For those of you who may have forgotten, I actually occasionally write stories and post them here. I know it's been mostly music posts for awhile now, but that's all I've had time for. Recently, I wrote these 4 extremely short pieces which I hope you'll enjoy. If you don't enjoy them, please don't tell me. I'd rather not know. If you liked any one of them, please let me know. It's encouraging, ya know? Here goes nothing... ~ JH
I was convicted in a court of law by a jury of my peers for – well, you don't need to know why. I was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of – I can't even say the word. The thing is, I'm innocent of the – but then everyone says that, don't they? But they'll see, they'll find out they were – I don't even think "wrong" is the appropriate word. I'll never give up hope that one day – that's a laugh, isn't it? The law may say I'll never get out of – but what do they know, they're the ones that put me in here in the first place! The evidence will surface, sooner or – how much time will have elapsed in the interim? I'm so weary of –
UNDERWEAR IS FOR SISSIES!
I'm not wearing underwear today, and you can't make me! Who do you think you are, anyway? You're not the boss of me, you just act like you are! Besides, underwear is for sissies! I'm not a sissy, I'm a big boy! I don't care if you tell Mommy or not. She can't make me wear 'em either! And if she does make me wear 'em, I'll just take 'em off as soon as I get to daycare. I'll show her. I'll show all of you! My name is Captain Commando! I can do whatever I want. I'm three years old!
I can feel my pulse and hear my labored breathing. I'm thinking, so my brain must still be functioning. I can't move my arms or my legs. It's soft underneath me, but maybe that's just the blood pooling up to form a cushion. (Is that even possible?) I don't know what's happened, but I know it isn't good. If only I could remember five minutes ago. Or five hours, or five years. Five seconds ago, I opened my eyes to this. The sky above, my lifeblood beneath. If I manage to get out of here alive, I'll be extremely surprised. And more than a bit relieved.
IT HITS THE FAN
The count is 0 and 1. Wilkinson is hitting just .246 with runners in scoring position this season. Here's the pitch. A ball inside, it's 1 and 1. Tied ballgame, bottom half of the 9th inning, Walt Wilkinson at the plate, runners are at the corners. The pitch. He swings and fouls it off down the first base side. Looks like a souvenir for some lucky fan. Oh, and it hits the fan! Oh my goodness, that was ugly! I hope that gentleman is all right. Oh, wait! Is that his eyeball? No, it can't – oh my goodness, the baseball must have hit the fan squarely in the face, and it appears, folks, that the gentleman's eyeball is hanging from its socket. Can we see that on instant replay, guys? Okay, I'm told they're working on that. Try to slow it down frame-by-frame, guys. My, my, my! Our thoughts and prayers go out to that young man and his dangling eyeball. The count is 1 and 2 to Wilkinson…