Tag: life

A night drive…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories17 Comments

I lift my glass to those ‘good ole days’ when there wasn’t much to do but drive the gravel back roads, smoke cigarettes, and drink just about anything we could get our hands on. How we managed to survive it all is still a mystery to me.

My feet transfer the vibrations of tires touching gravel. The jarring shake of rut filled back roads move up my legs and out my arms then back into the steering wheel. I am in sync with my knobby tired, metal and glass steed as we speed through the perfect night.
The sky stretches out before me. A jeweled black velvet horizon surrounding a full moon that hangs brilliant; splashing a ghostly light into the countryside. The wood floors of ancient bridges rumble as I pass and the creeks and rivers catch the moon’s sparkle as they flow quickly beneath me and on into the darkness. The road comes alive for me while the rest of the world dreams. I move past cemeteries, where souls are frozen in place, longing for the freedom to ride along to oblivion. An old red barn built when the country was younger melts into its destiny. Brown brick grain silos stand godlike against the attack of time.
I roll down my window and let the cool night air blast away the anger, hate and dissolution that the sunlight brings. It mixes with the oven-like heater and I begin a dance with the night as the radio hums a low harmony and the soft glow from the dash lights mingle with it to create a perfect synchronicity.
These country back roads crisscross my path and stretch out into infinity. I travel through a landscape that is so satisfying and peaceful and I know that I am in control. I can choose my own destiny. Sometimes I think that if I just close my eyes and take my hands from the wheel, this could be…the end.

What all the boys thought about…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short Stories28 Comments

I lift my glass to those ‘good ole days’  when there wasn’t much to do but drive the gravel backroads, smoke cigarettes, and drink just about anything we could get our hands on. How we managed to survive it all is still a mystery to me.

When I was a kid hanging around the only grocery store in town, drinking Yoo-hoo and stuffing my cheeks with Bazooka Joe gum a surprising change started taking place. All of a sudden, it seemed like everywhere I looked there were girls. I mean, sure they were there before but they were just annoying little brats whose sole purpose in life was to cause trouble.  I wasn’t sure what happened and honestly I didn’t care. All I knew was those little brats had been transformed into females.  I can tell you that the only good thing about a hot ass, dust filled summer in the arm pit of the universe called Wakenda, Missouri was…the hotter the sun, the fewer clothes those females wore. A pair of short blue jean cutoffs and a halter top could start the blood pumping and I’m going to say, that to a 13 year old’s imagination, there were times when maybe that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to say that all we could think about all day and night was sex. I mean, sometimes we had to eat. But it did seem that we had an awful lot of different names for something none of us knew a hell of a lot about. Boff, boink, bump, diddle, dip your wick, doing it, doing the nasty, getting down and dirty, getting laid, got lucky, going all the way, rounding the bases, home run, touchdown, hide the sausage and squeaky-squeaky. Man, we became experts on the subject. But I suppose that’s what happens when you’re stuck in a town with the population about the size of a football team.

The City Market…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn flash, Short Stories27 Comments

The smell of popcorn, burned hot dogs and sweat invaded his nostrils as Jason pushed his way down Fuller Street, past vegetable carts, homemade pie stands and the booth with carved wooden bears holding ‘Welcome signs’. He weaved around baby strollers and people who thought it a good idea to bring their dogs for a walk through the shoulder to shoulder traffic. He entered through the back of the jewelry stand and sat down at the table.

“How’d we do?” Sheila asked.

“Pretty good shopping day” he told his girlfriend as he emptied the wallets and watches from his pockets.

A man that does nothing to stop evil becomes its ally…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Free Verse, Poetry18 Comments


Three times we’ve watched you
Gun down our kings in the streets
Now you’ve placed our crown
Upon the brow of a fool

I’ve seen your blackness rape the
Light from good men’s souls
And pierce their hearts
With frozen arrows of anger

Yet still we do nothing but sit
Idly by as your raging
Winds push hatred deeper
Into the cracks of the world

The Great Back Stabbing…

On By Jerry BrothertonIn Non Fiction, Short Stories20 Comments

Now this is the way I remember the story going. I could be wrong, I was only 5 at the time.

“Mother, might I have a piece of your deliciously fried chicken. You make the best there is in all the world,” I asked.

She looked at me with love in her eyes and said, “I’m sorry my precious son, the favorite of all my children, but you will have to wait until your father gets home. Then we shall all eat together. It would be a shame if your father was deprived of your company. It will be so wonderful to sit at talk with you. You are the best son any parent could ever ask for.”

“ Oh I do understand dear mother, I shall wait patiently like a dutiful son. Gee I sure love you. Is there anything that I might help you with?”

So there I, was sitting patiently and watching her frying her chicken and singing. I was thinking how great it was to have such a fantastic mother.

But suddenly my evil brother Phillip came slinking out from the shadows. He had an evil grin on his face, and a cloak half covering his head. Being the horrible brute that he was, he informed her that he was in a hurry and could do whatever he wanted because he was a big brother. He grabbed a piece of that chicken off the plate and went running out the back door. “Bwaa…Haa…Haa,” he laughed as he ran out.

Now with that turn of events, my mother quickly spun around and with that fork still in her hand, started shaking it in his direction. “Just for that young man, you will have to do without your sup…” That fork, slippery from chicken grease, went sailing out of her hand with the accuracy of a cruise missile and with divine providence stuck smack dab in the middle of his back.

You would have thought that she had stabbed him in the back with a machete the way she ran to him. I mean, she was all over him…hugging and kissing and praying.

“Oh my goodness mother,” I said. “I do hope that my dear precious brother is alright, but if you’ve killed him, may I have his piece of chicken?’