A Bad Day

The half-dead man was dragged up the rickety old wooden stairs

onto the stage. His head was shoved in tight, uncomfortable splintery

hold which almost completely cut of the blood flow to his head.

"Any las wurdz?" said a bored voice.

He could feel peoples' intense stares focused on solely him.

Hundreds awaited his response. They knew after that the "fun" would

begin. What was it like before all this?

His beautiful wife was standing beside him again and his two

children in a meadow. It was a warm summer day. She was laughing

and they were catching butterflies. The bees hummed sweetly as they

zoomed from flower to flower.

"Daddy, I love you. Promise you'll never go away. EVER."

"Yes, of course my son. Of course." He said as he gazed into the sky

with a content grin.

These were just images, only in his head. Just images now.

Rolling clouds rushed in. Of a matter of moments, it became dark;

the butterflies turned into mobs armed with torches and knives, his

children: friends who betrayed him and raped his family, his wife:

a corrupt judge. And the bees were no longer singing. They were the

ignorant public chanting for a death to an innocent man.

"Come un! I dun hav all day. Do ya hav anythin to say?!?!"

It started to rain and lightening was cracking down like the

cat-o-nine-tail whips he had felt earlier that morning. He was getting

very soaked and cold. At first he started to worry about pneumonia...

then he chuckled to himself.

He finally sighed and replied, "Sorry, this just isn't my day."

"Ahhh...yes, I understand. But if it helps, my axe is made of gold.

Now smile."

Then there was nothing.

reply to: 04jasonw@students.harker.org

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