Stop It! Stop It! Stop It!


Another school shooting just a while ago, here in Indiana, this time. Noblesville  is the city.

I am so tired of this needless killing.

https://www.cnn.com/2018/05/25/us/indiana-school-shots-fired/index.html

 

I am actually tired of hearing politicians say,” I am praying for this family.” YES! we need prayers. What person doesn’t?

We need help!!! Get off your butts you politicians and make something happen. How would you feel it it was your kids or grandchildren? Would you do more than pray?

Pay for more police on school grounds. Pay for mental health clinics. Pay for therapies. Do something! We will pray with you, for you. We will stand by you, for you. Just help us by making this stop.

#Governor Eric Holcomb, Indiana

#Vice President, Mike Pence

#President, Donald Trump

Daily Prompt/ One Word Prompt


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/luminescent/

The word for today is, luminescent

Luminescent things glow with light. The illuminated screens of your laptop and TV are both luminescent.

And the world could not take anymore. And it began to heat until the grounds bubbled from within. Rockets of water underground burst up as if the knob was turned full force on the hydrant.

And the sin that ravaged through the earth was sucked down into big valleys that opened wide.

And out of the skies, an luminescent light glowed. And all of the people that knew what this represented, knelt down and awaited for their souls to be lifted up unto the heavens.

 

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Daily Prompt/ One Word Prompt


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/incubate/

The word for today is; Incubate

verb
  1. (of a bird) sit on (eggs) in order to keep them warm and bring them to hatching

Can I exchange a bird and an egg for a person and a life? I consider what I did, in a way, incubating.

My mother passed away quite suddenly. She was a God-fearing, loving and kind woman. She helped open a Women’s shelter here in Warsaw. She and my dad used their own funds and bought an old camper. They gutted it and installed everything needed to make funnel cakes. They traveled to the small-town fairs and sold these goodies and donated all the funds, including the monies to purchase ingredients, to the Beaman Home. She helped people and never let on she was helping them.

https://www.thebeamanhome.com/

She never smoked. I heard her swear once and it was only the word, shit. At the age of sixty-two, she had a sudden Anneurysm.

https://www.webmd.com/brain/brain-aneurysm#1

None of us could help her. She passed away.

I also took care of my dad who had Multiple Myeloma and Leukemia with a little bit of Parkinson’s mixed in.

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/multiple-myeloma/symptoms-causes/syc-20353378

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/leukemia/symptoms-causes/syc-20374373

His illness lasted about one year and then he passed. I did all I could, but God wanted him worse.

Then there was my brother. A mentally challenged man who had one heart attack and then Multiple System Atrophy hit him big.

Multiple system atrophy (MSA), also known as Shy–Drager syndrome, is a rare neurodegenerative disorder characterized by tremors, slow movement, muscle rigidity, and postural instability (collectively known as parkinsonism) due to dysfunction of the autonomic nervous system, and ataxia.

(It is kind of creepy and a little scary for me to read back that definition of MSA. I too, have a neurological disease. My doctor can’t decide if I have my brother’s illness or not. He says in time he will be able to tell. My diagnosis is; Parkinsonism/Dystonia/Ataxia. You can probably understand my fear.)

When my brother had this terrible illness and on top of all the other stuff he had went through, I decided to incubate any time we had left, which ended up being seven years, the general amount of life time on this particular illness.

I paid close attention, more than my dad I think, to every feeling, need and want he wanted. I spoiled him rotten. I made sure he had the best doctors we could find and afford. I fed him healthy foods. I told him many times how important he was to me and how much I loved having him for a brother.

I was drained and tired and physically in not the best shape when he passed; but I wouldn’t trade a moment. I have beautiful memories of his and my time together. I shed tears still, but not as often. He will be gone from my vision four years, March 24th, 2018. I feel like I incubated and watched over his days and nights until he was ready to be born into God’s hands.

March is Awareness month, and I am still  praying for a cure. Purple is the color that represents Multiple System Atrophy. The guy on the scooter with the big smile? My brother. The banner at the bottom is where you can call if you are in crisis.

