Scott Brumfield
Stories (4/0)
A Simple Debt
A beige 1965 GMC pulled into the circular gravel drive. A barrel in the back sprouted rakes and hoes and shovels like a pin cushion, their handles swaying gently as the truck maneuvered over and around holes and dips in the driveway. Stenciled on the doors in faded and cracked black paint were the words Harvesters Gardening Services, Est. 1914, for All Your Lawn and Garden Needs. The truck ground to a halt in front of the steps to an old house with a wrap-around porch. A tall thin man in a dark black suit opened the driver’s side door and slid out, planting his boot clad feet together firmly into the dry and dusty gravel before closing the door behind him.
By Scott Brumfield4 years ago in Futurism
Pursuit of Consequence
It was early 2007 when I met God. He was in a hole-in-the-wall redneck bar in Pike County, Mississippi called Dicky’s Tavern. I thought it was kind of a shitty place for a god to hang out and it made me wonder about his character, but then again, I was there. I knew he was God because… well, I just knew. He wasn’t wearing robes or glowing. There were no angels singing. I just sat down on the stool next to him and knew he was God.
By Scott Brumfield4 years ago in Futurism
Victor
“Grandpa, tell us that story again!” He sighed. He was tired. Not the tired born of a long day of honest work, or the tired of a long sleepless night, but the tired of a long life filled with the ubiquitous hodgepodge of success and failure. Pride and regret. He leaned back in the soft chair, a soft smile on his mouth as his solemn eyes stared out of the window to his left into the dark. It was far past the children’s bedtime.
By Scott Brumfield4 years ago in Futurism