Ergo, the Ogre

Author: Ergo, the Ogre

  • The Class of 51

    The Class of 51

    Picture it : 1966 in Arlington Heights, IL at Our Lady of Perpetual Angst Catholic School.

    Mrs. Ludy’s third grade class had been designing their special Valentine mailboxes all week. Snippets of red construction paper cut with blunt-nose scissors speckled the classroom floor. Tatters of paper lace doilies and glitter stuck to clothes and jackets while the aroma of Elmer’s School Paste permeated the air. The would-be pretty girl with matted hair who sat in the back of room was peeling dried paste off her fingers and eating it. Linda Conover was her name. She could really put away the paste.

    Finally, the big day arrived. The fancy, red mail satchels were securely fastened to each child’s desk with masking tape, awaiting the many cards and heart-shaped candies that were sure to be delivered. It was a class of fifty-two kids, so most of them fashioned their paper satchels extra large.

    Row by row, Mrs. Ludy allowed the students to deliver their Valentines. Of course it was mass confusion; much squealing and giggling ensued.

    One little girl sat quietly at her desk with a perplexed look on her face. Her chin quivered and her eyes welled with tears. She fought them, though. She’d be damned if she’d let anyone see her cry.  She was a quiet child who got along with everyone but wasn’t extra-chummy with anyone. Perhaps that was why there were only two Valentine’s in her satchel. One was from Mrs. Ludy, who pretty much had to give a card to everyone. The other was for another child that was mistakenly put in the wrong satchel. The little girl got up and delivered it to its rightful owner.

    One Valentine? And from the teacher!

    “How can this be?” she wondered. “I’d brought Valentine’s for everyone—even the yucky boys— but they all forgot me.”

    It didn’t seem real.

    Why would they do this? Was it a conspiracy? Do they hate me? But why?

    She watched in confused silence as her classmates ate candy, chattered and read their cards. Mrs. Ludy was grading papers or reading a magazine at her own desk and wasn’t paying attention.

    The little girl could just as easily not have been there, or even existed. She felt invisible.

    After about ten forevers, the school bell rang and it was time to go home. Fifty-one students packed up their Valentines and satchels and headed home. After they left, the fifty-second student ripped hers into quarters, then into eighths, and deposited the pieces carefully in the waste basket by the door.

    SusanWritesPrecise/TheAbjectMuse
  • Vulture

    Vulture

    It’s Fandango’s Flashback Friday! This little story was originally written for MindloveMisery’s Menagerie in 2018. And here it is again.

    A cackle of hyenas feasted off fresh carrion near the shoulder of Route 66. Turkey vultures circled high above in the Arizona sky, waiting their turn. Occasionally, one would squawk as if to remind the hyenas that the committee was hungry, too. The hyenas couldn’t have cared less, although the larger, dominant leader glanced up with a vociferous growl.

    A few miles west at a self-serve car wash, Tyler Vance was feverishly spraying the blood and guts from the grill of his Chrysler with cold water. The temperature regulator wasn’t working and there was no one there (luckily!) to ask. At least there was plenty of soap.

    He’d hit the brakes and swerved when he saw the old man in the road, but it was too late. The old guy’d been killed on impact. Tyler shuddered as he recalled the look of shock on the old man’s face as he bounced around on the hood, his face nearly touching the windshield. Luckily, he was so frail that damage to Tyler’s car was minimal.

    What was an old fart like that doing in the middle of Route 66, anyway? And where in the hell had he come from?

    Tylor wrestled with the idea of calling the police, but who needed the hassle? Plus, they might detain him and what if there was a trial? He had to be in LA tomorrow for a photo shoot. Nobody saw the accident. Screw it. He was in the clear.

    Satisfied that all traces of blood and guts were washed from his vehicle, Tyler resumed his journey to LA.

    After twenty or so miles down the road, Tyler spotted a hitchhiker. Getting bored with no one to talk to and scenes of the accident playing through his mind, Tyler welcomed the company. He pulled over and rolled the passenger-side window down.

    “Where ya goin’?”

    “San Francisco?” The hitchhiker responded — an aging hippie wearing a faded purple tie-dyed t-shirt, frayed bellbottom jeans and worn huarache sandals. His grey hair reached to the middle of his back.

