##Edgar Allan Poe
Just for fun! In this world of non-compliant tragedy…a little levity!
Nineteen women, one man, held trial by hysteria, hearsay and ‘nonconformity’! Not much has changed!
It’s the spring of 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts. You’ve just been accused by “an afflicted girl” of being a witch. The reason for the accusation against you might have been any from a long list of possibilities. Perhaps you’re reclusive, talk to yourself, or exhibit some other form of eccentric behavior. Perhaps you were involved in a previous dispute with the family of the afflicted girl. Perhaps you don’t go to church, or go to the wrong church, or sided with the wrong faction in recent congregational strife within the Salem Village Church. Perhaps you speak French or are suspected with having aided the Wabanakis in the recent Indian wars. Or perhaps you expressed support for a recently accused witch or–worse yet–accused the accusers of lying. Whatever the reason, you’re in big trouble now. What do you do? (Pick an option below).
Dancing in Wooden Shoes
Everything had been black and white.
Just as bleak and blank, as the tall tales we dispose.
Nothing so austere, as the languishing of our past…a memoir of we would soon…rather forget.
What is the character we want to be?
A thundering look over a chipped shoulder…to the masters, gives hint to all that we are pageantry.
I feel cut down from the gallows.
Clogged with raven’s feet in tow.
Abigail, Sarah, Martha…it is all for show.
As of yesteryear, the wicked have found no rest.
As of now,…the wicked have swollen in the cloaked mess.
Spired gables…engrossed in mass hysteria.
All in the name of labels.
No, angels to see.
Just ruminations of you and me.
Sometime ’round the middle of December…95′ I believe it was. The winds began to turn against us and have stayed that way ever since. It was then I beckoned to Sister Lelah,
“Let’s call the whole thing off! I can’t stand this cold it runs circles around my bunions and my dogs can’t sleep at night!”
Sister Lelah had always been the menacing-ly devote kind of refugee nun. A toss back to the days where chastity was not a Bono and black was always that and a bag of chips!
Single handed-ly, Lelah, don’t call me, Lee, had put an end to the boy’s basketball team and their outings to the Monsignor‘s house. Without remorse and/or backing from the Arch Bishop, Dick; Sister Lelah had made sure that the good ole Monsignor preached to a pulpit of prisoners down at Walpole State Prison and Chapel for the Criminally insane.
“Nope, Pat, I ain’t having it. Joseph was the salt of the earth. Buying his way into heaven like he done. Donating tickets to the 4th of July fireworks on the common to the School for the Legally Blind. What there’s no telling what the good can do. Pulling up and dying like that on the toilet! Inches from the Life Alert button. The dear Lord has found himself another poker player up in the heavens!”
Silence sat all over the black cadillac. Cars for catholics had come through on that one at least. That Caddy could out run the devil. Yet, the honking became a schizophrenic confession on my ears. The toot, toot, toot and beep, beep, beep had followed us from the Rosary Rings Twice cafe’ all the way up the interstate.
Nevermind, my habits were always the choice topic of discussion in any road to nowhere I took with Lelah. You should really learn to iron. Bathing is not a sin. Commoner’s wear gray and we are not commoners!
My drinking habit stopped nearly twelve years ago thanks to the Sister. She found me behind the sacristy one Sunday afternoon. Empty jug of Boone’s farm in one hand and the dear Christ our Savior’s cross in the other. And, so it goes, nowadays I carry two big books.
Maybe it was destiny? Maybe it had been the winds of Lucifer’s farts raining down on the shortcomings of us all. Maybe it was just stupid and stubborn Irish ‘don’t know how’ that had brought Lelah and I to a high-speed road rage incident down on I-93 in the middle of the worse snowstorm since 1050 B.C.
Who knows? Christ if I did?
“He’s on my trail again! That friggin’ Yugo! Every time I floor it and think I’ve got the lucky 7 on my side. The little shit pulls up in the rearview mirror!” Lelah had spat.
“Maybe it’s a sign. And, on the seventh day he rose again. Or, thy kingdom has come. There’s talk of a doomsday you know?“
What more could I have said?
Sure enough Sister Lelah had pulled up to the toll dividing those blurred lines. The thin line between Saturday nights and Sunday mornings. The attendant, a non catholic with no sign of remorse, smiling, grinning and calling the good Sister Lelah a saint from Hell; spoke just a few words. Words that were signs of things to come. Signs, signs, everywhere a sign!
“Sister, that boy ya’ out runnin’. The one with the sticker that says, Mean People Suck! The one who’s been chasin’ ya’all for ’bout ten miles. He wants me to tell you somethin’.”
“May the good Lord take kindly to those who suffer from sin sir. That is all I wish to say.” Sister Lelah had stated and gestured with the sign of the cross.
“Welp, Sister, it seems you and your faith have gone and become flat. As flat as the rear back tire. And, Lord only knows it’s Sunday and there ain’t no heathen out in this weather. And, there ain’t no Christian out working on the Sabbath!”
tips , tricks , free plr articles
Dating Tips for Everyone
All about healthy relationships
How to organize an unbelievable marriage
Poetry and words
by David Guerrieri
tips , tricks , free plr articles
Growing Up and Enjoying Life
Phillip's latest reveries
Only the ‘Shadow’ Knows for Sure!
Enjoy Lifestyle Freedom
The Romantic Ninja's words and doodles
A law student and an avid reader. Along with your desired book reviews you're gonna get great book suggestions. Books of all genre with detailed review. Thank you, Visit Again ❤️
news , tips , tricks
Writer, Photographer, Nature Lover
Postcards from life lately. When life sends you a postcard, keep it safe, keep it close to your heart, let it warm your soul!
Breaking news and thoughtless commentary on the world.