One Eye Yet Looks On Thee
This post is part of a fiction series. If this is your first visit to the series, please read the first post here: http://andrawatkins.com/2013/04/22/out-of-sight/ and the second post here: http://andrawatkins.com/2013/04/23/out-of-mind/ BEFORE reading today’s installment.
He took it all, my Ann included. Such an ass-wipe. YessiryessiryessirI’lldoanythingyouwantsir. People loved him. The right people, that is. Leaders. People with influence. Money. Connections.
The rest of them don’t matter, you know. One should only spend his time bullshitting the folks who matter. Remember that. It’s the only way to get ahead in life.
Where was I? Oh yes. Him.
I guess I knew he was a threat because he was me. His was a more high-minded approach. Pure enough to make me want to spit.
You get me, right? I see it in your eyes. I know you been there.
I saw how he clean-and-decented his way into things. A twist of my tactics. The sonofabitch meant the shit he spewed. Really admired those people who needed to be worshipped. And I couldn’t fight him, because I didn’t know how to beat snow white. My brand of warfare always capitalized on the weak in a man. The softness. The bits I could use.
I only had the tools in my own kit. The shit I was given, such as it was.
I had a good job. Did I mention that? An easy gig. Lots of authority. Good pay. A decent location. Reporting to all the right people.
He stole it.
All right. I’m being melodramatic. I give you that. Talking about this gets me kind of worked up. You’re a good one for listening. For being there. I appreciate that.
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yeah. He took my cushy position. It was sudden, really. One day, I had the thing locked up. The next, I was preparing my offices for his no-count ass.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Oh no.
I had to move back to hell. Well, not really hell, but The South. You know The South, right? I’m assuming you do, since we’re here right now and all.
So, I had to move poor Ann back to the blights of The South, in her compromised condition, with the bugs and the accents and the smothering air and what-all, and it’s no wonder that she died. Didn’t last two years, delicate Yankee that she was.
The only person I ever loved.
He had it coming, right? You believe in such a thing as murder by degrees?
Newer readers may not be prepared for my fiction. It’s dark, and I don’t always know where it’s heading when I start. Nevertheless, a series of fiction, for however long the voices hang around. Enjoy, and thank you for reading, for commenting and for spending time in my microscopic corner of the web.