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Daily Prompt/ One Word Prompt


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/provoke/

The word for today is Provoke

stimulate or give rise to (a reaction or emotion, typically a strong or unwelcome one) in someone.

You are sitting in your living room watching the news. School shooter strikes again! You share a few comments among each other and then go back to watching the news or worse yet; look down at that cell phone, which cuts you off from real socializing.Bizarro-in-heaven-without-cell-phones

You are one of many sitting at the Oval table. A knock at the door, he enters with news. Another school shooting! Whispers and coughing spread rapidly amongst  all of those present. How can we deal with this? What can we do to not upset the apple bucket? We have to be careful what we do and say so we don’t mess with our standing for the next election? We will have to come up with a solution soon.download (1)You are sitting at your office and news comes through the ceiling speakers. Another school shooting. You grab your purse and jacket. You race down the hall and you pull out your cell and call your spouse.

You drive like a maniac to the school your child attends. Police are trying to direct traffic. Yellow barrier markers are holding you back. You quickly speak gibberish, letting them know you are a parent. You wait, hand in hand with your other half. Minutes turn into drive me nuts time. The horse finally gives you the news you so anxiously await for. Your child didn’t make it.nintchdbpict000294810060

You are a teenager that goes to a school somewhere in the United States. You are scared to go back to school because of a recent shooting rampage. You are heart broken that your friend is no longer living. You get mad. You talk to your other friends. You gather together. You form a large bond. You have decided to provoke these mad men who take it upon themselves to make decisions to mess with other people’s lives. You band together and begin your protest. You have courage. You have words to say. You will show everyone that you aren’t going to take this shit anymore!main_1200

That’s My Dream My Dear Wife


You see that mountain over there? That’s my dream. That’s where I put my faith on every night as I lay my head down on my pillow and pray.  Every morning I wake up and look down at my body. Nope, nothing’s changed. I still can’t move.

I look at my legs and they feel frozen in the bed. Sort of like being cemented to a bed post. A tear drips from my eye as I try to move my fingers; but they won’t. My nose itches, but no one knows it.

I look up and I see your smiling face enter my room. I see the glistening in your eyes, but you won’t admit you have been crying. You gently wash my face and hair. You turn me over and wash both sides. You do all this with the gentleness of love. I love you so much my wife. I so wish I could tell you. I will not complain with groans or moans. Will this help you see how much you mean to me?

You shave me the best you know how. You sprinkle talc on me and try to erase the smell of this illness. You leave my room and I see you once again wipe a tear from your eye. You enter with my breakfast. I don’t recognize my favorite food, eggs and bacon. You have a cup with you and I can see it is brown, but I don’t see the steam rising. I know you have pureed all my food and added a thickner to my coffee.

You turn the television on for noise in the background as the silence is thick and our thoughts mesh into one; but neither of us want to admit we both know I am dying. I see the effort you make into each day. Going about the business of what I used to help you do. Paying bills, getting groceries, babysitting the grandchildren. Above all; you don’t forget me. You always check to make sure I am dry and want for nothing.

When you make sure I am going to be fine for the night, I hear the bed springs as you collapse into bed at night. This is when I turn to my mountains. I pray for a cure. I pray for my release so that it may release you, my love. I appreciate all that you do; but you should not suffer from my lingering onto a nothingness.

I love you, my dear wife. You are the best.

 

 

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Plan or Insanity


Plan or Insanity

 

With plan in mind
You stand in line
With lack of guilt
The plan you built
You take a life
You take a wife
A teacher too
A child you knew
You plant the fear
To those too near
You stand in court
And try to abort
The notion true
Wasn’t really you
Should you escape
The crime of hate
If you choose to play
You must have to pay.

Written by my feelings,
Terry Shepherd

02/27/2018

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Daily Prompt/ One Word Prompt


https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/conjure/

The word for today; Conjoure

con·jure
verb
  1. 1.
    call upon (a spirit or ghost) to appear, by means of a magic ritual.
    “they hoped to conjure up the spirit of their dead friend”

 

Every day as I drove to work; my eyes gazed the old, white building.  Repeating thoughts arose. Who lived there? Why is it still abandoned? Doesn’t someone care?

