Rob was born two days before the bank came and ran his family off the land that had been in his father’s family for generations.
His father, unable to cope with the shame and loss, took his own life before Rod ever had a chance to know him.
He was raised not only in the shadow of a man that he would never know, but by a woman left empty and bitter by that man’s loss.
The moment Rob laid eyes on the farm that had caused so much suffering, it became clear to him. The farm had suffered too.
This week, the photo prompts offered by Crimson’s Creative Challenge and Friday Fictioneers were too closely related to pass on the opportunity to use them together. Adhering to the word count allowed me to offer only the barest of bones, but I think the premise might hold up well under a little fleshing out.
Anita decided to forgo any mention of her birthday this year.
At her age, the passing of yet another year had become more a pause for reflection than a cause for celebration- and truth be told- she needed little prodding in the direction of reflection.
Just when her career began revolving around her ‘back in the day’ successes and her nights became a time for communing with the smooth, lustful bodies of men she had known in her youth, she was unsure.
But she was willing to bet, it was right about the time she decided to give up chocolate…..
This piece, written in exactly 100 words, is my response to Susan’s call for posts conjured by the word, celebration, this week on Genre Scribes.
She liberated Gideon Bibles from cheap motel rooms on cold rainy nights when even the most talented of whores could no longer dance between the raindrops.
The tricks she pulled were deviants, set on exacting payment for the most obvious of her sins. Many of them, in the name of Jesus.
Sometimes they injected her with the fear of god so vigorously, she wore the stigmata of their rapture for all to see. During these times she sold her pilfered bibles. Proclaimed herself, “Washed clean in the blood of the Lord.”
Until her wounds healed.
Or the next raindrops fell.
Clean My Wounds
Corrosion of Conformity
I see the world through bloodshot eyes
Streets filled with blood from distant lies.
The dogs of war never compromise,
No real time for rearranging.
“Help me Jesus, help me clean my wounds”
He said he cannot heal that kind.
Bleeding soul becomes a bitter mind.
He said it happens every time (Knock it down)
And that’s how the story goes (Knock it down)
In the land of a thousand no’s (Knock it down)
I’m all over you in time my mind is changing.
Knock it down
Black on black gives me a heart attack
And the silence makes it deadly.
Some choose to kill with simple will.
I’ve seen them fall fast and steady.
“Help me Jesus, help me clean my wounds”
He said he cannot heal that kind.
Bleeding soul becomes a bitter mind.
He said it happens every time (Knock it down)
And that’s how the story goes (Knock it down)
In the land of a thousand no’s (Knock it down)
I’m all over you in time my mind is changing.
Twist of fate won’t give me a break
And myself, I’m slow and tired.
I’ve got to rise with these bloodshot eyes
But I keep falling when I’m higher.
“Help me Jesus, help me clean my wounds”
He said he cannot heal that kind.
Bleeding soul becomes a bitter mind.
He said it happens every time (Knock it down)
And that’s how the story goes (Knock it down)
In the land of a thousand no’s (Knock it down)
We are bleeding sins and our sins are always fadin’
Oh fadin’, oh fadin’, oh fadin’
Oh, knock it down, knock it down
Oh, knock it down, knock it down
Oh, knock it down, knock it down
Oh, knock it down
Clean My Wounds was written by COC lead singer/guitarist Pepper Keenan and performed by the band, Corrosion of Conformity. It was released in 1995 on the band’s third album Deliverance.
This story told in exactly 100 words was written in response to Jim Adam’s call for songs that contain the words Come/Go/Leave or Stay on this weeks Song Lyric Sunday. It was inspired by the phrasal prompt, selling bibles, offered by tnkerr on this weeks OLWG #142
Thru Violet's Lentz 