting for when the fatal "there he is" would ring out from below.

Rene had no emotion. No fear, sadness, remorse, or even the hateful jealousy he had felt for as long as he could remember. It had subsided into a dull hardness. Hardness was all he felt. His face was set in a hard expression.

He could now hear voices in the passage before the old ballroom. The voices faded into a dream and he was back in his brother's room as he had been only a quarter of an hour before. He heard, now he felt again the terrible, horrible jealousy that he had kept under control for the past seventeen years explode in a fatal shot of a gun being fired and the scream of pain as the bullet hit its mark.

The voices returned, louder than before, closer. The moment was near when he would see his father's wrath and hurt and his mother's expression of unbelievability, hate, and pain all mingled into one.

The door opened; from his viewpoint he could see quite clearly the five people of the small party -- Mother, Father, local father of the church, and two neighbors. It was now that his fear gripped him, it tore through his body like fire. What to do? He could try to escape, he knew a stairway beyond the far wall. It was a chance, unless..., unless he jumped. It was another chance. It would end all his problems. 

He knew no fear like this fear as he heard his mother cry, "There he is!"

"Oh God, help me," pleaded Rene, "help me endure what I am going to..."

Heart healthy, but dead, ants

So last night I walked into the kitchen after the kids were in bed, expecting the dishes to be done and the counters cleaned off.

(Yeah right, I have teenagers)

Anyway, I’d noticed earlier that the counter was wiped down and expected it to still be that way. But no, Clare had a pomegranate snack and left several puddles of sticky-sweet pomegranate juice and some pomegranate skin on the counter. And the ants discovered it. Not a couple big ants, no we had multitudes of microscopic light brown ants slurping up pomegranate juice.  I could almost hear their tiny ant voices extolling the virtues of pomegranate juice for their little insect hearts.

Annoyed, I grabbed a sponge and wiped up the mess, including the ants, rinsed out the sponge and ran the garbage disposal. It took a few swipes, but I was finally satisfied that the majority of ants were off the counter, at least.  Then I ran the dishwasher and walked upstairs.

Clare’s light was still on, so I stopped and told her that she should have wiped the counter off after eating the pomegranate. She told me that the pomegranate had been covered in ants and since she didn’t want to kill the ants, she filled the sink with water, submerged the pomegranate in it until the ants floated away. Then she lovingly scooped up the ants and gently placed them on the counter.  She left the puddles of pomegranate juice there so they would have something to eat after their harrowing adventure.

Oh, I told her, too bad I just wiped them up and threw them down the garbage disposal.

She called me a cold hearted ant-murderer. Oops.

To her credit, she didn’t want to waste the pomegranate, but I suggested that next time, sacrifice the fruit to save the ants by tossing the whole thing out the door. (but then we might have other visitors again)

Speaking of pomegranates, I bought 6 at Costco last week. Dean thinks I was crazy, but the kids (and apparently the ants) like them and they are supposed to be good for you. Granted, they are difficult to eat.

When I was deciding if I wanted to buy 6 pomegranates another woman was looking at them at Costco. She said that she’d eaten pomegranates every day of her life, but still was not sure how to tell if they were ripe. I think she was from a different country. For sure she wasn’t from the Midwest United States where pomegranates didn’t arrive until sometime in the early 1970’s and only then as an exotic fruit – at least in my hometown, and only at one grocery store.

I remember my first pomegranate. I was 21 and working at a “Pancake House”  located just down from Gromers – the grocery store mentioned above. Another waitress and I, and perhaps a couple of busboys went shopping one day after work and thought we’d try some of the exotic fruit. We bought a mango, a pomegranate and a quince and shared them at someone’s house, or perhaps in someone’s car. I don’t remember eating the mango, but I remember the quince was astringent and the pomegranate was juicy, full of glistening sweet red juicy seeds at the center of which was a hard, almost wooden, pit. As interesting as the pomegranate was, it was too unusual for my taste, and probably too expensive. I don’t think I had another until recently when my daughter started wanting to taste one.