Old granny never lied.
“Don’t go messing with that jar of glue, young’n! You’re gonna get your hands stuck together!” she shouted. And sure enough, in just a few minutes, Tommy had shattered the glass jar. He whimpered pitifully as he struggled to pull his hands apart. Granny just shook her head and said, “I told ‘em!”
Old granny never lied.
“Pull your hair back behind your ears, girlie! Leave your hair over your face, and you’ll go blind as a bat!” she shouted. And sure enough, a few days later, little Lizzie, unable to see anything in front of her, crashed into the bookcase. Granny just stomped her foot and muttered, “That’s what ya get for not listenin.’”
Old granny never lied.
“You keep scrunching your face up like that, and it’s gonna stay that way!” she shouted. And sure enough, within a week, little Annabelle’s face was twisted painfully in a jester’s grin. Granny rolled her eyes and frowned, “Now what did I tell ya?”
Old granny never lied. But sometimes she used needle and thread.
Twenty five years its been. Twenty-five years, two months, fourteen days, eleven hours and twenty-two minutes, to be exact.
I’ve been counting every second, tracking every minute, hour, day, month, year, decade. It’s gone on so long that I’ve learned to multi-task and commit to other thoughts while part of me carries on counting. I thought it wouldn’t last long. Figured it would all just fade away, eventually. They said it was supposed to go black when you died, it was supposed to fade when your brain activity ceased. Nobody told me that your mind carries on. That your thoughts are all you have left. As black as the moment you shut your eyes, as lonely as a never-ending dream, only far less vivid. Just an endless scape of black and silence.
Twenty-five years, two months, fourteen days, eleven hours and twenty-four minutes… Since I last lost count.
“Have you seen my son?” the woman frantically asked the old lady across the street.
“No, sorry dear” the old woman replied.
“Have you seen my son?” the woman asked the local police officer, more terrified this time
“No, I’m sorry ma’am, but we’ll search right away” the officer responded while taking out his radio, trying not to look at the woman’s sorrowful eyes.
“Please…please tell me my son is in there” asked the woman to a friend of hers, which happens to live right next to her house.
“I’m really sorry Clarice, we haven’t seen him” the mother replied.
The woman searched everywhere, ran through every part of the street, screaming, “Where is my son”.She was crying, pulling her hair out of despair. Her neighbors, out of pity, helped her in her search
“JIMMY, JIMMY! WHERE ARE YOU! PLEASE COME OUT!”
Starting that day, from 10 in the morning til 8 in the evening, the woman would leave her house, looking like trash. She looked like a risen corpse; pale skin, frizzy hair, and her skinnier body. She screamed at every part of the town, “HAVE YOU SEEN MY SON?”
Alas at the second week of her search, everyone must have thought that she’d already gone crazy.
She went to the local police department again…
“Have you seen my son?”
The officer in charge left out a deep sigh, “I’m sorry ma’am”
The mother walked home, looking depressed. But as soon as she closed her front door, a smile painted itself across her face.
With a smirk, the woman whispered to herself.“I guess I hid the body well”
Shopping at thrift store was one of my favorite pass times. I was into it way before Macklemore made it cool. You could find some great antiques there. I was shopping one day and found the magic 8 ball. I used to have one of these! I went to the desk to buy it and asked for a price. The clerk just let me have it. I found it strange but it passed over me. I brought it home and decided to ask it a simple question. “How does my future look?” The blue di floated to the surface and showed one word. Dark. Hmm. Must be a different version. I wanted to see a few of the other responses. So I shook it up and looked. Nothing showed up. Shook it again. And still nothing. “What is this?” I asked aloud. The blue due floated to the surface and read. The unwanted truth. So I asked. “When will I die?” The die floated to the top. 5. It sunk. And rose again. 4.
My girlfriend and I used to send each other flirty texts, pics, you know the drill. Today at work she convinced me to go tit for tat (no pun intended) taking revealing shots. I sent her seven pics, each with a little more clothing removed. But nothing came back. ‘u holding out on me?’ I sent. Nothing. Maybe she’d gotten bored. Maybe her phone had run out of juice.
When I got home there was only police tape and blood.
I looked at my phone again. “u holding out on me?” hadn’t gone through. She hadn’t been out of range. I was. Frantic, I chased down bars. And then my phone started going off. One picture after another. Her, smiling, flirty. Just the way I remembered. Her taking off her shirt. Her smiling. Her letting down her hair, loosening her bra.
But the whole time I was screaming. I could see what was behind her.