I'm late to the party, but I finally made it. This past week has been totally nuts. I won't bore you with all the gruesome details, but let's just say I would be fine if I could figure out a way to add about 9 hours to the day. Time to join our fellow Centurians for Saturday Centus, hosted each and every week by the lovely Jenny Matlock at Off On My Tangent. Jenny provides us with a prompt. Our charge is to write a short story of no more than 100 words exclusive of the prompt. This week, Jenny has changed it up on us yet again! Instead of a prompt, we are to continue a previous story, either one of our own or borrowed (that sounds so much nicer than plagiarized, doesn't it?) from someone else.
I posted this story in June and thought it would be a fun one to expand. The original story is in blue. Hope this answers some questions!
The day started with such promise. A trip to the old home place, seeing where Daddy grew up, the places that shaped him. Sky that heartbreaking blue that only a southern summer can give. Trees draped with Spanish moss like the veils of devout women at Mass. Whirring cicadas, those mad jazz percussionists of summer.
It was Fathers Day, 1984, when I heard that voice in the hallway... followed it down old cellar stairs that screeched like jays protecting a nest. Darkness hiding rotten wood, which gave way, pitching me to the cool dirt floor. Raising my head, I came face to face with a story that Daddy never intended me to know.
How long had those moldy bones been resting here? A glint of gold caught my eye. I'd only known one person with a gold tooth, that no account Jr. Ewell. Gone for years. Up and took off one day, leaving nothing but a rundown shotgun shack, metal roof bleeding rust onto the sagging porch like autumn leaves.
A rush of memories. The whispers. Mamas making us promise to stay clear of him. To let our Daddies know if Jr. wanted help finding a lost puppy or cleaning out his ramshackle barn. And a late night meeting of Daddy's men's club.