Fire Down Below

The fire had burned for forty years now. Under the ground like an angry god. When it snowed it would melt within seconds of hitting the hot ground. She had lived in the town all of her life. She had married here, had her children here and buried them all here. When they came to move her she refused. The town was toxic they said, but she did not care. Every thing she loved was here in this fire drenched town. It took many years to move everyone out and when just a few were left they sent in the mean ones. The ones who would force the last ones out. When the man came to her door ready to force her to move she felt no remorse when she bashed in his head with her frying pan. She knew she was headed for hell, but no one was going to make her leave the only home she had ever known. She figured what the heck she had lived in this burning, godforsaken town, forgotten by the world for more then 40 years and she guessed that the real version of hell could not be much hotter, so she buried the man in her garden and waited to die, grateful for just a few more days at home.

The Streets of Laredo

He stood at the end of the street waiting for the clock to strike noon. He flexed his fingers and prepared to draw his gun. This was not the first fight he had been in, for in fact he had developed a reputation as a fast shot. He squinted against the sun and eyed the aging gunslinger at the other end of the street. The old gunslinger looked like he had lived for a hundred years, he was sure the old man's reflexes were slow and he felt bad that he was going to kill him. As the clock struck noon both gunfighters reached for their guns and as the smoke cleared the aging gunslinger turned and walked back towards his hotel, he would have no solace tonight.

Rosemary

They had named her Rosemary for her great grandmother. She had wanted to be called Caitlin or Brittney or Ashley. Rosemary was old fashioned and she was definitely getting tired of the Simon and Garfunkel song. So the summer she turned seventeen she decided that she would be called Madison. Her parents refused but her friends at school went along and from then on she was called Madison. When she went to college no one ever knew her real name except for the registrar and when she applied for her first job Madison was the name on her resume. She even sometimes forgot that her real name was Rosemary because after all these years her parents had finally relented and also called her Madison. So on that day on the subway when the handsome man smiled and said " Hey don't I know you? Didn't we go to elementary school together? Is your name Rosemary?" she was slow in answering so her friend said, " Her name is Madison." The man looked crestfallen, " Oh that is too bad. You do look an awful lot like Rosemary. She was such a funny, beautiful girl. I had a huge crush on her when I was in the fifth grade, but then we moved away and I never saw her again, but I always hoped I would. Rosemary, what a spicy, lovely name. Sorry for the mistake." he said as he stepped off the train.

The messenger

He came for me that night. I knew it was my time, but I was still not prepared for his arrival. The message was clear. I packed my baggage and followed him out the door. He smiled a sad smile and I took one last look at the house I had lived in for the last forty years. It was lovely with the rising sun glinting off its windows. I had been happy there and had lived a good life. I turned back to death nodded my head and reached for the hand he held out to me.

The Opal Ring

Her Mother wore it on special occasions. It burned as if lite from a fire with in. Under the candle light it sparkled so brightly that she would have to shield her eyes as she peeked around the corner into the dining room, on those nights her parents had one of their dinner parties. She wanted that ring so badly. When her parents were away she would sneak into their room and open the jewelry box on the dresser and try it on. She imagined herself older, dressed in a gown wearing that ring.

She sold it to the pawn shop when she was so desperate that it was either the ring or herself. When she went back for it years later it was gone. The pawnshop had no record of who had purchased it so there was no tracking it down. Every where she went after that she would look for the ring, every hand she shook, every glass of wine she passed to another, every sparkle that gleamed on another’s hand, she would look. Over the years she saw some very beautiful rings, but none that would ever compare to that opal ring of her mother’s.