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GONE

...irrelevant importance

By CarmenJimersonCross-SafieddinePublished about a year ago 3 min read
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I heard the dog whisper, "She's gone."

I RAKED THE FILES and pulled unused tiles, the slats, the stobs and studs what remained. I combed the coals and tuned the gears on what the out back yard still holds. I pulled the tarps and plugged the winch... mowed the field of every seed we spent before the rest took off to chase the distant Tennessee wind. "The went down to chase what spoils was made. They gone to pile the wreckage up from last weeks funnel winds, the rain water's depth and devastation lent by God and Mother Nature upon the heads of souls damn natured." The dogs stood near to listen. They listened as I muttered the details of every chore. I mumbled the procedures for front to finish of every action. I mentioned the "who" that belonged to the metal that I moved, "who" what needed "the extra piece of" and the where it was put. The dogs stood near to listen. They listened as I groaned beneath the burden of living the moment of others. They listened as I tore skin and broke nails and snapped bone to get the job done. They stood near enough to see and dashed far enough away with every event of slipped, dropped or missed element of my deeds. The dogs were the companions meant to speak of... and the men were gone.

The men were gone chaing dreams on distant lands wrent with wreckage what begged with relief payments in the event of rescue made by labor went to mend the need of the missing. Men tucked tail loaded to rail and plane. Men sped south to the hills of slipped turf and muddied trails. They went where ideals mentioned top dollar for volunteer efforts. The volunteer time, effort and skill of digging away turbulence, pulling free what dogs had found beneath construction built by other, now downed. The men, each bearing coveralls and dungarees with labled plates well above their knees what boasted company, corporate entity from whence they'd come; stood prepped to mix and mingle for having such a time. A good time spent. New friends they'd meet. Their pride to be lifted from the drudgery left back home. Dogs dug to point. Men pulled what they found.

In the mind the the who remained behind rolled the everpresent thought, "What will they do when I'm gone." They rolled in after rolling someone like me. They rolled her to as far away as the West coast, north of the southern spaces to where they'd now run. They rolled her and mostlikely, many more... since the early days, before my beginning. "We did them women here back in the day for sport. It was our game... campus "shot put." The women they'd done always left. They left for the safety given up when first they consented to "work the floor." They gave up and they left to get away from being worked as the floor of the men's new beginning in the event that could buy them temporary support... as long as they did not mind being worked. They "had to work OUT, or get dumped for the next one who would." The men left to run the lost regions taken by the "Act of God" upon those who deserved the acted event. They were gone and left her there... until their return... with the dogs who watched her every move. The dogs heard her every word. Like the dogs at the scene of chaos, the dogs watching her knew the outcome men sought to find. I put her bags in the car and rolled away one day.

When the men did return from a month or so at play, rescuing what and who the dogs had found in a swirl of turmoil where chaos ruled a community; they opened the door to ask "Where..." Only to be told in advance, "That girl is gone," by the dog standing closer than the rest.

By Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash

Short Story
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About the Creator

CarmenJimersonCross-Safieddine

A widow, sharing experiences. SHARING LIFE LIVED, things seen, lessons learned & spreading peace where I can.

Call me "Gina" ( pronounced "jeena" ) short for REGINA

more at my original page https://vocal.media/authors/carmen-jimerson-cross

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