Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
The ancient half-dead corpse look alike said nothing—just looked up at her with incredulous eyes, as if frozen in time. It was more than apparent that poor Melba was doing everything she could to have an excuse to get out of that hellish house, to try and connect with someone, anyone, so she could feel normal—even if it meant being scratched by feral cats and chased off a farm. She had poor social skills. Didn’t know how to talk to folks much, so she made a ruckus. All so she’d have someone to talk to. Someone who didn’t strike her and beat her down.
She must’ve felt mighty lonely when her friend had to be put in a nursin’ home, and the house I’m in afterwards went up for sale. Damn.
She glanced over at Melba who was blinking, and still looking out of it. Poet raced around, trying to figure out where the woman’s kitchen was. She finally found it. The floors were sticky, the sink full of dishes, and the trash toppling over. She navigated the mess, made her way to the refrigerator, and opened the freezer, which was packed with too many frozen meals to count. Most of them were covered in so much ice, they were certainly frost-burned. She weeded through them, found a bag of frozen peas, and placed it against Melba’s head. Melba’s eyes fluttered once again, then began to close.
“No, Melba, stay with me. Stay awake, now. Don’t fall asleep, baby.” With Melba leaning against her shoulder, Poet slipped her phone out from her pants pocket and dialed the police.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance over here, fast.” Her mouth felt dry, but she worked past that. “My name is Poet Constantine. My neighbor, Melba Johnson, who’s elderly, got hit pretty hard in the head with a big set of metal keys, and now she’s bleeding from the temple. I’m concerned she might have a concussion. She’s havin’ trouble focusing, speakin’, and stayin’ awake. Please hurry.”
“Ma’am, do you know how she was injured? Was she assaulted?”
“Yes. Her husband, Clyde Johnson, is also in need of medical care. He’s the one that assaulted her, I saw him do it. He appears to be sufferin’ from either dementia or Alzheimer’s, and seems to have many other health complications.”
The rest of the time was spent giving the address, answering basic questions, and waiting. Lifting Melba up from her slumped position, she placed her on her lap. Poet rubbed the poor old woman’s back, nice and gentle, and spoke close to her ear.
“Stay awake, Melba. Don’t fall asleep, honey. Help is on its way…”
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Bedtime Story and a True Tale
I wanna tell you a story… A story about a wolf and a river. There are many variations of this tale, versions that go as far back as the beginning of time. Fables from West Africa. There are old English parables of this account, too. Arabian stories and Nordic ones, to boot. The character names and specific creatures involved change from one place to another, but there’s always a body of water, for it’s the founder and the rebirth, and a mammal involved to lead the charge. Man. Hoofed creature. Woolly and fanged. My mama’s mama told me this story when I was a lil’ boy, and it goes a lil’ something like this…
There was a big gray wolf named Stone who lived in a beautiful, lush forest. How he came to live there is the real beauty. The magic. Stone lived in the wilderness out in the country, the leader of his pack, but he’d traveled far and wide to find a nice place for his family to settle. See, Stone had been lookin’ for the perfect place for him and his pack, and during his long travels, he came upon a river. When he stopped to drink in that river, he saw his reflection, and in that reflection he was smiling. To him, that was a sign. Then, the river spoke to him. The waters shifted and a melodic voice came from the depths, saying, ‘This will be your home. There will be blood. There will be rebirth. Two seasons. You must stay for each. If you stay through it all, you will be happy for the rest of your days.’
He did as the river advised. Sure enough, he was happy here. Yes, this was the perfect spot. Time went on, and the wolves had abundant food and lived in harmony. That same beautiful river ran through the middle of the entire wilderness, keeping them all hydrated and in good health. Every day, the wolves would go and play in the river, drink and get clean. Sometimes, they’d even get lucky and catch a fish.
There was also plenty of vegetation around that river, and things to eat such as berries and fresh, clean grass when their tummies were upset. For the longest, Stone and his pack lived in harmony with the Indians. The Indians left Stone alone, and he left them alone. But when the Indians were run out, their land stolen, and the settlers took over, things changed. It was no longer safe to go to the river anytime they pleased. It was no longer safe to go much of anywhere in the light of day, for the settlers feared the wolves, and were killing them.