A silhouette in the form of a large man, stooped over at the shoulders, staggered in a zigzag path until it vanished behind the building. The street light didn't extend far enough for me to see any other details, and the low November clouds made things worse.
I walked toward the waiting boys. They all leaned against the back of a mid-nineties Corolla until they saw me approach. Then they stood upright and moved to a line on the sidewalk like soldiers awaiting inspection.
I called Mary's phone while still in the parking lot of the sheriff's office. We agreed to meet an hour later. It was already nearly six o'clock and the street lights were on. I took advantage of the chance to stop by the local convenience store for food. A couple of slices of hamburger pizza and a fountain drink and it was time to drive out to the meeting.
The sheriff's office started life as a small office building. The brick walls of the old building looked much like they would have in the sixties. The thicker concrete walls and grate-covered windows in the back had been added later. A high fence surrounded the motor pool and the jail area. At least there was plenty of parking in the well-lit front.
The farm looked like I imagined it: a small barn, a dilapidated corn crib, a couple of matching sheds, and a dying four-square farmhouse. The timbers of all the buildings sagged; gray covered the wood. The overcast November afternoon didn't help.
Every day, I run a small program that generates a To-Do list. It pre-populates the standard, daily tasks. It has a few tasks that vary based on the day of the week. Then, I add a few things that are one-offs or other things that aren't worth coding for. At the top of the list there is a line that reads "REMINDER: See to yourself first!" For some reason, I still neglect to do some of the things that are in the best interest of my overall well being.
Survivor and Victim each went for a walk down their lonely roads. Soon after starting, each encountered a rain shower.
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The pandemic provided plenty of time to proceed with projects, but I also need breaks. A local television station shows the old Bewitched program during my lunch time. Watching the show brought up some good questions about why the witches and humans have the relationships that they do. That made me wonder: how does that relate to my characters?
I'm writing a short story set in a world I've played with for years. It seemed a good story with relatable characters. I started. Part of it made sense to me; I know the back story. The average reader wouldn't know that, so it needed detail. Now there's this other thing, and another thing, and so on. The short story is no longer short.
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