The thoughts continually went back to my childhood where I wondered the same things about myself. Why did I live there? Why did they make me feel abandoned? Why didn’t they care?

I knew something was different by the age of three. When I tried expressing myself at that age, I was told to shut up. If I cried, they put me to bed. If they went out, I had a babysitter.

As I grew a little older, I learned to have imaginary friends with me at all times. There was Betsy. She was my favorite. She always greeted me with a big smile. She enjoyed my company and we played lots of games.betsy 2

Then there was Betty Sue. She let me lay my head in her lap when I was tired or sad. She would run her fingers through my blonde, curly hair until I fell asleep or felt better.betsy 3

Then there was Bobby. Sometimes Bobby scared me. I asked him different times to leave me alone; but he wouldn’t. He seemed to always show up when I was sitting around just thinking. It was like he could read my mind.betsy 4

He would come into my room on a weird kind of looking sled. He would spin upside down and do tricks I could never do. He would show me visions of mazes and tell me about this old, white house that set right in the middle of the screen. I never recognized the house; but the paths of the maze felt familiar but confusing.

It was a Fall, crisp day. I had worked too many hours so was told to go home early and return on Monday. I was driving and saw the familiar site. I glanced at my watch. Yes, I have time. I am going to get this settled. I am going to find out the story within the walls.

I pulled up the dirt, curvy driveway. I turned off my engine and sat there looking dead on the white house. Quiet, quiet screamed all around me and yet there were these invisible fingers prodding at me saying, Come on little one. Step onto the porch steps. Learn the truth.

I took my keys out of the ignition.  I locked my purse inside the car. With keys in hand, I pulled my sweater a little closer to me. I walked slowly, one foot in front of the other, until I reached the first  porch step.

I turned back as if afraid of what I couldn’t see, but once again, those fingers prodding at my soul. I stepped onto that first step, then another and stepped onto the porch landing. The door slowly and creakily opened.

I could see a golden ray of light and without hesitation; I followed it. Once inside, my fears left. The prodding fingers disappeared. My soul felt lightened. There on the walls of this abandoned house were the answers to all of my questions.

betsy 6

Our Babies, We Loved You So Much


Hello friends. Do you have a topic that you have interest in, that you would like to see in a poem or short story vision?
I am looking for new ideas to write about. Please take note that what I write will be made public to the world. I also will credit your name for idea creation.
 
 
 
Silver Blatt ;Another proud parent Relationship between a parent and adult child. Love, companionship, friendship. When that Parent looks back and doesn’t realize when that relationship changed, yet as all parents know, they are always our babies.
 
 
 
Growing up in a rural area is a good thing if you want to have a good chance of raising kids who appreciate our earth, but for some kids, this isn’t so cool.
This is what happened to Jill and Jason, a set of twins.
 
As kids; they were taught how to milk a cow, hoe the weeds, clean their rooms and not sass their elders. Life seemed good all around until the twins reached their teen years.
 
High school introduced Jill and her brother to different cultures.Their lives seemed so much more fun than what they were used to.
 
The twins parents noticed the changes immediately. Attitudes changed. The parents heard some words they had not heard before. They tried getting their children involved more with church; but the kids bucked at the idea.
 
Many a night, if you were a fly on the wall, you could see the tears flowing and hear the words being prayed. This set of parents wanted children so bad. They were never fortunate enough to have their own; so they sought out adoption, and that is how Jason and Jill came to live with the Owens family.
 
It was the twins 18th birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Owens had planned a small party of intimate friends and close family. Mom made the cake and together, mom and dad, had colorful envelopes filled with cash birthday gifts.
 
The party was at 3:00. The clock ticked at 2 and the twins has still not arrived home for their own party. 3 o’clock arrived and went. People were beginning to whisper. Some looked at their watches and wondered if they should leave or stay.
 
It was almost 4 p.m. when the knock came at the front door. Mr. Owens opened it to see a tall, thin man dressed in a navy blue uniform. On his shirt was a shiny, gold badge, which read police.
 
He let the cop in and everyone became quiet. All were staring at the officer.” Could we talk in the kitchen, Mr. and Mrs. Owens?”
 
