Rusty Tin Can – For Speakeasy

SPEAKEASY CHALLENGE #102 – These are the firm submission guidelines-

  • your post must be dated March 24, or later
  • the speakeasy is designed for submissions written specifically for the grid. Please do not submit an entry if you intend to showcase it to another blog link-up, ‘cuz we’ll be forced to remove it like an old horseshoe.
  • though your post is NOT about the photo you must make some reference to it
  • you must start with the first line our last winner, Suzanne, has provided. “It was impossible.” Please do not post explanations, qualifications or other stuff prior to this sentence. If you need to clarify anything, feel free to do so briefly (like really briefly) at the end.
  • your post is either fiction or poetry, including fictional accounts of true stories
  • keep it 500 words or less

prompt3

It was impossible.

Three words that repeated themselves, over the last two weeks.

Patricia was exhausted, sleep deprived from the reoccurring nightmare that invaded her brain night after night.  I’m overtired, too much crap at work, plus Josh having the damn flue, I’m losing it. Ed already looks at me weird, get a grip, idiot.

The phone rang startling her, disturbing her thoughts.

“Hello”.

“Mrs. Knights?”

“Yes speaking”.

“My name is Angela from the Calista Farm and Entertainment Park, we found a purse which we believe is yours. Someone handed it in, I don’t know if any…”

“Oh thank you so much”, Patricia interrupted, I’d given up getting it back, I can collect it now if you’re open”?

“Yes, but we close at 4”.

“I’ll be there in an hour, thanks so much for ringing”.

Patricia hung up and climbed the stairs to wake Josh from his nap, she knew he wouldn’t be happy but he’d fall asleep in the car and she was pressed for time.

The uneasy feeling returned, her breathing became laboured.

Cut it out you idiot, they’ll lock you away if you keep this up.

The drive over calmed her, Santana played gentle guitar rifts with Josh quietly asleep in the backseat.

She reached the park. Grabbing her very disgruntled son, she hoisted him onto her left shoulder and walked to the entrance.

“Hi, I’m Patricia Knights, Angela phoned me about my…”?

“Yes I’m Angela, here it is, at least it was given back, pains aren’t they.”

“Yep, so annoying having to cancel the damn cards, wasn’t much money in it anyway, Patricia laughed. Thanks again for letting me know, really appreciate your honesty”, she said before walking back to her car.

Fear struck her, she stood transfixed gazing towards the barn.

“Bloody hell, this is ridiculous”,  shaking her head trying to negate the uncertain feelings that rose.

She put Josh into the car seat and started rummaging through her purse to see what,  if anything had been stolen.

In the notes pocket she pulled out a slip of paper, not her handwriting, not Edwards.

She read the words out loud.

Are you crazy? Come back to the barn”.

Patricia’s eyes hit the barn door.

“What the hell is this?”

Making sure Josh was settled with the window partially down, she strode determinedly towards the barn.

She hesitated, glued to the gravel path beneath her.

Stop being so pathetic, what on earth are you afraid of, we were here two weeks ago, hell knows why I’ve been dreaming shit about this place, but I’m ending it now.

She walked in, the same worker was there from their previous visit, working again on the anvil, hammer and chisel in hand.

His raised his head in acknowledgment of her being there.

All she saw was the rusted tin can and the bloodied finger bone he was neatly carving, a caustic smile spread across his face

She hit the floor.

For Speakeasy – my 1st submission – 491 words. Posted 28th March, 2013.

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