Once again my writing takes it inspiration from the very talented Pieter Frank de Jong.
BURIED IN THE PRINT
In the sky clouds gang up around a weak sun that can no long warm the cold hands of Zack Tuckerman. He looks up to curse the grey clouds.
"Fuckin' guys !!"
He slowly lowers his gaze back down to earth to pat the soil below him into solid ground and thinks of the first time that his ex-wife sent him an unexpected package from Europe. "Basically, I want you to know that this is the opposite of a care package. This is an I don't care package. Yes that's right there's nothing in it !!!" she had written in angry strokes of black ink on the makeshift newspaper wrapping. The paper was L'Monde. Zack doesn't know any French.
He stands up and looks out over his back yard which is landmined with brown patches of soil. A patch for each package.
"Fuckin' guys !!"
He rubs his cold hands onto his pants leaving brown streaks of soil. The crumples of dirt roll away and leave his hands a mix of brown and black. The black coming from smudges of the newspaper which inked up his fingertips.
Before she left him they had been arguing over a children's story that she had written for a magazine. It was about a race between a greyhound and a rabbit. The greyhound was fast but dumb and simply raced straight ahead like a bullet. The rabbit, on the other hand, was cute and cunning. They were in a race but... Christ, he can't remember the story. If the rabbit manipulated the greyhound during the race or if for some reason the rabbit was faster because of steroids of something...
All he remembers is that his wife argued the need for cunning as a constant companion in life and that he disagreed and lost his fierce temper on her for the last time in their relationship.
Now she's punishing his simplicity.
Someday when the packages stop coming, he expects she'll be the next thing that he buries in his back yard.