    “I can take you as far as LA.”

    “Cool!” He opened the door and tossed his backpack in the back seat. “Name’s Harry.” He offered his hand to Tyler.

    “Tyler Vance.”

    They drove west chit-chatting about this and that. Finally, Tyler asked what Harry did for a living.

    “I’m a Chiromancer,” he replied with a nuanced grin that Tyler couldn’t quite read.

    “A what?”

    “Palm reader. I tell people’s fortune’s by the lines of their hands.”

    “Ah!” Tyler grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Okay…”

    “What?”

    “Oh, nothing!” Tyler explained. “It’s just that I’ve never been one for that hocus-pocus magic stuff.”

    “To each his own. All I know is that it’s put food on my table for the past thirty years.”

    “No shit?”

    “Pull over,” Harry said. “I’ll give you a quick reading.”

    “Okay,” Tyler shrugged. This’ll be good for a few laughs.

    He stopped the car on the side of the road and offered Harry his palm.

    Harry studied it, gently tracing the lines of Tyler’s palm with his finger. “Hmm….”

    “What?” Tyler asked. “What do you see?”

    “I see you’ve got blood on your hands. My father’s blood.”

    Tyler’s face went pale. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry.

    In the rear view mirror, Tyler saw the flashing red lights of several squad cars as they pulled up, sirens blaring.

    SusanWritesPrecise/Susan Marie Shuman
    Route 66

  • The Accident

    The Accident

    Welcome to MLMM Wordle challenge where you are invited to write a post or poem using the prompt words provided by Di, our host. Try to use them all, but if you can’t manage that, no matter, and aim for at least ten.
    Genre and style is up to you but please keep it family friendly, and if possible, post your response within seven days.
    Tag your contribution with MLMM, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and #Wordle, and remember to pingback to this post then leave a link to your work in the comments for others to read and enjoy.

    Today’s words to use:

    • stormy
    • let
    • drowning
    • future
    • dread
    • gasping
    • bleak
    • sleep
    • fast
    • rotate
    • alone
    • buried

    It was a gray and stormy afternoon on Cranberry Lake in Eagle River, Wisconsin. It was Eddie’s favorite fishing spot as his dad used to take him there every summer. Those were good, happy times as Eddie recalled. Well, until the day of the accident.

    Eddie looked up at the swollen dark rain clouds with dread as he turned the rowboat around and headed for shore. “Let it rain,” he shrugged. “There’s always tomorrow.”

    He was thinking about the accident now, replaying every bit of it in his mind.

    It was early in the morning, and they were the only ones on the lake as far as he could see. They’d brought Eddie’s little sister along that day, which Eddie knew was a big mistake. In the first place, Candyce was a girl which pretty much said it all. She was afraid of the night crawlers they used for bait, like most six-year-old girls. Candyce was a whiner, always had to go to the bathroom or was hungry. She couldn’t swim and refused to wear her life jacket. She didn’t like that it was orange, Candyce wanted pink or light purple.

    She also kept standing up in the boat no matter how many times their dad yelled at her. Finally, and predictably, Candyce dropped her Barbie doll overboard and fell in trying to reach for it. Somehow, she ended up underneath the boat. Dad dropped his fishing pole and jumped in after her. There was a lot of splashing and every so often one of them, or something, bumped the bottom of the boat.

    And then, there was silence. The water was calm. The sun continued its early morning rise as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Eddie sat alone in the boat, trying to think of what to do. This was before the days of cell phones and such so there was no way to call for help. Things were looking bleak.

    He started to panic and then hyperventilate. As he gasped for air, Eddie tried to calm himself. This never should have happened. Dad was in shape and too good a swimmer to even consider drowning. Okay, so how could it be that he was now buried underwater? And why haven’t either of them resurfaced? Maybe they got caught on something, but what?

    Eventually it dawned on Eddie to row the boat back to shore and get help. One of the oars was in the boat while other floated lazily on the water, just out of reach. He managed to grab it without tipping over and awkwardly began to row.

    Once back on dry land, Eddie relayed the series of events to the first person he saw. Soon, the place was swarming with cops and EMTs.

