G. Douglas Kerr
Bio
I am a hermit and sometimes come out of my shell.
Stories (30/0)
- Runner-Up in the Short and Sweet Challenge
- Runner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge
Wheatfields Under ThundercloudsRunner-Up in Painted Prose Challenge
Indiana held fields of winter wheat. To be clear it does still, but when we stopped at the station to fill the car and drain our bladders, the road behind us and the road ahead saw the encroaching storm push toward us from the west. Driving north to see my father’s father and my uncle, the image of the approaching storm held for me the first look of foreshadowing.
By G. Douglas Kerr12 months ago in Art
Chapter One
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The dimples deepened as the sky turned slowly with the stars, their light falling soft as padded feet. Their dancing, just a breeze on top the trees waiting for the siblings to tire, end each summer night, and go to bed. Both were up past their bedtimes. Though for this summer, no curfew had been placed on them and nothing pressed to get them up in the morning.
By G. Douglas Kerrabout a year ago in Fiction
The Greystone's Wall
“If walls could talk…” I know of one. It told me this. Death does not work on your timeline. That’s for sure. Watching the dandelions grow, wither, reblossom and seed, only to fall away as the winter turns cold and the sky falls darker is not the path of most of us. I’ve seen a couple people follow that path. The Bellichko boy, he was like that. I saw him born in this house, still when mommas didn’t magically appear from the car holding a wrapped infant in their arms. That was a nice family, the Bellichkos. Strong, hard working dad from the old country providing for his, I guess at the time, young wife, the newly minted Mila Bellichko. He was so proud of that child for the first few years with him - Pavel. Got real angry though later, the dad did, and the boy didn’t know what to do when his father got that back hand coming at him. Pavel figured it out though, like the kids always do. I’m amazed at how often those kids figure it out by doing what their parents did. Giving someone else a smack cause that’s what their parents gave them. That's how they were taught to hold power: by force. The Altschuls, their son, Baruch, was pretty smart and not prone to violence but he learned how to do it from his mother. A quick slap got his attention whenever his mom had lost her patience. This was the first family that didn’t have their kids here. Seven children brought home in that De Soto Six Deluxe, the ‘six’ for the extra two seats in the back where the trunk should be. That car sat outside these Austin neighborhood streets most every night. Usually right out front, which was nice, right on this street full of Brownstones and Greystones lining each side with that ostentatious grandeur of a rebuilding city - post fire Chicago from what I heard in conversations from the Bellichkos. Must have been a great fire, ‘cause there was a lot of open land. That’s when I went up. Saw the whole Austin neighborhood street build up with me, fresh and young and new house happy - saw it from looking out this front room window. Horses and buggies gave way to a few of those steel and rubber family cars like the De Soto, then flair on those cars in the 60’s when the Robinsons moved in and now that no one is here, the street is filthy with them. All kinds and in different states of repair too, most of them now smaller than the Altschul's De Soto.
By G. Douglas Kerrabout a year ago in Fiction
Time in the Fair
Diverse vendors of more diverse wares stood or sat by their bright roofed tents without walls watching people’s eyes as they peered into what seemed a never ending treasured bazaar set up on the closed downtown street. Jewelry, paintings, sculpture and ice cream enticed and inspired eyes to come and see. There’s something there for the bare space above the mantle, a center piece for the dining room table, a tasty snack to make this first year anniversary date special. Everything here presented a keystone to focus on or a fringe adding a content smile to something not yet completed.
By G. Douglas Kerrabout a year ago in Fiction