Erased, a novel
Chapter 9- Fanmail
Wood- There's a difference between a prank and a bluff. Most people can tell them apart, but I was holding the letter Morgan Johnson had written to Kayla in my palm not very sure which one it was. He'd signed, your father, and that felt like a prank. The stuff it contained, struck me more like a bluff. I'd never violated my wife's privacy before, but I felt no regret. It was an interception I was sure God himself had permitted. I was surprise by his writing. It was short and direct; even simple, but he was no common man. I hadn't learned much about the guy. All I knew of him was limited to his flaws, and I'd seen enough of all the hell they'd caused to weaken my view on him. All his good writing couldn't change my natural reaction which was to ball it up. I'd gone into the bathroom with the letter although I knew my wife wouldn't be back for some time. In a split second I'd changed my mind and reopened the letter, tore it into pieces and flushed it down the toilet. As one small piece resurfaced and floated still, I hoped none of this would. I flushed again, waited to see it drift away, and then washed my face. Most of what bothered me was that I'd made the suggestion that Kayla write her first book, and I had personally led her to Simpleton and Fisher. If all Morgan's suspicions were correct, I didn't know how I would face myself. The first real question I had to ask was, "How credible is this guy?". The next one was, "How likely are these predictions?" or were they just suspicions. And still an important question was, whether or not he was just trying to get to Kayla. That was the question that made everything feel like a bluff. Yet, I got the feeling I wasn't suppose to sit on any of my concerns. I stepped out of the bathroom feeling just a little shorter, and not entirely sure how or when we'd merged on to a definite expressway. I tried to use my internal devices to gauge the rate of speed on the level I'd just been introduced to. My first thought was to call Rick. Still after all that had been said, I felt I could trust him. Instead I found myself searching for notebook paper. My second thought was to return the letter.
I wrote just a few lines. I wanted to introduce myself, and send a clear message that I was the one if any Morgan should contact. Next I needed to establish some contacts. I thought if he really did know as much as he wanted Kayla to believe, he could get me to some of the right people. I ended the letter cordially but not friendly. I folded the two sheets and put them in my shirt pocket. On the way out, I passed the pile of mail I'd taken the letter from. Most of it was addressed to Kayla's fanmail address. It was a steadily growing pile that she always grouped together with the salon mail. I'd been keeping my eyes on it, but I'd never been compelled before now to sort through it. I stopped and made the stack tidy again as I forgot about why I'd touched it in the first place. Certainly I'd gotten what I needed, and now the pile didn't look so tempting.
Chapter 10- Damn Bird
Mr.Wells- I stepped into this world with just a backpack and a small duffle I carry on my shoulder. No doubt it keeps you somewhat off balance, but I've learned balance is something you carry in your head. If not, no matter where you find yourself, you can get ran over. My balance keeps me moving. Never looking at anything from the same angle for too long. Whether it's a shift from east to west, or just a change in heights, I keep adjusting. And today was no different. I usually wear a shirt two days in a row before I rinse it through, but today a bird got me. It was a fresh shirt. At first I thought, "Damn Bird!" until a girl sitting just a shout to my left told me it was a sign of good things to come. It was no spectacle, any of the people in the nameless circles I saw around me could adjust your view in a moment's notice. It's easy if you understand that no one person can carry all of God. I always understood that, and I didn't have to come here to register it, but still I'd ended up here. And even the word "here" was calling for me to adjust my view. I'd thought about it, but it was only a suggestion, and I didn't submit to all suggestions. I thought to let it naturally adjust; like the way your eyes do when they open to a bright lit room; in a sudden and not over thought way. This was the only way I'd ever wanted to evolve. And perhaps my life knew this was the preferred way; the way one after another things went from stable to unstable; much like today. See, hope is unstable from any height. Even the hope that comes from a bird's poop. It makes your glances deeper, your steps quicker, and your hearing sharper. It breaks up the death of these circles, and forces you to see new roads. I could have kept sitting; I'd found the sweetest shade just moments earlier, but now I was moving again. All thanks to hope and balance.