    While Eddie waited for his mom to show up, a few of the older fisherman sat with him. They started talking about this giant carp that was supposedly big enough to swallow a man. They called it “The Legend of Grandpappy.” One of the men claimed to have seen ol’ Grandpappy once, another added that he’d almost caught the giant fish, but his fishing pole had snapped in half during the struggle.

    “Just fisherman stories,” Eddie told himself.

    Their bodies were never recovered. The police wrote it off as an unfortunate accident.

    A loud clap of thunder jolted Eddie out of his reverie. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dirty, waterlogged plastic doll floating a few feet away. It’s hair was almost gone as were its clothes.

    Eddie stared at it for a moment, remembering. “Naaah! It couldn’t be…”

    Cranberry Lake | Eagle River, WI

  • SLS 02/02/25 | Mine Would Be You

    SLS 02/02/25 | Mine Would Be You

    This week at Song Lyric Sunday, Jim Adams has asked us to choose a song that talks about regret, feeling trapped, or stuck. I chose one of my favorites, Mine Would be You, by Blake Shelton.

    The Story

    According to SongFacts, this heartfelt song finds the narrator questioning a lover as to what her most memorable moments were, with the tag line to each being, “Mine would be you.” The final verse reveals that he is reminiscing about a past lost love. Shelton commented to Roughstock regarding this Deric Ruttan, Connie Harrington and Jessi Alexander penned tune: This is an incredibly well written and sexy song with a sad twist at the end. It’s just such a cool song, one of the best songs that I’ve ever had a chance to record. It’s just one of those songs that somebody plays at the Bluebird and the room stops and everybody has chills.

    • Shelton sings on this song about having a girl’s name tattooed on his arm. The Nashville star told CMT News that in reality he would never actually tattoo his wife Miranda Lambert’s name on his arm as he thought it to be bad luck. Shelton explained: It seems like anytime somebody gets a name – unless it’s their child or something – that always seems like a bad idea. But I will say that she and I did get our tattoos together, he added. So that counts a little bit. We actually went together, and that was kind of a date. That’s kind of what a date’s like for Miranda and me. The couple divorced in 2015, proving Shelton right about tattooing Lambert’s name.

    The Lyrics

    What's your all-time high, your good as it gets?
    Your hands down best ever make-up sex?
    What's your guilty pleasure, your old go to?
    Well, if you asked me, mine would be you

    What's your worst hangover, your best night yet?
    Your 90 proof, your Marlboro Red?
    The best damn thing you lucked into
    That's easy girl, mine would be you

    Mine would be you
    Sun keeps shinin', back road flyin'
    Singin' like crazy fools
    Makin' up our own words, laughin' 'til it hurts
    Baby, if I had to choose
    My best day ever, my finest hour
    My wildest dream come true
    Mine would be you

    What's your double dare, your go all in?
    The craziest thing you ever did?
    Plain as your name in this tattoo
    Look on my arm, mine would be you

    Mine would be you
    Sun keeps shinin', back road flyin'
    Singin' like crazy fools
    Makin' up our own words, laughin' 'til it hurts
    Baby, if I had to choose
    My best day ever, my finest hour
    My wildest dream come true
    Mine would be you

    What's the greatest chapter in your book?
    Are there pages where it hurts to look?
    What's the one regret you can't work through?
    You got it baby, mine would be you
    Yeah, you got it baby, mine would be you

    Mine would be you
    Taillights fadin', daylight breakin'
    Standing there like a fool
    When I should've been runnin', yellin' out somethin'
    To make you want to hold on to
    The best love ever, girl, can you tell me
    The one thing you'd rather die than lose?

    'Cause mine would be you
    Mine would be... you

    Songwriters: Connie Rae Harrington, Deric Ruttan, Jessi Leigh Alexander

    The Video

  • Skin

    Skin

    It’s time for Sunday’s Six Sentence Story over at GirlieOnTheEdge’s Blog. This week, our writing prompt is the word close.

    There was a time when I felt so close to you it was as if we shared the same skin. Remember how we’d finish each other’s sentences, think the same thoughts and want the same things? You seemed like a dream come true; the love I’d always dreamed of.

    It’s frightening how easily a dream can become a nightmare. One day when you thought I wasn’t looking, you shed your skin — just like a corn snake — and I saw the real you. The real you in the park, with your wife, 3.5 kids, and even the family dog.