Category: Short Stories

Independence Day…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories1 Comment

Ah yes, Independence Day and the fourth of July. I know that way back when, it used to mean something. But like most things, time moved on and the significance of the day has faded. I know I’m suppose to be all patriotic like and what not. You know, have a little national pride for those brave people that risk their lives and some that even gave up their lives to bring me freedom. But I just can’t bring myself to really care that much. I mean, for criminity’s sake, that was a long time ago. Hell us and England are the best of friends now. I remember once when Elmer got into a fight with John Miller after school. They whooped up on each other like it was a blood feud. But when the punching was over, they went on down to Main Street Drug and had a soda together. They don’t go around celebrating the day Elmer lost a tooth and John got that black eye. So I’m thinking that it’s time we just change the name to Freedom Day. Freedom to drink beer, blow things up and not go to work. But come to think of it, here in my little part of the world, that’s just called a weekend.

Spoils of War…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories5 Comments

No one in town ever really talked much about her. I suppose that hers was the same story that was being told all over America. Her mother was a native of Korea and her father was just another broken ex-marine from the USA and neither one had the courage to give her the love she desperately needed. So she became another neglected trophy from an invaded country. Just gathering dust in the corner of Podunkville with the rest of the souvenirs of war. Lust and alcohol brought her into the world. Heroine and a razor blade relieved her of it.

Let’s make America great…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories7 Comments

Not a political post

Image by Cari Dobbins from Pixabay

Let’s make America great again…

There have been more politicians than you can shake a stick at over the decades, including our current president, that have used some version of this as their battle cry to rally Americans. We all know that we want America to be great again, but what is it that we’re really asking for? What will it take for America to be great? Are we looking for low unemployment, high wages, stock markets on the rise, low interest rates or low housing costs? I don’t think any of that makes a difference. So just what is it that we’re after?

I think that deep down we all have a longing for the nostalgia of something that never really existed. That we’re looking for a place where Sherriff Taylor and Barney weren’t just policemen walking a beat, but kind, trustworthy pillars of the town who are able to keep all crime at bay without carrying a weapon. We want Marcus Welby to make house calls and keep each of our ailments and secrets to himself. We want him to hand us prescription drugs right out of his black bag and take a watermelon as payment. We want little girls in pigtails saying ‘Goodnight John Boy.” We’re looking for young lads that are willing to take out the trash and mow the neighbor’s lawn for a homemade cookie and a glass of milk. We’re looking for adults that help each other out through the tough times and throw bar-b-ques to celebrate each other’s victories. We want to have our religion back. Where we all go to church on Sunday and pray before each meal even in restaurants. We want to see children kneel at the foot of their beds and thank God for another day.  We want to pledge allegiance to the flag and have it mean more than just some words. We want drug stores to double as soda shops and barber shops to be where the quartet practices. Yes, we want hope, prosperity, kindness, honesty and freedom. But we don’t want to work for them. We want someone to hand it to us on a silver platter.

So there is always going to be a politicians telling us they will bring back ‘Main Street’… that they can make a ‘Great America’. But none of them can ever fulfill those promises.

Because small towns and Main Streets are not places to visit, they are a way of life. They are hidden inside each of us. So let’s search inside ourselves and pull them to the surface. Only through our action can we make America Great again.

The Funeral

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories10 Comments

 His heart was formed from the black gumbo that filled the space between heaven and hell

It was a cloudy and rain soaked day when they lowered Eddie into his 8’ x 3’ x 6’ eternal home. The entire town was in attendance. Most people were still stunned at the news that our star athlete was dead. To listen to them talk, he was a saint. More like a God among men, a Messiah sent to us to deliver us to the Promised Land reserved for those who could call themselves ‘State Champions’.

Every business in town was closed and every man in town who wasn’t at the funeral was gathered down at Pappy’s bar. They sat around mourning in their own way, like men without pride tend to do, over beer and whisky. While every woman in town was busy frying chicken or making a casserole for after the funeral. All of them crying like the very heart and soul had been ripped from the town itself.

On the pulpit, Reverend Delkes was proclaiming that, “God has stretched out his arms and pulled young Edward James Walters to walk eternally at his side.”

Tears streamed down Momma Walter’s cheeks. William, Eddie’s father, stood by her side. Teeth clenched and jaw set so as to show no emotion. Eddie’s sister Mary stood beside them both, swaying back and forth like the Holy Spirit had entered her body and took possession of her. The boys wept because they knew any hope of their winning now was being covered with black gumbo. All the girls cried because they knew he was their best shot of getting out of this town.

But you and I know the truth Janice. You and I know what really happened so many years ago. We know that bastard got exactly what he deserved. But your soul is still tied up in knots from his hands and I will live with the blood on mine and gladly give more. If only I could move the clock backwards for you. To that Friday before he ripped away your innocence.

One Last Night

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories2 Comments

Like he’d done for 40 years, he placed their breakfast on the table. Since the stroke his wife had little appetite for food. He watched the morning news and she stared out the window. Later, in the garden he picked tomatoes and she watched the sun fall below an orange horizon. He said, “I love you.” She had no reply. As darkness crept in, they undressed and went to bed. When he awoke the next morning she was not at his side. In his frantic search, he found the check from the life insurance company lying unopened on the table