Erased, a novel
Copyright 2018 by Natisha Renee Williams
Grace Call Communications, LLC Copyright 2018
Chapter 9- Fanmail
Wood- There's a difference between a prank and a bluff. Most people can tell them apart, but I was holding the letter Morgan Johnson had written to Kayla in my palm not very sure which one it was. He'd signed, your father, and that felt like a prank. The stuff it contained, struck me more like a bluff. I'd never violated my wife's privacy before, but I felt no regret. It was an interception I was sure God himself had permitted. I was surprise by his writing. It was short and direct; even simple, but he was no common man. I hadn't learned much about the guy. All I knew of him was limited to his flaws, and I'd seen enough of all the hell they'd caused to weaken my view on him. All his good writing couldn't change my natural reaction which was to ball it up. I'd gone into the bathroom with the letter although I knew my wife wouldn't be back for some time. In a split second I'd changed my mind and reopened the letter, tore it into pieces and flushed it down the toilet. As one small piece resurfaced and floated still, I hoped none of this would. I flushed again, waited to see it drift away, and then washed my face. Most of what bothered me was that I'd made the suggestion that Kayla write her first book, and I had personally led her to Simpleton and Fisher. If all Morgan's suspicions were correct, I didn't know how I would face myself. The first real question I had to ask was, "How credible is this guy?". The next one was, "How likely are these predictions?" or were they just suspicions. And still an important question was, whether or not he was just trying to get to Kayla. That was the question that made everything feel like a bluff. Yet, I got the feeling I wasn't suppose to sit on any of my concerns. I stepped out of the bathroom feeling just a little shorter, and not entirely sure how or when we'd merged on to a definite expressway. I tried to use my internal devices to gauge the rate of speed on the level I'd just been introduced to. My first thought was to call Rick. Still after all that had been said, I felt I could trust him. Instead I found myself searching for notebook paper. My second thought was to return the letter.
I wrote just a few lines. I wanted to introduce myself, and send a clear message that I was the one if any Morgan should contact. Next I needed to establish some contacts. I thought if he really did know as much as he wanted Kayla to believe, he could get me to some of the right people. I ended the letter cordially but not friendly. I folded the two sheets and put them in my shirt pocket. On the way out, I passed the pile of mail I'd taken the letter from. Most of it was addressed to Kayla's fanmail address. It was a steadily growing pile that she always grouped together with the salon mail. I'd been keeping my eyes on it, but I'd never been compelled before now to sort through it. I stopped and made the stack tidy again as I forgot about why I'd touched it in the first place. Certainly I'd gotten what I needed, and now the pile didn't look so tempting.
Chapter 10- Damn Bird
Mr.Wells- I stepped into this world with just a backpack and a small duffle I carry on my shoulder. No doubt it keeps you somewhat off balance, but I've learned balance is something you carry in your head. If not, no matter where you find yourself, you can get ran over. My balance keeps me moving. Never looking at anything from the same angle for too long. Whether it's a shift from east to west, or just a change in heights, I keep adjusting. And today was no different. I usually wear a shirt two days in a row before I rinse it through, but today a bird got me. It was a fresh shirt. At first I thought, "Damn Bird!" until a girl sitting just a shout to my left told me it was a sign of good things to come. It was no spectacle, any of the people in the nameless circles I saw around me could adjust your view in a moment's notice. It's easy if you understand that no one person can carry all of God. I always understood that, and I didn't have to come here to register it, but still I'd ended up here. And even the word "here" was calling for me to adjust my view. I'd thought about it, but it was only a suggestion, and I didn't submit to all suggestions. I thought to let it naturally adjust; like the way your eyes do when they open to a bright lit room; in a sudden and not over thought way. This was the only way I'd ever wanted to evolve. And perhaps my life knew this was the preferred way; the way one after another things went from stable to unstable; much like today. See, hope is unstable from any height. Even the hope that comes from a bird's poop. It makes your glances deeper, your steps quicker, and your hearing sharper. It breaks up the death of these circles, and forces you to see new roads. I could have kept sitting; I'd found the sweetest shade just moments earlier, but now I was moving again. All thanks to hope and balance.
Erased, a novel
Copyright 2018 by Natisha Renee Williams
Grace Call Communications, LLC Copyright 2018
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