This creative work is a parable based on a wild dream and only that. The violence depicted is not to condone or encourage violence but to allegorize the depths of anger that boils within the mind and heart of one who has suffered the devastating loss of a loved one.
Tonight’s the Night
“Tonight’s the night,” assailed through the air.
One friend to the other, nothing was clear.
They talked in the driveway, in front of my deck,
I sipped on my whiskey, only the best.
The light wind rustled the leaves all around,
cars passed by the drive, the noise of the town.
Above, unnoticed, I froze with intrigue
Their threatening words haunted Christmas Eve.
John asked, “Are we ready, does he suspect?”
They checked my front door, ten feet below deck.
Henry, the other man, said, “Not on a bet!
Jim’s lost in his grief, we must not forget!”
“Let’s go at midnight, bring ladder and gear,
Let’s light up Jim’s house for Christmas this year.”
Anger and grief blocked the truth from my ears,
I passed out flat drunk and dreamed in my chair.
Shadows of wind-whipped willows danced on the bedroom wall, outcast by the streetlamps. Jim peered through the downstairs sidelight as the clock struck eleven chimes.
"Why are they attacking me? I've done nothing to them. Was it the Fedex of John's I opened and discovered his secret? Does he think I care about his fetishes? Their house lights are shining bright. What are they planning? Two against one, are unfair odds, but I will be ready. I have nothing to lose since Joanie died."
Jim went to his room, pulled out his Thompson .45 Automatic, and felt the comfort of the cold metallic weight in his hand. The scent of gun oil, worthy of expensive potpourri, calmed his nerves. He slapped in the magazine, racked the slide, and chambered a round. With three beers from the fridge and two protein bars, he turned off all the lights. Ready, he walked upstairs and took up the station. The view out the French doors, over the dark deck, and down the driveway was perfect. He watched like a cop on a stakeout.
Midnight came, and Jim was alerted to movement from the left and right., His body tensed. Three shadows of men glided down his driveway. "There are three now? John, Henry, and Tim. Two were carrying a ladder. The neighbor's unwarranted assault had begun, and Jim took deep breaths to steady himself.
He moved downstairs with experienced stealth to the front door as the metal ladder clacked against the deck. Jim waited. Voices murmured, shoes squeaked, the ladder creaked, and Jim knew the time for action had come. They were intruders and meant him harm. Stand your ground laws sided with him.
Jim slung open the door, ran under the deck, and opened fire. Nine blasts echoed off the walls of the close-knit buildings. He dropped the empty clip, loaded another magazine, and circled into the driveway to scope the situation.
John moaned and writhed on the ground in a growing pool of blood. Henry hung upside down with his leg caught in the ladder. Blood cascaded down the tubular rungs like a terraced waterfall. His eyes stared into the void, lifeless. Tim crawled toward the flower garden beside the deck and left a trail of blood. Jim went after him.
Jim took in the scenario. He raised his gun to finish him when flashing red, blue, and green lights strobed on his face. His eyes followed strands of Christmas lights from the top rails of the deck, around Henry's body to the ground, and to John's convulsing hand.
Tim cried, "Man, what is wrong with you? It's Christmas!"
I woke in a fright and escaped from my chair.
My friend's gifted lights for Christmas was here.
Red, blue, and green twinkled the night,
My deck all alit and Christmassy bright.
“Tonight’s the night,” replayed through my head.
The love of my neighbors, I misunderstood.
How far have I fallen in grief and despair
that anger and vengeance are all I’ve held dear.
Awake and behold, the time has now come
To live in the present, it’s time to move on.
Bright hope for tomorrow, I am healed by their light,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a goodnight!
Coldplay- Christmas Lights
About the Creator
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. Scott Wade owns all work contained here.
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab