Stories – Page 4 – tim mcmurdo

chicks in bikinis

Posted on January 26, 2012 by Tim McMurdo

Lena Sawyer saw herself as one hot chick. She knew deep down in her soul that she was a looker. Somebody that other, less fortunate creatures, couldn't help but follow with their eyes when she entered a room. Lena knew this without an ounce of conceit in her heart. She saw her attractiveness as a truth similar to the fact that we need air to breathe and that fish swim in water. Even now, she could see their heads turning to look at her as she crossed from the door to the counter to order her vanilla latte.

Lena had no idea that others laughed behind her back because she wasn't wearing the bottoms to her yellow polka dot bikini.

to switch or not to switch?

Posted on November 9, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

Claudine, are you going to switch over to Google+?

Oh, I don’t know. All of my friends are here and I like playing silly games about being a farmer.

You don’t! All of those Farmville requests drive me nuts. I’ve had it with Facebook. How many times do they have to mess with our security settings before they get it right? Besides, Google+ has some really cool features like Picassa, circles, and sparks.

Mia, none of our friends are there. We would be all alone. I would have to make new friends all over again.

Claudine, would that be such a bad thing? I’ve seen some of your friends. To be honest, making some new friends might not be such a bad thing for you. How many videos of talking cats do you need in one day?

pizza monster

Posted on October 17, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

Nobody knows where it came from. One day, it just showed up… squeaking and gibbering. The beast practically slobbered over the entire town as it worked its way from the suburbs, past the elementary school, the train station, and the library until it eventually made its way to the pizza place.

Once in side, the hairy animal ordered a slice with pepperoni and extra cheese, NY Style. A shake of salt, parmigiana cheese and a little red pepper flake finished his preparations and the beast was ready to chow down. He swallowed the pizza in four huge bites and washed it down with a cold lager.

He wasn't a dangerous monster, he just needed some pizza. Aren't we all a pizza monster on one day or another?

gangsta land

Posted on September 22, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

I imagine that all of the local "Family" has gotten together for a special occasion. Maybe one of their daughters is getting married. The family gathers around and celebrates. After the festivities are well underway, the bosses slip to library located in the back of the house and discuss business. You had just better hope that it is not your business that they are pondering over.

a visit from bea

Posted on September 11, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

Jeanne liked Beatrice Miller. She was her favorite niece and everybody called her Bea. The young woman was good company and good help. She had been staying the week and helping her aunt Jeanne with the late summer canning. Today had been applesauce and green beans. Yesterday was the last of the ripe tomatoes. While the jars cooled, the two talked and knitted socks. Bea was full of the news of friends and family.

There were new babies. The Harpers had a new buggy they had bought in Columbus. Columbus! More than three days ride. Jeanne had always wanted to visit Columbus, the state capitol. Dayton was the biggest city that she had ever seen and Columbus was almost unimaginable.

As Bea chatted away, Jeanne's hands flew. The needles clicked quietly as the sock grew in length. This was a fine way to spend the afternoon. Her chores were much more enjoyable with good company. As the time flew by, Jeanne learned that the Methodist church had decided to finish their bell tower with a tall steeple. Evidently, the money to finish the construction was being donated by Emmet Durney, a man that Jeanne did not know. The Clausons were Episcopalians and did not attend the same church.

"Bea, who is this young man? What do you know of him? I do not know the family."

"He is a farmer like Papa. His parents, the Durney's have a large farm out towards Huber. Papa says that they have almost two thousand acres. Can you imagine?"

"That is a lot of land. I don't know that we would know how to work it. I think that I like our farm just the size that it is."

"Auntie, they have paid families that help them to work the farm. I think they must be rich. Emmet must have his own too. Wealthy enough that he provided the money to finish two other projects as well. A new window in the vestibule and benches in the choir loft. And auntie Jeanne, he is handsome and has pretty blue eyes!"

Jeanne laughed, did her niece feel some tenderness for the man? When Jeanne asked, the child blushed crimson and smiled. Jeanne knew most of the influential families in the area. Why was she not familiar with the young man?

"Young Mr. Emmet has his own farm?"

"Oh yes, he bought it after he returned from the war. I think you know of the place. Along the national road outside of Donnelsville, the farm lane has two large cedars near the road.

Jeanne knew the farm but did not know that it had recently changed hands. The old man that lived there had passed away two years past. She supposed that his wife must have moved in with family and had decided to sell the farm.

"The war has been over for six years now. Has Mr. Durney been living with his parents since his return?"

"Oh no ma'am, he only returned in March of last year and bought the farm straight away. Some say that he tarried in Atlanta and Chattanooga after the war. I can not imagine why. I would turn my horse to ruin trying to get home. I would miss Mama and Papa far too much to linger."

With that said, Jeanne looked at the watch pinned to her apron and stood up. Placing her unfinished sock in a basket along with the yarn, Jeanne turned towards the pantry.

"That will have to be the last of young Mr. Emmet Durney for today, child. It is time that we started the biscuits for dinner. Your uncle will be hungry when he brings the horses in. Will you fetch Stella from the barn while I get things started? Bring in milk and butter from the spring house on your way back."

As her niece closed the door behind her, Jeanne forgot about Emmet Durney and started to gather flour, bowls and her rolling pin. There was work to do.

I would like to thank you for reading along as my imagination creates the story surrounding the death of Ellie Clauson. Thank you for your support, encouragement and kind comments. You can find the previous parts of the stories here in chronological order (not the order that I wrote and posted them):

my dearest sister

Posted on September 5, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

Mary Waithe sat down and held the letter in her grasp and looked at the heavy wax seal. The ivory linen paper trembled slightly as her excitement got the best of her. She had not heard head nor tail from her brother in over a month and she had been frightfully worried that something terrible had befallen him. What foolishness had driven him to join St. Claire in the wilderness of Ohio? Home and safe was where he belonged, not tramping around in the forests chasing Little Turtle and his band of savages.

William's early missives overflowed with excitement as he anticipated the adventure ahead of him. He would spend his ink and paper describing the men that had joined them. Admiration and expectation had clearly been upon his mind.

His last post had been more down to earth as if the varnish of his new life had begun to wear thin with the exhaustion brought on by endless treks, hard labour and boredom. Mary's heart wanted to beg him to come home, while her hand had written words of encouragement. Perhaps this letter would bring better news. Could she hope that he had come to his senses and had decided to return home?

Fort Jefferson, Ohio

November 6th, 1791

My dearest sister,

I received your letter of the 14th of October and have read it many times this day. Until tonight, I have not had the opportunity to return your warm and encouraging words as we have been unable to make Fort Jefferson until yesterday evening. I know that you are near death with worry from my imposed silence and would remove that fear immediately. I am well enough given the disastrous turn that our fortunes have taken. I assure you that I am well, though you will suffer for hearing our tale.

After much delay and desertion our army was encamped upon the Wabash river in the Ohio territory on the third of this month. Throughout the evening we had glimpses of the Miamee and Shawnee that have been harassing us since we left Fort Washington. The savages have been devilishly sly and refused to give battle, instead using ambuscade to bleed us as would leaches on an infected wound.

We were in the midst of breaking fast on the morning of the 4th when Little Turtle's men finally decided to stand and fight, attacking us with more than a thousand men. Our pickets were overwhelmed in an instant and the whooping, screaming devils were amongst us before we could prepare a defense. Those worthless cowards of the Kentucky militia fled instantly, while Genl St Clair struggled to rally the rest of us. That worthy leader would have three horses shot out from beneath him before we would quit the pasture that had been a quiet camp the night before. I cannot allow my thoughts to dwell on the wretched dead and wounded that we left lying for the not so tender mercies of our enemies. Those deamons pursued us hotly for many hours until turning back to begin the molestation of our unfortunate brothers.

Of our force of more than one thousand, we now number scantly more than two hundred souls. Less than a handful can be counted as unscathed. I must confess that I am bandaged about the head. Do not worry as I have suffered more at your own hands while pinching a cookie from your dish. I fear that I cannot offer good news of young John Miles as none have had any view of him since breakfast of that calamitous morning. I fear that he is lost and know that his mother and sisters will suffer greatly at this news.

We expect to return to Fort Washington soon and from there to be disbanded. With the strength of our Lord at my side, I shall be home before the new year.

As ever your devoted brother,

William

The ink stained letter sliped from her hand to the table as Mary's limp form slumped in her chair. Though her dear brother William would be home soon, the details surrounding the news was too much for her to take in and she became overwhelmed by emotions. Mary would spend the following day abed before strength would return to her limbs once more.

hello shelly anne

Posted on August 18, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

The old woman's chest rose and fell in shallow swells as she lay on the hard bed in the sparse room. A small oscillating fan attempted in vain to move the heat around to no avail. Instead the warmth was just chased from one corner to the next. Two marginally younger women sat quietly next to her. Bent in prayer, their mouths formed the shapes of the words in silence, though he could clearly understand their thoughts. Slowly and deliberately their hands traced the lines of the beads that meant so much to them. These women called the old one "Mother". Most of her life, she had been called "Sister". If he could form such a relationship, he supposed that he would call her daughter more than either of the other two.

He looked forward to speaking with her for the first time. So many questions he wanted to ask for so many reasons. He had not known her long, though in truth he knew her much longer than any of the others. Still 93 years was only a moment. The old woman had managed to fill the short life with so much living as she had shaped the world and the lives around her through her iron will and unshakeable faith.

He remembered the day she faced down the Tonton Macoute officer in 1964. He thought that he would need to step in on the woman's behalf but the officer had been intimidated by the courage she had shown and had ordered his men to spare the orphanage and the children living in it. The machetes would not be used that day. When he had left, the woman's small frame betrayed her and she staggered as her body finally shook with the fear that she dared not show in front of the man. When he thought that he would need to support her, she had straightened her own body and slowly walked into the building where she collapsed into a chair and wept.

He would not have to wait much longer. The woman's time was almost at hand. She had faced her own death with grace and courage just as she had almost everything in her life. He wondered what she would say to him? Though she had never indicated that she knew, he had no doubt that she felt he was there and had always known.

