Rainy S. Morning

alwriters:

In the back of Grampa’s closet lay the old gun case. It was covered in dust so thick the black case looked grey. “What’s inside?” MaryAnne asked as Dennis pulled it out of the closet.

“I dunno. Grampa yelled at me when I tried to ask him about it, and I’ve been too afraid to even look at it since. Grampa wasn’t the sort to have guns.” Dennis laid the case out on the ground and pulled out his pocket knife. He flipped out the blade and started picking at the lock.

“Do you think we should tell Dad?”

“Nah. He’ll probably take it away or something. Then again, I don’t know if even he would know what was inside.”

“So we should definately talk to him about it!” MaryAnne insisted.

The lock finally popped open…

 ——————-

The old pick-up truck rolled slowly up the long gravel driveway, and an elderly man leaned out the window, peering up at the mansion with dispair. “I should have told them, I should have told them,” he kept murmuring to himself. He parked the truck and slowly climbed out, and with the help of a cane he hobbled up the long walk to the front door. Slowly he slid a key into the lock and the door opened under his aged touch like an old friend.

In the parlor a woman in her early thirties lay sprawled on the couch. He stood in the door way, studying her a moment, then walked past. Down the hall he peered into the kitchen where her husband had colapsed on the floor, the preperations of a salad spilling across the room on top of him. He shook his head and continued on, making his slow, careful way to the stairs.

Each step creaked as he hauled himself up to it, then moaned in relaxation as he left it. It took him some time to climb the stairs, but he reached the top, pausing a minute to catch his breath.

To his right the master bedroom’s door was the only door open on the floor. He sighed and shook his head, and made his way over. “I should have told them,” he whispered to himself again. Inside the room a young teenage boy and an even younger girl slumped over on the carpet. In front of the boy proped open was an old gun case, but the foam matting held no impressions whatsoever. A strange scent lingered in the air. “Oh, Dennis, why couldn’t you have just left it alone? Why did you have to die?”

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I’m really having a lot of fun with these, I think. The prompts were fun just to write, but actually making a story out of them is just delightful. I don’t know how many of these that I finish will be short shorts, or how many are going to be mysteries or whatever, but I’ve got enough back stories for all three that I’ve writen thus far to expand quite a ways… It’s quite interesting.