Bonnie Parker is back

With cloud cover inking out any possible Luna light, my house is like a cave at night.  No worries, I’ve lived here seven years now, and nothing gets moved around unless I move it. I know the house so well I walk around without light most of the time, and it doesn’t bother me at all. Light isn’t needed for navigation on foot, nor in the house or around it either. The mutts and I go walking in the woods at night, and nothing there scares me at all. Put those two dogs in front of me and whatever it is, whatever it’s thinking, whatever else may happen, it will get the hell away from those two dogs.  They don’t do much negotiating and any living creature around, who is still living, is still living because they recognize this as a fact of living out here.


That’s important. Because I know this to be true, I also know that anything that goes bump in the night is either a new creature, which isn’t likely because this place is olfactory obviously a mutt den, it’s a human being, which is more likely, and is what concerns me the most, or it’s a figment of my imagination. If it’s a figment of my imagination, and trust me, most of the time it is, then the dogs won’t react at all, except to lie there and stare at me like I’ve lost it. Again. Even when there is no light at all, and I cannot see my hand in front of my face, I can tell if the dogs are lying there asleep, or staring at me. If they are asleep I can hear them breathe. If they’re staring I can’t.


The power went off again last night because of the metrological pyrotechnics and something went bump in the night. Both dogs were up and out of the bedroom, and both were growling. Sam doesn’t growl at weather, he hides from it. Bert merely ignores it. Something set them off, so I got up and got armed.


There isn’t any point in aiming a shotgun. It’s like trying to aim a water hose. The simple thing to do is to plant it on your shoulder and simply walk forward slowly. Lighting flashes and I can see all the way down the hallway that extends from the bedroom, past the big room where the living room and the kitchen are, and all the way back past the laundry room to the back door. I can see a bit of the kitchen, I can see the love seat, and I can see the west wall of the house. I freeze and wait for another flash. Flash. I can see everything I just describe, and there isn’t anything there that wasn’t there when I went to bed. The dogs are migrating back and forth in the living room, from the window to the front door to the back door and Bert is growling at something.  He hasn’t laid down his bark yet, and until he does I’m not thinking it’s human. Bert is going to unload a bark that will dwarf the thunder if it’s a human. They will know they’ve been pinned by that bark, and even though it’s against my personal beliefs to shoot unless I can see what I’m shooting at, I will unload in the direction Bert barks, simply because I know what he sees when he does bark like that. Lighting cranks up the strobes and I can see into the kitchen, and I can see the front door. No one and nothing is there. The dogs are still reacting.  I walk forward a step and hold my breath. Bert is to my left and he’s going from the back door to the front, again. Sam is coming to me; I can hear his toenails on the floor. Sam slows, stops, and I have no idea what he’s doing because I cannot see him.  Bert stops at the front door and growls low. Bert can’t see any better than I on his best days in full light, but he’s got a ton of hearing much better than mine, and I wouldn’t trade  good light for his nose in this case. I swing the barrel towards the door, elevate it just slightly to get the blast pattern away from Bert’s head if I have to shoot and I wait for the next flash.


It’s the feeling of being caught. I smell her before I see her, I sense she’s there before I can react, and I know I’ve taken a step out into the living room too far, and it didn’t occur to me someone was already in the house. I can smell her sweat, it’s the smell of a woman who has just walked a long way, not overpowering, but that honest smell of a woman that  far too many people consider unnatural, but I kinda like it. Before I can move, before I can swing the gun around, before I can react at all the lightning kicks in and I can see her. I’m standing an inch away from her, and she’s facing the bedroom, with that god awful cannon she carried pointing back into the bedroom.  Bonnie Parker is back, she is as armed as ever, and as dead as ever.

“Mike, they’re coming, aren’t they?” Bonnie whispers. She shifts her weight and leans into me. The lightning closes out the light and I can feel her body against mine. She’s almost a foot shorter than I, and I can smell her hair, her body, and the gun oil on her rifle.  Just like I can feel the chair under me now, the keyboard under my fingers, and the weight of my feet on the floor, I could feel that woman leaning into me.


For a breath, two, three, maybe more, I stood in total darkness with a dead woman. Just before the lightning lit again, she was gone. Right before I could see again, I felt her go, and my body rocked forward a little as she left. Unload the shotgun, Mike. Being armed and crazy is never a good mix, so I started to unload the shotgun then it was gone too. Lighting lit up the room, and I was alone except for the dogs, who were standing there staring at me. I went back into the bedroom, lit a candle and the shotgun was still in the corner, and there was no one else there. The dogs weren’t growling, and Sam was still acting edgy about the thunder, like he always does.


Take Care,


Mike Firesmith   Mike Firesmith wrote
on 6/17/2008 4:39:25 AM
Moqui_Takoda Thank you

Moqui_Takoda   Moqui_Takoda wrote
on 6/17/2008 1:58:36 AM
so you sleepwalk and merge with your dreams? this is only a literal interpretation, but there is more, much more, for my interpretation may not have been what you wrote about, but then again, maybe it was ... you are an interesting writer, and I feel there is a depth of aching, anger and origin in this write ... yet, it is good to remember that writing need not ever be even closely related to anything autobiographical ... most is not, but flows from such ... I accept the tonalty and skill of this write and take it as an excellent experience to have had, this reading. To me the write tells me you seek adventure, yet as part of your present life, not as part of a dreamt of life. Well done.

Mike Firesmith   Mike Firesmith wrote
on 6/16/2008 7:35:55 PM
I think if she wasn't armed it wouldn't be so bad.

danicpa68   danicpa68 wrote
on 6/16/2008 5:51:10 PM
Ah Mike you know I'm right but it scares the bejesus out of you. She wants something from you or you need something from her.

Mike Firesmith
Special Interest
writing Mike Firesmith
I write
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Rating: 8.8/10

Third time she's been here