The two showed him to a chair at the table. The officer took Mrs. Owens hands in his. “I’m sorry to have to come here on business; but I need to inform you that there was a terrible accident on Route 33. Your son and daughter were killed instantly.”
 
You could hear a pin drop. Not a word was said. The officer took back his hand and showed himself to the door after asking if he could be of any help. The two shook their heads.
 
The funeral was planned. Visitation was open. Flowers were delivered. The cars followed one another to the grave site. Everyone softly chatted at the funeral dinner. The rooms emptied. The silence was astounding.
 
Two weeks later, the parents went to their children’s grave site. So many flowers still sat, but wilting. Dad put his arm around his wife. The two wept. They looked at the tombstone which had been already placed.
 
It read; Our Babies, We Loved You So Much.
 
Written by,
Terry Shepherd
For;
Silver Blatt
Photo taken by,
Terry Shepherd
art 2

The Hoarder


The winds  howled. The doors creaked. Unwanted guests arrived quick; trying to find refuge. Candles danced shadows upon the walls creating scary faces that blinked eyes at you.

It was an eerie night in the house on the hill. It rested back a long, curvy lane, made of stone and gravel. Ruts formed from pouring rains, making it almost impossible for automobiles to make their way to the front door.

Naked trees with long arms, scratched their nails against each other as if fighting for their rights to stand tall and strong. Branches which couldn’t hold their own, fell hard to the ground; crumbling and breaking into many pieces.

Souls who once rested in peace in the cemetery next door, now could be seen by the most naked of eyes. White wisps of matter floated through the air as each spirit fought for a new resting ground.

Inside the house, dressed in a dingy, white, floor-length sleeping gown, a man sat at the table. A small table which held one lit candle, a dead rose in a dirty vase, a pad and a feathered pen rested on the worn tablecloth.

He picked up the pen and stuck the tip on his tongue as if pulling ideas stirring in his brain may come out into the open. He wrinkled his brow and scratched at his chin. “Come on, damn you, come out. I know you are in there.”

In his day, he had written many a word and placed the sheets in order and had created several books. No one knew that he was famous in his own right. A magician of thought, a monkey made to come to life by tugging at the strings, now sat lifeless, waiting for the brain to kick into gear.

He had sat there for hours, for days, trying to think of the first word he wanted to write down. He was about to give up and decided instead a change of pace may stir life back into him.

He slipped on his grayed slippers. He placed his over-sized, black trench coat on. Reaching for his umbrella, he opened the big, black knob and went out into the night. He walked slowly down the gravel and stood looking towards the cemetery as if pleading for someone’s help.

He shivered and pulled his coat closer to him and walked towards the spiked fence. The iron was holding back the once lived, keeping them in place until a bigger soul came to take them home.

He gazed over the tombstones looking for answers.  He suddenly became cold. He could feel ice seeping into his nostrils, following the path into the lung cavities. His body became stiff and he knew someone or something had entered his body.

He fell to the ground, grabbing at his throat, squeezing as if trying to stop what ever was invading him. He became lifeless and fell to the ground. Each thought he had ever created took over and consumed him, choking him to death.

Whispers heard, words not understood became louder and louder as his own body was eaten alive from hoarding  His mind  shut down,  his brain swelled, and he died right there amongst the thousands of thoughts and words that he had never once shared with another human being.

Painting done by,

Terry Shepherd

 

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Is There Someone I Can Call For You?


The firefighters raced in. Smoke engulfing anything that breathed. Looking around they saw no life. Checking the bathroom, they looked behind the worn shower curtain; nothing.

Climbing the stairs, stopping in mid-air, as they watched three stairs collapse in front of them, they took giant, baby steps, and landed on solid ground. Splitting in different directions, they sought each room.

There he was, the little boy, hiding under his bed. Flames dancing all around him as if inviting him to a special party, where he was to be the main event. The firefighter pushed fervently the bed, crashing it into the wall, causing the little one to cry.

He bent down quick and scooped the tot in both arms. Turning around he raced out of the door, yelling, ” I found him, I found him. All head outside now!” The piercing sounds of blazes licking at their heels, caused them to run faster. Hearing the splitting of wood from above, they raced through the front door.