His thoughts turned to the whirlwind of energy that she had been when she was just six and those that knew her called her Shelly Anne. She had forbidden her father from putting down the sickly lamb, promising to care for it and to bring it back to health. Like every promise that she had made during her life, she was true to her word and soon the lamb was running around the pasture with the others. At that moment, he knew she was to be different and that he would have his hands full.

Since she had reached the age of 26, when the plain gold ring had been placed on her finger, the world had called her Margaret Frances. He knew that she had always continued to think of herself by the old name. To him, she was simply "Her". He did not need a name to know her.

Now at 93, on a Tuesday afternoon, six days after the anniversary of her birth, the old woman took a deep, final breath and as the air sighed out of her settling lungs, he turned to face her. To greet her for the first time.

god, king, and country

Posted on August 10, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

Leftenant Stewart Copeland of the King's Own, 5th Hussars didn't see himself as a hero. He was only a soldier with a job to do. He had men that counted on him and expected him to make the right decisions at the right time and hopefully get them all out alive.

The enemy had shown up in force, appearing in long dark lines across the field of battle. They were here for the same reason, doing their own duty to their god, their king, and their country.

It was Copeland's duty to be the first out of the trenches, leading from the front. How he wished that he could be in the rear, cozy and safe from the enemy.

The mission was a good one and the planning was sound. They had practiced and rehearsed until every man knew his job inside and out. Copeland looked at his watch one more time. Midnight and time to go. Silently, the Leftenant slipped over the top of the trench and led his men into no man's land. Ready or not, they were on their way. To glory or to their death.

i do know one thing

Posted on August 8, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

I don't know this man from Adam's house cat. He could be a crazy old coot for all that I know. I don't think that he is a crazy old coot. I'm just saying that I don't know much about him.

He seemed to have a cool sense of humor. But, who knows? Maybe he just liked pretending that he liked to laugh.

He seemed to know a lot about the farm. You never know, he might have been making up the answers to pull my leg. If he was pulling my leg, that could be evidence that he does have a good sense of humor. Still, I have no real idea. I only met him once and we only spoke for a few minutes.

He seemed thoughtful. However, how do you know if somebody is thoughtful or if their mind is just wandering. When he got that far off distant look, he might have been imagining himself on a beach in the Bahamas.

He gave the appearance of being an open and honest type. The problem is that I am part of a generation that no longer takes things at face value. We are jaded and doubtful of anything that we can't poke and prod to see if it is genuine. We have passed that attitude along to our children. To me, that is kind of sad…. not being able to take people at face value.

I wish that I were part of a generation that was filled with hope and had the ability to believe in people and causes and nations without needing a test of faith. Unfortunately, I am not and as a result, I believe what I can see and touch. And so, what can I tell you of this man without reservation? Is there anything that I can say about him and be sure that I am not wrong?

Well, I can tell you one thing for sure. This man with such character in his eyes and open expression on his face likes lemonade. That I know. He likes lemonade.

maria spelterini wanted to fly

Posted on August 6, 2011 by Tim McMurdo

Moths and butterflies flew. Flies, beetles, and gnats could fly as well. Why couldn't spiders? This was a question that Maria asked all the time she grew up. Her mother didn't have much patience with the question. She wanted Maria to be happy as a spider, just like all of her 836 brothers and sisters. Her mother always answered by asking Maria why she had to be different? Having eight legs and the ability to spin webs didn't make her special enough?

The lack of positive support didn't change the fact that Maria dreamed of flying. She would watch all the winged bugs fly overhead and dream. Maria just knew that, if she could fly, she would be able to see the world outside of the window that her family lived on. She would be able to sail from one end of the skies to another.

Sometimes Maria dwelled on the thought of flying for days on end and would forget to eat. With that in mind, Maria's family never knew that Maria had figured out how to solve the problem. Before they knew what was happening, it was too late.

On a warm summer day Maria climbed to the top of the window and spun a single silken thread. She spun and spun until the thin line reached below the windowsill. When the thread became long enough, the breeze caught it and began to tug at Maria, holding tight to the other end. Maria spun faster and faster as excitement built inside of her. When she thought that she could spin no longer, a strong gust grabbed ahold of the gossamer thread and Maria was airborne in a single incredible jerk.

Maria's thread was like a kite in the wind. She rose faster than she could ever have imagined. Her home on the window, next to the dirty glass, grew smaller and smaller until it vanished from sight. Soon, Maria was flying over ponds, fields and forests. Maria's dream had come true, she was flying! She passed all of the other bugs, waving and grinning. "I am flying, I am flying!" Maria would gleefully shout as she wizzed by them on the wind… flying!

As Maria disappeared from sight, her mother shook her head. That child is crazy, she thought. Who ever heard of a flying spider?

Have you ever heard of a flying spider? If you have, I'll bet it was Maria. She is out there someplace. If you are lucky enough to see her dangling from her silky thread, wave at the spider and shout; "Go Maria, go! Live your dreams girl. Fly from one end of the sky to the other!"

If you listen very quietly, you will hear a small giggle as Maria Spelterini, the flying spider, follows her dream.