Crowds screaming and clapping as the firefighter transferred the boy into the arms of the EMT’s. The mother and father came and were standing at the rear of the ambulance, throwing questions faster than playing darts.

“Is he okay? Is my baby alright? I should have insisted he bring his toys downstairs to play with. I gave in because I didn’t want to take apart his train track. I will never forgive myself for being so lazy.”

“It’s going to be alright. He seems to have suffered some smoke inhalation, but only minor burns. Don’t put yourself down mam. You were only doing what you thought was right.” The mother buried her head in her hands crying. All she could think of was what she had done wrong.

The EMS team worked on the tot, cleaning him up. Mom could hear one of them speaking over a speaker in his hand. “ETA, five minutes.” The police guided the parents to their patrol car and opening the back door, helped each of them in.

Silence guided them to the nearest hospital, Angel’s Mercy South Side. The EMS was ahead of them, but close enough the parents zoomed in on the flashing bubble, and they waited anxiously for the tot to be transferred inside the doors. The police pulled up next and not waiting for their doors to be opened, they raced inside the electronic, double doors.

They started running to catch up with their son, but the receptionist stopped them, stating they needed to fill out  paperwork and show their insurance forms. The mother turned to her and started laughing out loud. The husband tried to quiet her, but the wife refused.

“My child has been burnt. Do you think you could think of something besides money for a change? You’ll get your damn money, but my son comes first. Excuse us lady, we are going to see our son.”

The guards were motioned from behind the desk and pulling their pants up tighter and touching their side gun, they stiffly walked up to the parents. ” I can understand how you feel, but the staff is looking after the child at this moment. They will call you back as soon as  everything is under control. You must fill out the paper work as the receptionist has so kindly asked. We need this completed before we can proceed.”

He once again touched his gun and tipping his hat forward, he gestured the two to turn around and do as was requested. The mother was cussing under her breath. The father patting her shoulder, whispering, “It’s going to be alright. Let’s just do what they asked so we can go see Ryan.”

What seemed like hours, they tediously filled out each line and signed on the dated lines. Yes, they understood the HIPAA law. Yes, they had insurance and let the lady make copies of that and their driver’s licences. Yes, they had signed permission papers, giving the hospital rights to treat their son. They had placed their preferences of religion.

The receptionist, checking every detail, thanked them and told them to take a seat in the lobby and as soon as they were able to see their son, their names would be announced.”Why don’t you get a cup of coffee for the two of you,” she smiled saying. The husband  rocked his wife’s head on his shoulder and neither stood up.

It was an hour passing and a gentleman in a white coat, with a navy blue shirt and a bright red tie came out of the double doors. He walked to the receptionist and she pointed in their direction. The doctor neared them and asked them to verify their name.

“Please come with me.” He placed his arm around her shoulder guiding them through the double doors, into a green, cold hallway. He led them to the fourth door where he opened it for them to enter first. “Coffee?” Both shook their heads stating no.

The doctor sat behind his mahogany desk in his luxurious, leather chair. Clearing his throat and hesitating momentarily he began.” Do you have family near? Is their someone I can call to be here with you?”

“Why, why are you asking us these questions? Where is our son? What about  our son? Is he alright?” The doctor repeated himself with his prior questions. Both parents stood up. “What’s going on? We want answers now.”

“I am sorry I have to tell you this Mr. and Mrs. Miller. The staff did all they could. Their was just too much smoke for that little body. We couldn’t save him. Now is there someone I can call for you?”

“You bastard, you son-of-a bitch” You wouldn’t let us see our baby first. You demanded and the police almost held us captive wanting us to sign papers. We could have been holding our baby instead. He needed to know he wasn’t alone. I will sue this hospital, you hear me? I will sue you!”

The doctor stood up and walked around the desk. Placing his arm once again around her shoulder, he said in a softer voice.” I am sorry mam. I wish things could be different, but we have to follow the hospital’s regulations. We could be held liable if we didn’t. I understand how you feel. Now, is there someone I can call for you?”

(This story, I wrote, is fiction. Although I want it to give you something to think about. With all of the new laws and regulations, when does money  become more important than anything else?)

 

doctors